Birthday Boy

Five years ago this weekend, Pat and I became new parents for the first time. Parker was delivered precisely on his due date, December 12, 2003, in Humble, Texas.

I had my doubts, though.

My last pre-natal check-up was the day before, on a Thursday. I saw a doctor in the practice--not my own--who measured, weighed, and, well, you know, checked things out. I wasn't dialated a fraction of a centimeter. So I asked him, ever so politely, if he might consider inducing my labor, since, well, you know, it was close to Christmas time, his vacation, my vacation, Pat's vacation, and my resemblence to a whale.

He said he'd see me in a week. Not exactly what I wanted to hear.

I can so vividly remember my frustration. Frustration which has been equalled 843 million time since that day.

Pat drove me over to Courtney's house so I could properly vent my rage (high horomone levels do not compliment my temperment). She wasn't home, so we drove the long and lonely drive home, in which I told Pat to floor it on every bump and pothole in the road so we could shake this baby out.

It worked splendidly. I woke up the next morning around 5 am with what I thought was an upset stomach from Ci-Ci's the night before. I realized it was more than indigestion when the cramps made me drop and double over on the bedroom floor.

Parker was born that night.

So yesterday, Parker turned five years old and it's hard to believe that just five years ago, my life was changed forever. Never before had I felt with such sureness the love that God has for us because he gave His precious Son for us. Never before had I understood the sacrifice and the gift that God gave us. A precious baby saved us.

Needless to say, Parker changed my life. He's wild and crazy and obnoxious and doesn't think with his brain sometimes. But he loves people with all that he is worth.

And last night at bedtime prayers with Parker, I told God how thankful I was that our family has been blessed by Parker.

When we finished, Parker said, "How's come you talked about me so much in our prayer?"

Because I'm glad it's your birthday, little man.

The Thanksgiving Thing

We spent this afternoon putting out Christmas decorations. Pat crawled on the roof and I got out the tree, the nativity scenes, lights, garland, and ornaments. There's still more to do, and it's not Thanksgiving yet, but since we are traveling to Nebraska for Thanksgiving, I thought it might be nice to come home to the holiday spirit.

Holiday spirit, Parker says, is when you don't walk around saying, "Bah, humbug."

I love love Christmas. Well, as much as you can love a holiday. But it's better than Cheesecake Factory cheesecake, which is saying an awful lot.

But I've never really gotten into Thanksgiving. You eat turkey. There's a football game or six rumbling on the TV. You never really know what to wear because the weather, down here? it could be 70 degrees, or it could snow, like it did last year.

And you give thanks for all the great things that God has provided you. And to me, that's a no-brainer. Do we need a special day to do that?

However, this morning, our pastor asked us to praise God for the hard stuff that has come into our life.

Yeah, that makes for a fun conversation.

The thing is, I have had some conversations with God this year--about the bad stuff--but it wasn't necessarily to thank Him.

I don't think, "Thanks a lot, God" would count as truly thankful.

But what if I changed my sarcastic, entitled, bratty attitude?

So I'm thanking God this year, even for the bad stuff. I'm thanking God for my heartache and pain, because this year, people near and dear went to see Him...to spend eternity with Him.

What's not great about that? What's not to be grateful about?

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

The Teaching Thing Part Two

Every Sunday I ask the kids what they learned in Sunday School that morning. Partly for their own retention. Partly for comic relief.

Last Sunday Parker said he didn't learn anything. They just had to guess stuff.

"Oh really?" I said.

"Yeah. Like I guessed that God made a dolphin and so I got a treat."

You can always tell a teacher is really good when the kids don't even realize that they are learning.

So then Parker turns to Peyton and asks her if she remembers when God made the water split apart. Here's Parker's version of Exodus...

Yes. God split the water so that Moses' people could walk across it. Yes. And then he turned the stick into a snake, and God sent the bugs...

"Why did God send bugs?" I asked.

Because. The king was being very mean. He was being selfish. He was making the people work work work. So God sent the bugs.

Do you think that God would send bugs to my school? Because I am getting tired of all this work work work, too.

"Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say." --Exodus 4:12

The Teacher Thing

I knew this day was coming.

Since Pat and I are both teachers and coaches, and since the kids have pretty much been raised in the bleachers and hallways of the school, I shouldn't be suprised that Peyton has started to pretend teach.

She trolls around on her fire truck, picks up every toy, piece of paper, blanket, pillow, peice of trash on the floor, and says:

"What color is this?"

Since we are a house of near genius, we almost always get the answer right. It is rewarded with:

"[Color]. Goooood," in a high, shrilly voice.

Sunday night I noticed her pick up a small but thick book, perch behind her miniature table, and say:

"Now. This is Bible Study. Who made an apple? [no answer, as we had all begun to tune her out after a day of color quizzing] God. Gooood."

Lord help her students.

"A student is not better than the teacher, but the student who has been fully trained will be like the teacher." --Luke 6:40

The Daycation Thing

There are vacations, staycations, and daycations. That's what you call a one day trip to San Antonio to see your sister Denise.

We were actually there a weekend, but Weekendcation just didn't have the same ring to it.

Don't think that I have even started to think that it is okay for Denise to be over four hours away from us, but we had a GREAT time in San Antonio. You all should try it--it really is a nice city even if those people down there did steal my sister from us here in Arlington.

We weren't able to leave until later Saturday afternoon when our freshmen volleyball tournament was over. But the whole trip began much sooner. We started packing our bags on Friday night. Parker and Peyton love to go on trips, and they really get into packing. I let them help out, and it soon became apparant that all they planned to do in San Antonio was play with magnetics and barbies, and read books. In their swimming suits.

We got to Denise's apartment about 8 pm, and by that time my voice was completely gone. I couldn't squeek out a single word--which the kids thought was great, by the way--so I, for once, let Denise talk.

The next morning we woke up and Denise and I went for a run while Pat took the kids to the park. She has the most awesome park with running/biking/hiking trails. We had to run single file, as the trails were narrow and winding, and since I could barely talk by Sunday morning, it's not like we were missing out on any conversation. Denise led because she knew where she was going, and a couple of ladies warned us about a rattlesnake that they saw on the back trails. Since I was born first, I thought I'd let her see the rattler first. Plus, how was I supposed to look out for a 20 foot long snake when I was navigating the terrain scatterred with tree roots, rocks, and 10 foot drop-offs?

I really did about bite it one time, and some parts of the trail were so steep and rocky we had to walk up and down the embankments.

We went to the riverwalk and had Mexican for lunch, fed any creature that would come near us, and played in the fountains.

After lunch we all went to the children's museum. The kids built stuff did scientific/learn-y things, but the best part was Pat in a wig. There was a play bank, a pretend H-E-B grocery store, a cow that they milked and produced water (gasp!), an airplane, a pretend dentist office, an old-fashioned mercantile...we all had a good time. Even Pippy over there.

We went back to Denise's and I decided I'd better get some drugs because my sinuses were making my teeth hurt. So Denise and I went to Walgreens for some cold medicine and the nail salon for pedicures. Just for good measure. A little extra pampering never hurt anybody.

The kids had to swim, and even though it's still in the upper 80's in San Antonio in the middle of October, that water was cold. Parker swam until his lips were blue--a whole 15 minutes. Peyton, Denise and I wisely chose to watch from the sidelines.

Sunday night Denise took us to a wing place down the street that I think was called Cheers because they knew her by name. They also knew a guy named Hank, who we never saw but for a few hours Saturday night because apparently down here in Texas high school football is more important than seeing your significant other's family.

By Sunday night we were all spent. We woke up when Denise went to inservice Monday morning and went to Chic-Fil-A for breakfast. Parker said, "Where are all the kids?" Well, their mommies and daddies don't get them up at the crack of dawn for playtime. We stopped at the drive-thru zoo on our way out of town and saw some freaky ostriches (and cool zebras, giraffe, buffalo, gazelles), got some GOOD Rudy's BBQ in Waco, and were home by 4 pm. A great day(ortwo)cation.

As gross as my sinuses were by the end of the weekend, it was so good to see Denise, her place, her town, and hey, even Hank for a little while. For the record, however, I'd like it to be known that should she choose to move back closer, I wouldn't have to dream of stupid names for our weekend trips to see her.

Denise, you did good, girl. Winks :)

The Staycation Thing

One of the things that I really love about living around here is that there is always something to do if you want to do it. Not that there isn't a plenty to do right here within these four walls...but sometimes a girl's gotta get out, you know?

You just don't have those kind of options in Nebraska. You have football or volleyball games, or you gotta get out the hayrack for fall entertainment up there. Not that I'm knocking the bonfire/hayrack ride. Good times. But most of the times that I was near a hayrack, I was more likely to be throwing bales from the field.

So this fall we have been to the Texas State Fair. This might be one of my favorite things about the fall. I love Big Tex. I love corny dogs. I love The Spririt of the Horse, and the Dog Shows are beginning to grow on me. We always go on the weekend, so often there are very few animal exhibits there, as most of the shows are during the week. But you can usually still smell their remnants, and to me, that's okay.

I miss the smells of the country. One morning this past summer I was out running and I smelled my Grandma. Really. I got a whiff of the dairy/dog/powdered milk/hay/chicken poop that was the aura and essence of my Grandma. I don't know where it came from, or how it got to southeast Arlington, but it was good.

As we were near the end of our stay this year, a wonderful and kind man gave Pat his extra tickets. There were way more than we could use; we let Parker and Peyton each choose a ride, as this year they were both big enough to ride. See?

They chose to ride the airplane. Parker loved it. Peyton did not.

The last thing on the agenda was to watch the "Spirit of the Horse" show. When we got to the arena, they were about to start the Pee-Wee Stampede. If you have never had the pleasure, folks, you are missing some genuine entertainment. Peyton was all about hopping in that arena and throwing on a cowboy hat. Parker, on the other hand, only agreed after some gentle persuading.

Like, "You're not doing this? Are you sure? Peyton is doing this? You're really not going to do this and your little sister is doing this?" I know, not a great moment in parenting, but it got him out there.

And then Peyton chickened out.

Parker was a bull rider and he scored an 85 (who are these judges?!?) and won a lovely yellow participation ribbon.

The Cleaning Thing

I have walked in through our front door for weeks now, totally disgusted with our front yard. The too-tall grass. The dying plants. The overgrown shrubs. Ick.

Yet I was waaay too lazy to do a darn thing about it. Until today.

I spent most of the afternoon trimming and cutting and digging and raking and bagging the old, dirty, unwanted dead plants. And as I was finishing up, I thought to myself...hmmm, this killin' things and shoving it in bags is some good stuff.

Before you label me a sociopath, let me defend myself; I've had somewhat of a tumultuous ride these past few months. After Dad died in July, and then a couple of weeks ago I had the dusting and cleaning, I've been feeling a little sorry for myself. And I really wish that I could cut and bag the crap that has been hanging over me.

Because here's what I thought I learned through Dad's death:
1. God has a plan, and it's way more perfect than mine, it's way more complete than mine, and He doesn't need to consult me...He's got it figured out already.
2. God doesn't make mistakes. We do. A lot. But He doesn't.

But apparently I'm remedial and He needed to re-teach. It's like that big long formula you learn in trig or calculus or physics or chemistry--you know, those smart classes--and you know you know the formula because you've seen it and you've worked with it before, but when it comes time for the test, you can't figure out how to make it fit your problem. And then you get all anxious and nervous and stressed because you know you are going to FAIL FAIL FAIL.

That's pretty much been me the last couple of weeks. Trying to figure out how to make it fit. And worried that failure is for sure around the corner.

But I know that the formula still exists; I know that God's plan is still the same and that He'll get us there. And that we can get there from here. He knows just where I am in that plan, and I don't have to know or understand.

The front yard looks much better. I rearranged some of the plants, dug up some cannas that just didn't look right and put the bulbs in a box in the shed so I can re-plant them in the back next spring. Getting them out of the way made room for the smaller plants in the bed. There is still life there, and it looks good.

My own dusting and cleaning made room for me to see this:
1. That I have been so blessed with an awesome husband and two precious children. Do you know how much I have told them that I love them in the past two weeks? A lot.
2. That I have such incredible and supportive friends. Friends who will listen, and friends who will put things into proper perspective for me.

There is life here, and it is good.

The Amazing Potion Thing

For most of his almost five years of life, Parker has wanted to be a football player when he grows up. One day this summer, for reasons beyond my comprehension, Parker announced that his days of dreaming of football were over. Just like that. Before he donned a single set of pads or a helmet, before he was flattened and left for dead in the dust, Parker's relationship with football as we knew it would be over. Just like that.

Instead, he told me from his car seat in the back of my car, he would be an inventor kid.

I promise we have NEVER watched Harry Potter. Not once.

I really really dislike science, especially chemistry, so where he found this notion I will never know. But he is running with it.

One night about a month ago, he took a small cup, filled it with water in the bathroom, and placed it gently on the window sill in our front entry-way.

When asked what in the world he was doing, Parker matter-of-factly replied that he was making "depotion"; in other, normal, words, I think he meant, "the potion." He told me that the water would turn into magic potion "from the moonlight."


One Friday night--it was the night that we were expecting to be blown away from Hurricane Ike--Parker put his glass of water on the window sill. When he woke on Saturday morning, the water had turned green!

Pat said that when he discovered his water had turned into green magic potion, he threw his hands in the air, jumped up and down, and screamed, "I did it! I'm an inventor-kid!"

This is Parker explaining what made the experiment work:

1. mix together hot water and cold water.

2. put the water in the window on a Friday night.

3. make sure there is a storm comin' outside.

If I liked science in the least, I would be so proud.

The Haircut Thing

It's what happens when your kids go unsupervised for who knows how long...

I was out of town from Wednesday to late Saturday night. One of the things I love about Patrick is he really is a good dad, and when I'm out of town I feel secure in our childrens' well-being. Now, they do go out to eat 3/4 of the time, but I guess in the whole scheme of things, what do a few extra meals of chicken strips and french fries matter? And I don't really think that they have a standard bedtime, but what I don't know about that probably keeps our marriage in tact.

But let's get to the point here, okay?

It's late when I get home Saturday night, the kids are asleep, so all I do is sneak into their bedrooms and kiss them goodnight. Pat and I talk for about 30 minutes, and not once did he mention hair, scissors, or the combination of the two.

So before I go out to run Sunday morning, I peek in on my precious little darlings. Parker is kind of awake, so I kneel by his bed while we talk about how terribly and tragically we missed each--there's something wrong with his hair!! I see what looks at first like a shadow on his head! After closer inspection, it was no trick of lighting. It was a streak of hair stubble.

You know I began to fume. How did he do this where did he do this why did he do this and why in the heck did his father not STOP HIM FROM DOING THIS!?!

So I'm back in our bedroom in less than 3 seconds where I unkindly rattle Pat from his sweet slumber. And his response will I know not suprise many of you in the least.

HE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW PARKER HAD GIVEN HIMSELF THIS REVERSE-MOHAWK!

How do you not know that your kid has a pair of scissors in his sister's closet and has taken several lengthy swipes off of his crown? How do you give your kid a bath that evening, wash his newly fashioned hair, and not even notice?

I wanted to scream, Is this what happens when there is no supervision?!?

Yes, yes it is. And just as I was about to denounce my husband as an incompetent father, I remembered that just a couple of weeks ago, Parker had free reign in the kitchen long enough to dump together a hideous concoction of crackers and lemonade. So I just shut my mouth and I thanked God that Parker didn't decide to make fried eggs that night.

Our kids are doomed.

Anyway, here was the damage:

So this afternoon, we went to the local Super Cuts to get a heavy-duty buzz cut. Pat says we're sending him to the Marines the day after tomorrow. Don't you love how our little soldier looks now?

Fortunately for Peyton, she was able to capitalize on her Daddy's weak moment, and she got her long-awaited haircut herself. She loves it. I love it.

All's well that ends well.

The Cooking Thing

About a year ago, I found the GREATEST toys at a garage sale.

Fake food. There was pizza, ice cream, hamburgers, french fries, fake fruits, vegetables, and condiments.

I'm sure I got them all for a steal, but I really didn't care. I was so excited for the kids to get their imaginations revved up!

Now Denise and Pat gave me a lot of grief. They thought the toys were ridiculous. I thought they were inspiring. In fact, they were so inspiring that apparently, Parker felt that he has graduated from the fake food.
Here's what he mixed up for me with a couple of weeks ago, with the real stuff:

The kids and I had gotten home kind of late that evening. We had been to the gym and then stopped by Chic-Fil-A to grab some supper for the kids. I had sat them down at the kitchen table to eat the rest of their nuggets and fries--the rest they had devoured on the way home. I thought with them eating it might be safe to jump in the shower quick.

Boy, was I wrong. When I came out of the bathroom, I was greeted by Parker and he was proud to present me with my supper that he had created by his own self.

"Look what I made for you, Mom! Are you hungry?"

One glance at the concoction and I completely lost my appetite, but since I'm such a great mom--you know, the kind that leaves her 3 and 4 year olds unattended--I kept a warm smile on my face.

"Why don't you take a bite?" I asked him.

"No. It's all for you," he beamed. Lovely.

Here's what I think he included in his recipe: half a sleeve of saltines, cheezits, I think marshmellows, Dora Fruit Snacks, and the rest of my large lemonade. The lemonade was a nice touch, I must say. It added an ever-so-subtle tang, not to mention improving the dry texture to one of moist slime.

I know, because he watched me until I took a bite.

The Country Thing

We spent a good portion of the summer in a small, quaint village.

It was in a southeastern valley region.

Of Nebraska.

Now my kids have been city dwellers for their entire lives. Patrick, too, has never lived outside of the city limits.

I, however, lived the first 13 years of my life on a farm, and the next 5 in a town with the population of 70. 70 people. The sign did say "63," but when my family moved in, we raised the number to 70.

That's a 10% increase.

That's also really sad.

I learned to drive a tractor before I learned to drive a car (when I was about 8 years old). I learned how to dress a chicken (which means you chop off its head with an ax, dunk it in scorching hot water, and pull the feathers by the handful, for those of you who thought we put them in their Sunday best). I learned to sew pillows, simple tops, simple skirts, curtains, and prom dresses, and in that order. I learned to ride a horse and clip a mane and hooves. I learned the difference between milo and shattercane and walked local fields every morning for 3 weeks every August.

Yeah, fun stuff.

But still, I'd like for my kids to have some inkling--and maybe someday appreciation--for small-town country life. I'd like them to learn a few things when we go back to my hometown. I'm not talking Laura Ingalls Wilder here. I'm not going to ship them off to some Amish camp to learn how to live off of the land. If they'd just understand that milk comes from a cow and not the dairy isle at the local Kroger, I'll be happy.

So here's the progress we made this summer.

First, Parker is fascinated with the irrigation pivot systems. He wants to know what they do, how they move, why they move, where the water comes from...why aren't there any plants yet to water? He's also interested in the grain elevators. He gets that a farmer will harvest the corn from the field using a combine, and then they take it to the elevators. Then it goes to the store and we buy bread!

An amazing and miraculous transformation, for sure. But it's a start.

Peyton is enthralled with horses. She has learned to stop, to go, to turn. But really, she's much more interested in their bodily functions. Why do they lift their tails when they poop? Why do they spread their legs when they potty?

Which shouldn't make this news too suprising: She learned to squat.

Last night the kids were in the backyard having a white trash pool party--playing in the sprinklers. Pat yells at me to come outside so that I can witness our daughter with her bikini bottoms around her ankles and her hinny just inches above the grass. "I goin' potty!" she exclaims.

A lovely sight, I'm sure you can imagine. One of my proudest mom moments.

Parker has taken advantage a grassy nook a time or two, but for some reason it's much more troubling when your darling little daughter bares her butt in front of God and everybody. Why is that?

But a better question is, which one of my brilliant and classy sisters taught her this new trick?

The Anatomy Thing

Girls seem to inquire much sooner than boys. I don't remember the Boy even understaning he had anything down there until he realized it could shoot pee off the deck and on the fence. Fancy tricks, for sure. But the Girl not only notices the down parts, but the up parts, too. I was changing clothes a couple of months ago and she walked into my closet and asked why girls have pimples. Now, even though I'm 33, I'm still (ashamedly so) not rid completely of acne, but really, do I need my then 2-year old to point that out? When she lifted up her shirt to show me her "pimples" was when I finally comprehended her question in its entirety. (She told me that she has little pimples and Mommies have big pimples. Some do, but not this Mommy. Thanks anyway.)
I, for some stupid reason, feel it is my motherly duty to explain all things strange and confusing, and also embarrassing, to my kids. So to answer her question, I said that Mommies have to feed their babies. The look of repulsion on her face was immediate. "I not eat pimples," she said. Why do I even try?
Yesterday she told me that when she grows up she's going to grow a dinker and be a Dad. I kept my stupid mouth shut on that one. Hey, at least I'm learning.

The Latest Thing

We have been back in Texas since Sunday night. Our whole family (and in whole family, I mean the ENTIRE Nebraska family) was home in Nebraska, as Dad was in the hospital so that they could repair a hole in his esophogus that the tumor had caused. His surgery went better than expected, and by Friday, he was back home in Lewiston. He's not able to do a whole lot, as he gets winded really quickly, but a few more days, weeks, months--that's a few more days, weeks, months.
I remember when we first found out about Dad's lung cancer two years ago and Karin prayed with me on the steps of the church. And she told me that God had his hands in this, and that I should be watching for them. Well, God's here, for sure. As many times as we've heard the bad, sad news that the C-word brings on, God had gotten us here, two years later, and Dad is still living and breathing our earthly air. What I've come to realize is that it's not our plan. He didn't ask us what we wanted or how we'd like for this whole thing to play out. He's just asked us play our part.
Now, for someone who loves to plan and be in control, this isn't an easy lesson to learn. But isn't it kind of nice to think that we just get to tag along for the ride? And that God's got it all figured out already, for us.
"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perserverence" --Romans 5:3