In Case You Were Wondering

Well, I'm sitting here doing something that only happens once every year or so here in Texas: watching it snow. SNOW! (For all of you who live in states with actual seasons, you won't understand my giddiness. That's okay. Just go and stare at your trees and snow drifts and winter weather and appreciate them for me.)

I woke up at 7:45 to the sight of Caiden, fully dressed with sweatshirt hoodie (our version of winter wear) and tennis shoes, begging to go play in the "snow." At this point there was only frost on the ground, with a smattering of ice, but I let him out, anyway. He returned about 38 seconds later frozen to the core, begging for hot chocolate. Don't laugh--he's a Texas native, and he has no concept of true winter weather. I, on the other hand, was born during a blizzard in Denver and spent four years living in North Dakota, which is as close to Siberia as I can imagine. We had to plug our cars in (In to what? I surely don't know. I just know we plugged them into something. I was eight; I didn't drive.) to get them started in the morning. This is completely foreign to me now, seeing as how I usually lose an inch or two of skin from my thighs every summer after peeling them off of the scorching leather seats in my car. I remember snowstorms that pushed so much snow against our house that we couldn't open the front door. I'm sure that was loads of fun for my mom, stranded inside with three kids for days on end. Loads.

Since we're clearly stranded ourselves (Again, if you're not from Texas you can't appreciate the virtual halt to all traffic that occurs with sleet and snow. We are a handicapped state when the roads freeze.), I'm pondering how to spend our day. I had to empty the entire attic into our gameroom upstairs in search of the last box of Christmas stuff, so I probably should put it all back. Right now there's a baby gate across the stairs, keeping all curious little boys out of the mess, but I don't guess I can keep it that way forever.

I also need to finish our Christmas decorating--the tree is still in bins, waiting to be assembled, which might qualify as my most-hated task of the entire year. I'd choose childbirth in favor of putting the tree together. I realize real trees are fire hazards, and you have to water them, and they cost a fortune, but at least you can just haul them in the house and then leave them in the street after Christmas. There's a lot to be said for disposable trees.

For right now, though, I'm camped out at the kitchen table. I bought Mint Truffle International Delight creamer and tried it the other night. Sweet mercy! If I had known that I could put a chocolate-flavored creamer in coffee, I might have tried it a long time ago! I'm still on a hunt for the Peppermint creamer everybody keeps telling me about. I didn't realize until recently that there's a whole line of flavored creamers--I'm always up for a buying spree, so we currently have five different types in the fridge. I'm going to have to drink a lot of coffee :)

On another completely random note, we had a big scare with Grayson's health earlier this week. I'll write about it someday, but for now I just want to mention that he is covered--COVERED--in hives. I didn't go to church last weekend because I knew as soon as the nursery workers changed his diaper and saw his entire body marked with huge welts, they'd page me and make me come get him. (Or they'd skip calling me and just call CPS, certain I had been beating him.) The doctor says it's just an allergic reaction to a virus, but they're getting worse. One of his eyes is swollen halfway shut from one on his eyelid, and he even has them in his ears. He keeps walking around saying, "OW! I itchy, itchy, ITCHY Mama!" And I keep dosing him with Benadryl, which then turns his walking around into staggering around with a glazed expression and much stumbling. If I didn't feel bad for him, I'd laugh. This morning's dose is starting to take effect, and he's running into cabinets and corners and couches. Bless his little hive-laden self. Even as I typed the last sentence he ran into the highchair, crashed onto the floor, and rubbed his head slowly, with a dazed expression. Maybe I should put him in his crib. At least he can't injure himself in there. Can he?

And in the vein of continued randomness, can I just say how amazed I am that so many of you actually believed, even if for half a second, that I actually get up at 5 a.m., run 5 miles in 25 minutes, and make breakfast from scratch for my children every day? I mean, sure, I have gotten up at 5 a.m. at least once or twice in my entire life, and I have run a total of five miles in the last year, and I can whip up a good batch of pancakes every once in a while, but all in one day, every day? I'm shocked that you believed it, instead of immediately laughing at me. Well, those of you who know me laughed, but the rest of you believed. But it does make me wonder if I've somehow misrepresented myself on this blog. I think back to my posts on exercise, my serene, spiritual days, and my cooking (The fact that I couldn't find a post to link to speaks for itself. Girls, Antique Mommy was using creative license, so to speak, about the Pillsbury Bake-Offs!), and I think not. Because if I ever do start telling blatant lies on my blog, my mother, grandmother, aunt, and sister will tell the truth. That's what family is for. Can I also just say that I am not confident enough a person to be friends with a woman who keeps that schedule? I prefer to befriend people who make me feel good about myself :)

I guess that's all going on this morning. There's really no point whatsoever to this post, except that it'll stand in posterity as our one snowstorm (using that term very lightly) of the year, and next August when it's 104 degrees for the eighteenth day in a row, I'll re-read it and remember the bliss of a day without air conditioning. Yesterday it was 80 degrees, and we had massive thunderstorms with tornado warnings. Today I woke up to 30 degrees and sleet. God bless Texas.

Now I'm off to be productive. Or something. Happy Thursday from the State of the Arctic Blast, y'all!

An Open Letter to My Friend

Erin asked me recently what our daily schedule looks like. After I stopped laughing, I told her that our "schedule" is more like a routine which usually involves feeding everybody (except sometimes the dog), bathing at least somebody (but not necessarily everybody, and sometimes nobody), and watching TV. Everything else is icing on the cake, so to speak.

She persisted, so I relented. I told her I'd think about it and post it. So here it is, in all its glory.

Dear Erin, here is my Routine:

5 a.m. Rise before rest of household to pray and meditate on God's Word
6 a.m. Run 5 miles
6:25 a.m. Shower, dress, have devotions with husband
8 a.m. Make pancakes or waffles or French toast from scratch, with fresh-squeezed orange juice, while children rise, pray, and straighten their rooms

Okay. Sorry. Blatant lies, all of it. Let me try again:

6:30 a.m. (but usually more like 8:30) a.m. Get out of bed, suck down some coffee to wake up, nurse Addie, throw cereal bars and vitamins and orange juice (from frozen concentrate) to the ravenous wolves we call Caiden and Grayson.

9:00 a.m. Try desperately to have a quiet time in the dining room while the children stare in rapt attention at Curious George or Dora or somebody animated. All the while I curse (not literally, if you were wondering) myself for not getting up earlier, when I could've done this in peace and quiet, and then realize that having a quiet time doesn't really "count" if I'm shouting at the children TO BE QUIET AND GET ALONG FOR THE LOVE OF PETE! at the same time. I sigh, give up, and promise myself I'll get up earlier tomorrow. Then I throw in a load of laundry, unload the dishwasher, make beds etc.

11 a.m. Addie and Gray go down for naps while I start Caiden on schoolwork and take a shower or at least dress and scrub yesterday's mascara off my eyelids. I realize I haven't brushed my teeth yet and do it. Supervise Caiden's schoolwork.

12 p.m. Lunch for me and Caiden--usually consists of peanut butter and marshmallow cream sandwiches (on whole wheat, to cancel out the marshmallows), milk, and applesauce or something loosely viewed as a vegetable. Very loosely.

1 p.m. Addie is up, so I feed her, while Caiden finishes any schoolwork and then plays. From now until about 4 p.m. I try to get a few housework things done, as well as return phone calls, make appointments, etc. In the olden days when we had only two children, I'd crochet or read or take a bubble bath while they napped. Yes, in the middle of the day! I wish I had appreciated those baths a little more then.

4 p.m. Addie is usually asleep now, but Grayson is not, and Caiden and he play/fight the rest of the afternoon. I try to make Caiden have roomtime at some point during the day, but if I do it too late, he sneaks under his covers and goes to sleep--which means he's awake until midnight, so I try to keep him awake. Sometimes watching cartoons is my last resort. (Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, "many times" would be more accurate. No, that's not quite right--"most times." All the time? Dear Lord, please do not let my husband read this post.)

By 6 p.m. the kids are tired of each other, and I'm slightly tired of them. Daddy's not home yet, dinner is needed, and I want to run away. If I've been disciplined enough to make a meal plan, then I'm working on cooking something, and if we haven't completely vegged out on TV, then I'll put in a Veggie Tales movie for them to watch so I can cook in relative peace. This is the point where I call Chris and needle him to come home, come home!

Grayson goes to bed at 7, Addie goes down at 7:30, and Caiden is in bed at 8. It usually takes me the entire hour to get them all ready and settled. Then I sigh a long, long sigh, gather up the last load of laundry to fold, and collapse on the couch to read, crochet, blog, or just hang out. I stay up way too late to get some downtime, then drag myself to bed for some sleep before I start all over again.

Lest you feel horrified, Erin, since you are about to embark on the adventure of having three kids yourself, know that in between all of this are lots of sticky kisses, belly laughs, adventures, opportunities for me to become more patient (LOTS of those!), and even an occasional nap for me. And I wouldn't trade a moment of all of this for anything in the world. Well, maybe a few moments. But between the character growth I'm seeing in myself as a result of the unrelenting demands and general chaos, and the sheer joy I have in sharing life with my children, every one of those moments is worth it.

As I type this, it's 3:30. My bed is not made, which is very uncharacteristic (It's the one thing I ALWAYS do), but as you know, there were extenuating circumstances today I'll someday write about. In the family room alone I see pillows, blankets, dog toys, cereal bar wrappers, a Bible, a lone Croc, and a miniature Christmas tree that has been helpfully undecorated by a toddler, with some of its ornaments helpfully eaten by the dog. It's sometimes messy, usually loud, and I am never done with anything, but it's good. Always. :)

Love,
Sarah

My Christmas List

I'm sipping my third cup of coffee at the now-clean dining room table. Grayson is wandering through the house, back and forth between me in the dining room and cartoons in the den, where Caiden is camped out. Chris is sleeping in, and Addison is napping. The house is relatively quiet. Life is good.

I guess today ushers in Christmastime. I'm pondering how I can help make this year's celebration focus more on Jesus, less on the fluff that is so tempting but is neither worthy nor memorable. (Well, except for the pink miniature tree I fully plan on buying for Addie's room.) Above all, it's an attitude and a restful state of soul. Christmas isn't "good" because the house is a winter wonderland, gifts are "the best EVER!" or food is Martha Stewart-approved. Time together in peace, time with Jesus in plenty, and a grateful--not greedy--heart overall are what makes Christmas great.

It's my prayer this year that our Christmas is "great." The gifts I've already received, a 4 1/2 pound blessing, combined with two little boys who grip my heart, and life with "the one my soul loves" are eternal treasures. What else could I really ask for?

In the Midst of It

It's 8 a.m. and I'm stealing a few moments of quiet before my family wakes up. (Well, most of them are awake but not enough to be very loud or demanding yet.) I'm sitting at my dining room table where later today we'll enjoy a meal with my sister and her family. But for right now all that's on it is my Bible, journal, and laptop. Oh, and my coffee--can't forget that.

We have a tradition in our family to write down those things we are the most thankful for in a little guest book. Each year we pass it around the table, and later after the food is back in the fridge and the house is quiet, I steal back into the dining room and read through the entries. Our page from Thanksgiving 2003 has the handwriting of some of our dearest friends, Ken and Meg, who also happen to be Chris' sister and her husband. Meg was pregnant with their first baby, and today as I look back over Ken's thankfuls--"Meg's big belly with our baby in it; My big belly" make me laugh out loud. Chris' parents were also with us that year, and reading what his dad wrote brings me to tears today. I wrote the highly spiritual, "My new light fixture" which was supposed to somehow let my husband know that I was thankful for his hard work to install new fixtures for me but didn't quite get the message across: His entry says, "SARAH (even though she didn't put me down)."

Some years it's easy for me to write down what I'm thankful for, and the words fly glibly across the page, "Family, friends, our provisions, God." Those were the years that life was easy, and I took it for granted without knowing it. I could write down "light fixtures" because I wasn't called that year to deeply examine my life, and I didn't fear losing any of the things most precious to me.

The very next year there's hardly anything written down in the book. Ken and Meg were with us again, and our niece Madison was here, as well as 6-week old Grayson. I was in the middle of sleep deprivation, our house was chaos, and we somehow forgot to pass the book around. Just a few weeks earlier a great blow had been dealt to Chris' family, and I think it was too hard for any of us to say out loud what we were the most thankful for, his dad's life. Even writing it today is difficult for me, although right now he is doing well. Sometimes it's hardest to write down the most important blessings because we realize just how fleeting they are.

This year is no different. This is the first time in my life I've really had to take a hard look at my blessings. I've had a hard year. I've also had an amazing year. The very things that have made it so difficult have been what I'm most thankful for. Addison is here. My daughter, the one I hoped for, in all her petite pink splendor. Right now she's swinging away in her cupcake pajamas, complete with butterfly houseshoes and bow. I love the absolutely girliness she embodies. She's dainty, she's sassy, she's such a girl! But there were days in the beginning when instead of praising God for her, I railed at Him, confused and hurt and feeling betrayed. Instead of thanking Him for creating her fearfully and wonderfully made, I mourned her heart defect, kidney defect, diagnosis of a very rare syndrome.

Months have gone by, and I now realize that growth doesn't come without pain. Any relationship needs deep roots to stay fully alive, and those roots grow deep from wind, storms, drought. I've felt the drought this year, and I came out of it praising God for being present everywhere yet never leaving my side. I've felt the wind, and now I thank Him for holding me under the shelter of His arms even though I didn't know it at the time. I've been through the storms, and I know that He carried me through them even while I accused Him of betraying me.

Yesterday was what we hope will be the last time Addison undergoes a medical procedure. She was held down while she screamed, and I cried with her. I didn't cry only for that day's IV and catheter, I cried for her entire six months of procedures, diagnoses, tests, surgeries. I cried that such a tiny one should have to go through so much pain in her short life. I cried that I should have to go through so much pain. And then, as we walked out of the hospital with our little bundle, I looked at my husband and saw a man who has carried the load of providing for our family, leading a church of 20,000 in worship each week, and dealing with the pain of having a sick father and the fear of his brother serving in Baghdad. He has led our family with love, gentleness, faithfulness, and strength. I have clung to him when there was nobody else in the world who could understand what I felt. I am deeply thankful for him.

I see our three children who are as different from each other as people could be. One is exuberant, affectionate, full of sparkle. One is just starting to show who he is: gentle, quiet, laid-back. And one is a blend of sweet and sassy. She is happy and healthy. She is our miracle this year. They make the long days of unending laundry, meal-preparation, and discipline worth it. They make motherhood sweet.

I look around our house, and although we tried our hardest to sell it this year, I am so thankful to be here today. It is comfortable, welcoming, and decorated. We can afford it. We have brought two babies home to it, decorated each room with love, and made it our own. It is a place to gather together, safe from the stress and pressure of life outside. It is a haven.

And then I think of the many family members and friends who make my life richer. My parents, sisters, brothers. I am close to them all and love how varied and precious each one is. My nieces and nephews. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Friends like Brittani, Carrie, Erin, Jen, where how often we talk isn't as important as the fact that we love each other. And Bridget. She has given me the gift of unconditional friendship when I was too beaten down to remember her birthday or help her through the first weeks of having her second child. Her friendship is more than that; it's a bond that flows deep, a sisterhood. I am especially grateful for each of these people this year, as they have prayed for me, supported me in tangible ways, and loved me through a very difficult season.

But mostly, above all, I am thankful for my Redeemer. He carried me through the storm, lifted me to a Rock, and never left me, even when I didn't want Him near. His love has been proven true, and for maybe the first time in my life I've gotten a glimpse of how vital He is to me, not just for my salvation later on, but for my walk today. On those days when I didn't want to get out of bed, He helped me walk on. Not only that, He gave me a new song, a new joy. He didn't just help me through this year; He taught me, loved me, rejoiced over me, and held me close.

So that's what I would write, if our guest book were a little bigger. Instead I'll probably write something vague about family and friends while trying not to cry. But I won't forget this year, 2006, when God showed me that what He's blessed me with isn't limited to things here on earth. And so I am most thankful for Him and for His love in the midst of it.

Happy Thanksgiving :)

A Few Little Random Things

I have a few posts in my head to write (Erin, I haven't forgotten!), but today I'm just posting a few little random things:

1. Addison's renal scan today is finished! I'd say it went well, but Addison would vehemently protest, since I'm not the one who had an IV and catheter inserted. She is so incredibly tiny (Don't let those chubby thighs fool you; she's below the 3rd percentile) that it was very difficult to get everything in. Somebody asked me what kind of test it was--it was "nuclear medicine," done with a "gamma camera" or something like that, which means very little to me. Basically, pictures of her kidneys were taken continuously for an hour while a diuretic with a dye was sent in through an IV and out through a catheter. The technician couldn't tell us a ton, but he did hint strongly that the function of her kidneys looked great. We will know the results December 14th, but for now we're just glad it's over. I told Addison during the procedure that if she just held on, she could have mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving, which would rally me during almost anything, but she didn't seem that impressed. :)

2. While at the hospital I found a magazine article that asks knitters and crocheters to make caps for newborns in developing countries. Millions of preterm and medically-fragile babies die every year around the world, and one of the ways to combat this is to provide a warm cap for each baby after he or she is born. Just that act can save a life! You can go to their website for more information, www.savethechildren.org, but they need to be mailed by January 2nd. My Aunt Barb is an amazing crocheter, so I've already mentioned it to her, and she said she'd make "a ton." If mine turn out decent enough, I'll post them. (If not, I told Barb that maybe there are babies with lopsided heads who'd like one. My children were always born with coneheads, so a misshapen cap would've come in nicely!) If you're crafty like that, consider joining us!

3. I also found an ad for baby blankets made from favorite baby clothes. (Can you tell I had some time in the waiting room?) This is perfect for me because I cannot bear to part with so many of my kids' clothes! I've lent Addison's preemie clothes to a friend whose baby was born tiny, but when I get them back, I'm going to send off my favorite ones to have a blanket made for her. (And maybe one for me!) If you can sew, you can get a do-it-yourself kit for a cheaper price. Of course, if you sew, you can probably figure out how to make one without a kit, but I can't sew, so that's unfathomable to me! The website is www.ticcheandbea.com

4. I'm feeling thankful for so many things this year that they'll have to be in their own separate post. But can I just say, for the record, that I think I might just cry over my turkey (and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole and rolls and . . .) tomorrow when it's my turn around the table to say what I'm thankful for. My little blessing is sitting in her swing right now, squealing at her toys, and I think a little piece of my heart has melted forever just from the sheer gratitude I feel every time I look at her. When I add that to the way I feel about my boys and my husband, I'm a mess. But that's for another post:)

I guess that's it for now. I have bread that needs to be baked for dressing and two little ones to love on while Caiden and his daddy are out purchasing hunting our turkey, so I need to get a move on. I hope you each have a happy night, and thank you again to everyone who took a minute to pray for my daughter today.

p.s. To Leslie and Ken and Meg in Australia, Happy Thanksgiving! I know you're not in the States, but you're Americans, and it's already Thanksgiving there, so Happy Thanksgiving anyway! I love you guys:)

I Need Homeschooling Help!

Does anybody know of a science/nature curriculum for kindergarteners that has easy-to-do units/experiments?

Thanks:)

Test

Where on earth did my content go?

Who Knew?

I'm in my third decade of life. (Barely, I just want to point out.)

I've been married going on ten years.

I have three children, one who is already "a whole hand old."

I manage our home, our finances, and our day-to-day affairs.

You'd think I'd considered myself an adult.

Evidently I didn't, although I didn't realize this until this month.

Two events contributed to this realization: First, I went out, bought a coffeemaker, and actually not only made a pot of coffee, but drank a cup--and liked it! This is a first for me, and it's really a monumental first because I've always hated coffee. In fact, prior to this day, I'd not only hated the taste of coffee but also the smell. Those nostalgic holiday commercials of the son coming home for Christmas and waking up his parents with the aroma of Folgers in their kitchen did nothing for me. I've been known to gag upon walking into Starbucks before.

It wasn't until I spent the weekend with my dear friends Carrie and Erin that I realized that drinking coffee is an actual hobby. (Thank you, Friends.) I also realized at the same time what one member of our family (who shall remain unnamed) was spending at the local Starbucks for coffee. So I went out, bought the prettiest coffeemaker I could find, and researched how to make coffee. I also bought the new Chai Coffeemate creamer, which greatly improved my first tasting.

Now I'm hooked. I've been getting up at the crack of dawn (Well, 7 a.m. is the crack of dawn for this household.) to enjoy a mug of coffee with my Bible. There's nothing like a caffeine rush to greatly enhance a quiet time! Last night when my husband suggested we make a pot of decaf to enjoy while watching TV, I felt like somebody had offered me chocolate. In fact, there are days I forget to drink diet Coke because my caffeine needs have been met! This is a strange and foreign land for me.

On the same day as my inaugural coffee-tasting, I lugged all three of our children to the local voting place and cast my vote in the elections. I've never before voted for anything but the President, and as I walked away, I realized something: I felt like an adult.

It didn't take thirty years of life.

It didn't take more than nine years of marriage.

It didn't take three children, or a household, or finances, or day-to-day affairs.

All it took was a cup of coffee and an election to make me feel like a real grown-up.

Who knew I could've felt like this at 18?

A Little Billy Graham

It was early morning. I snuggled under the down comforter, trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of peace before I had to get up and feed, dress, and wrangle three little ones all day long. Those last few minutes are important to my sanity, and I frown heartily on anyone who dares to end them early.

I heard a shuffling, then felt warm breath on my cheek. I pried one eyelid open and glared at Caiden, who, blind to my lack of enthusiasm, crept beneath the covers next to me. I snapped my eye shut and pretended to be asleep.

"Mama."
"Mama!"
"MAMA!"

"Hmm?" I mumbled, desperately hoping he'd go away.

"I asked Jesus into my heart."

"What?" I rolled over, resigning myself to the fact that I was going to have to get out of bed and have a real conversation. You can't really pretend you didn't hear it when your child says he got saved, even if it is the crack of dawn. "You did what?"

"I asked Jesus into my heart."

I must've looked skeptical, seeing as Caiden was four years old and since the TV is always tuned to Noggin in the morning I knew there were no televangelists leading my child to the Lord in the family room. I proceeded cautiously, hating that I had to dampen his enthusiasm when I explained that he's too young to understand the ins and outs of salvation. "What do you mean, you asked Jesus into your heart?"

He was matter-of-fact: "Well, I was sittin' on the couch watchin' Noggin just now and I just knew God was tellin' me to ask Jesus into my heart. So I did."

I choked back a laugh. "What did you say?"

"Oh, it was easy, I did it like this," and then he squeezed his eyes shut, clasped his hands, and imitated, "Dear Jesus, I love You so much, will you come into my heart?"

"Did you ask Him to forgive you for your sins?"

"Well, I didn't do anything bad this morning, but I asked Him to forgive the other ones from earlier."

I repeated the conversation to my husband later, where we debated discussed how young a child can be and comprehend enough to truly make a salvation decision. We have both been praying since Caiden's birth that he would have an unusually tender heart toward the Lord, much like King David's. The Lord seems to have answered this one so far; Caiden does have a passion for the Lord unlike anything I've seen in someone so young. So although I would've liked to have at least been there when Caiden made the Big Decision, it didn't surprise me that he did it by himself (while watching Noggin, no less).

Months passed, and every once in a while I'd ask Caiden about that morning, to see if his story would change. Each time, his reply was the same, "God told me I needed Jesus in my heart while I was watchin' Noggin, and I prayed and asked Him in."

Not too long ago I drilled asked him again about that day, and he rolled his eyes, sighed a heavy sigh, and said, "Mama, I told you all this already!" So I decided he knew what he was talking about and then proceeded to tell him that our job as Christians was to let others know the Good News. He chattered excitedly, "Yeah, I'm going to tell Jack and Chaleigh (our neighbor friends) all about Jesus and take them my B-I-B-L-E (Yes, he spells it.) and show them all the True History Stories and then show them the pictures that God drew!" After I gently corrected the notion that God drew the illustrations in the Children's Story Bible, I encouraged him to speak the truth to others in love.

We spent a few days at our friends Jody and Carrie's house last week. Caiden and their son, Sam, played together ceaselessly, having imaginary sword fights and Thomas the Train races and "decorating" Grayson's hair with leaves and sand. One afternoon when they tired out, they hung out in the family room, and we spied on the following conversation:

"Sam, have you asked Jesus into your heart?"

Three year old Sam said, "No."

Caiden, warming up to his first attempt at making a convert, threw his arm around Sam's shoulder in a fatherly manner: "Well, you have sin in your life, Sam, and sin separates us from God, and since God is perfect, He can't let sin into His heaven. And Jesus died on the cross to take away our sin. So if you want to go to heaven with God, Sam, then you need to ask Jesus into your heart."

Billy Graham, eat your heart out.

"Oh." Sam appeared amenable to the idea, until Caiden added:

"And if you do that, Sam, then you won't be thrown into the fiery lake."

Sam's eyes widened. He turned his head, stared at Caiden, and said, "Huh?"

Caiden nodded solemnly, and they turned back to playing.

We four tried not to burst out laughing as the Great Spiritual Moment passed. Billy would've been proud. We were, anyway. And as I watched my five year old son working out his faith as best he knew how, I felt a little chided about my own evangelistic efforts, which have been a little lacking lately. It never fails to amaze me how God uses children to teach some of His greatest truths.

In the meantime, if Caiden starts playing "Just As I Am" on the piano, I'd better start packing. Tent revivals, here we come!

A Holiday Season Must-Make!

I don't usually post recipes, but last night I made this for some friends who came over to dinner, and it was so good I thought it needed to be shared:

Mashed Sweet Potatoes

Ingredients:
6 Yukon golds, peeled and cubed (Note: I used medium red potatoes instead)
2 sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed
2 T. butter (I used real, not margarine)
1/2 c. cream (I used fat free half-and-half)
1 T. chicken bouillon (I crushed two cubes)
1 2/3 T. brown sugar
2 t. ground pepper
2 c. shredded Monterey Jack cheese

Cover potatoes with 1" water in large saucepan and boil for 15 min. Drain.

Return to pot and mash with potato masher (NOT a mixer), then add butter, cream, bouillion, brown sugar, and pepper.

Put in 2 quart baking dish (I sprayed mine with Pam first) and top with cheese. Broil, uncovered, about 10 minutes.

I served this with a breaded pork tenderloin and green salad.

This recipe, found through Allrecipes, is delicious! As a matter of fact, I'm eating the leftovers today while typing this, and it's just as good warmed up the next day. We will definitely be having this with our Thanksgiving (and post-Thanksgiving) and Christmas (and post-Christmas, and maybe New Years Day, too!) dinners. If you try it, let me know what you think!

For Mom

Ta da! (Notice the amazing centerpiece Bridget's mom made for me--isn't it beautiful!) Three of the chairs aren't finished, but you get the idea. I love it:)

For those of you who aren't my mom and don't know why I've posted these pictures, this is my kitchen table and chairs that I bought at a garage sale for $50. I turned around and sold my own much smaller set at my garage sale the same day for $15. I spent about $50 in supplies, then stripped the finish and stained the previously-pine table a much darker shade. Voila! For a total cost of about $85, we now have a beautiful solid-wood table that seats our entire family!

This fabulous bargain might make up for my many other not-so-frugal purchases I made to decorate the kitchen and family room. It's amazing how the purchase of a $50 table somehow turned into me redecorating the entire back half of our house. (Well, I think it's amazing. My husband probably thinks it's crazy.)

Anyway, Mom, I'll have the pictures of the family room soon. You know, when I throw all the toys into the kids' closets and dismantle the pop-up tent in the middle of the room :)

November Blessings

Update: I talked to Carrie this morning and mentioned that I had written a post about her, but that since she wouldn't allow me to post a picture of her, people would have to imagine what she looked like. She then gave permission:)


I knew this girl, Carrie, when I was in college. She was in a sorority and I wasn't, so although we had a lot in common, we never really spent much time together. I remember the day, just about 10 years ago, when I passed her in a hallway and noticed a shine on her ring finger. I stopped her, shrieking, and we celebrated the fact that she had gotten engaged over the weekend. That next year, two weeks to the day after her wedding, I celebrated my own, and we both started married life. She and her husband, Jody, moved to Texas for Jody to go to seminary. My husband was in the ministry, and I had a very fun but not-so-useful English degree. We also moved to Texas a couple of months later for Chris to go to seminary, too.

Carrie and I reconnected, and this time we were each other's only friend. I was terribly homesick for our college town and college life, and she was entrenched in trying to teach ornery middle schoolers language arts. Our friendship provided fun and a shoulder in an otherwise difficult time. In just a few short months, our casual friendship had grown into something closer to sisterhood. I love Carrie; she's the only person I know who has her own copy of Emily Post's Guide to Etiquette but also loves the movie, Billy Madison, with Adam Sandler. She's the perfect combination of Southern sweetness and true authenticity.

We started out meeting on Tuesday nights to work out, which soon gave way to walking around the seminary campus and then heading to Olive Garden for dinner. Often we'd meet at my apartment to work on our Beth Moore Bible study--she'd do the first half and give me the answers, and I'd do the second half and give her mine. Then on Thursday nights we'd gather with some other friends from college whose husbands were also in seminary and have "Bible study," which generally involved a little studying and a lot of laughing. Those Tuesday and Thursday nights saved me--I was working as a legal assistant, not having a clue about anything legal, and I was struggling with the reality of adult life. I think one of the reasons my husband is so fond of Carrie is because otherwise I would've had him alone to talk to, and no husband wants that! He needed me to have a best friend:)

Then I got my teaching certificate, and Carrie got me my first teaching job at her school. Talk about heaven on earth! I got paid to teach creative writing to middle schoolers (Well, the middle schoolers made it a little less heavenly.) in a classroom close to my best friend. Our husbands had become good friends by then, and we spent many weekends hanging out together. I remember one weekend when we decided to fly to Paris. Then we thought London might be cheaper. Somehow we pared that down to Florida, and we ended up playing cards at our apartment. We still talk about our "trip" to Paris. Now that we have five children between us, we realize we should've sprung for the trip:)

I haven't seen Carrie in almost three years. We talk on the phone weekly, but there's something about being able to hang out on the barstools at the kitchen counter and drink hot chocolate together, or eat dinner around a table, or just slouch around on the couches and laugh. So last week we did just that. Chris and I threw our kids in the car Wednesday night, drove through the night, and arrived on their doorstep at 6 a.m. You know we're good friends when Carrie and her husband were gracious about the fact that we were three hours early!

We spent the weekend doing pretty much nothing but watching our four boys play, holding Addison, drinking lots of hot chocolate and coffee, and eating s'mores brownies. We went to our college homecoming basketball game, then realized five kids at a game was more work than fun, and surrendered to come home to eat pizza and watch TV together.

As a really special bonus, I got to see Erin, and even though the last time we were together was seven years ago at her wedding, it was like we'd just seen each other. She added her two boys to the mix, and we got more talking done in five hours than we had in seven years! Seeing her was like Christmas morning.

We also squeezed in an afternoon and evening with Chris' parents and his sister-in-law and her two children. My mother-in-law cooked for us twice, which is a gift untold (She's an amazing cook!), and our kids ran around and got hugged and fed and loved. There's something so warm about coming home to Tennessee; although I didn't grow up there, I still count it as my home away from home. The fall leaves this year were brilliant, the weather was crisp, and seeing the cotton being picked as we drove did something good for my heart.

It's a pain getting ready for a trip; all the packing and planning and driving in a minivan full of kids sometimes makes me question my sanity at the idea. But the minute I see my loved ones who live far away, I remember that these are the things that last. These memories are added to my mental scrapbook that I hold tight and cherish. Friends like these are gifts, and this November as I think back on the many blessings God has given me this year, I count them among the greatest.

Erin has posted a few pictures of our trip. I would post pictures of me and precious Carrie, who is beautiful, but she has refused permission. She, obviously, is not a blogger! ;)

We're Still Here . . .

I just wanted to let everyone know (if anybody is interested!) that we are all alive and well in the In the Midst of It household. We went on a trip to Tennessee to visit some very dear friends and family last Wednesday and returned home late Sunday night. Since then, I've been unpacking, cleaning, organizing, cooking (!), and enjoying every minute of NOT having our house on the market! I haven't read any blogs except my dear friend Erin's post about our visit and my mom's post showing her new haircut (love it!). (Wait, that's a lie; I check in with the sweet girls Ashley & Ivey, who are both in much need of faithful prayer, and also baby Eliot's parents who are now posting about life without their son) . But my laptop for the most part has been turned off, and it has been a nice break!

I have plenty to write about but not enough time to do it justice, so I'll be back when laundry is finished and I'm caught up--wait, that'll never happen. I'll be back soon. I'm looking forward to seeing what's been going on in YOUR lives! :)

So thank you, Calissa, for checking on us!