Winter Skies

The sky was alive last night as I left Wal-Mart pushing my cart to the car. From something as mundane as grocery shopping, I looked up and saw something ethereal and lovely. The last evening light played hide and seek in the clouds while patches of blue sky peered shyly at the Earth below. The symphony they created together was breath-taking.

I was reminded that even here, in the perpetual gray of the PNW, winter is not without beauty.

May the Fourth Be With You Always

Happy May the Fourth, friends!

In true celebratory fashion, hubby and I watched Star Wars IV this afternoon. I ranted and raved when Han shot first (I grew up on the originals, these "new" ones just aren't the same). I chided Luke for flirting with his sister and Leah for kissing her brother ("Would you quit that already?!") I cheered when the Death Star blew up. My feet danced to the triumphant music that plays when Han and Luke get their medals. It was a good day. It is a great story.

And I may or may not have popped onto Etsy when it was all over to purchase green light saber earrings. I'll never tell (though you may catch me wearing them in 5-7 business days).

Been thinking a lot about stories lately. Hubs and I started officially writing a novel together a few months ago and dinner time conversations often revolve around the hypothetical political climate of a hypothetical country and whether the main character knows how to use a broad sword. We are story-tellers, the two of us. We love telling them, reading them, watching them. And at the end of a long day, when the world has beat upon us and offered nothing but toil and pain and stress, nothing breathes life back into us like stories.

Story-telling came up at church today. Our small group just started a study on making God real to your children. This morning, we talked about moments in our personal walks when we knew that God loved us. Dialogue flew back and forth between us as we shared our experiences. Somewhere in the discussion, someone brought up sharing them with our children. Our personal experience of God can help shape their perceptions and their young faith, too. Let them know they are not alone. Let them know that God is real. But we have to tell them. Stories aren't stories until they're shared.

As small group so often does, it sparked a lengthly conversation between Jay and I on the way home. We believe in the "deep magic" of the universe, as C. S. Lewis puts it: that truth, real Truth, will always be revealed, no matter one's race, religion, or occupation. God is so fundamental to our existence, that pieces of Him bleed through all aspects of creation. Including art. Jay talked about a moment of pure Truth he discovered in an episode of House, concerning faith and belief. I recently read through the Divergent books, where the author (quite accurately) portrays forgiveness as a messy, painful business.

Stories aren't just for entertaining. They teach us about ourselves. They give us hope. They grant us courage. G. K. Chesterton said it best. "Fairy tales are more than true," he says. "Not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."

That's why fairy tales, Luke Skywalker, and Frodo are so important. They teach us that the world isn't a safe, fair, happy place. But they also teach us that beauty and good exist, that trying is better than doing nothing, and that evil can be defeated.

We need these affirmations. We need these reminders. Because in this world, where we live and do battle every day, it's easy to become jaded.

"Gallifrey burns no more, Doctor." -- Dr. Who

"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." -- Galadriel

"Our truest response to the irrationality of the world is to paint or sing or write, for only in such response do we find truth." -- Madeleine L'Engle

Happy Star Wars Day!!!

A Boy And His Dollars

He's fascinated by money, this seven year old boy of mine. In school, he is learning about dimes and pennies and half dollars. He's started his own collection of coins, too. He asks at least once a day for quarters and nickels out of my purse. I bought a money chart off of Amazon that shows how many of each different coin makes a dollar, how many cents each coin is worth, etc. He's practically memorized it and asks questions constantly.

I love this un-schooling that happens at home. How he learns without text books, without work sheets, just by being curious and interested in the world around him.

About a month ago, we introduced our young man to The Allowance. Along with The Allowance, we introduced The Chore Chart. You can't have one without the other, right? Mommy's pretty tired of picking up Legos . . .

So now, every Saturday morning, he stumbles down the stairs. Sleepy-eyed, dragging a blanket behind him. He bursts into my bedroom and whether I'm awake or not, he announces:

"Mommy! It's payday!"

And I think to myself, groggily on these Saturday mornings when I wish my bedroom door had a padlock, that picking up Legos wasn't so bad. . .

But what, you may ask, has our seven year old been spending his hard-earned dollars on?

Not a thing.

He's saving his money. What for?

A trip to London.

Seriously.

How does this kid even know about London?

(Oh yeah, his mom and dad watch Sherlock. And Dr. Who. And BBC period pieces. And . . . )

Yesterday, after school, we took a little field trip to the bank. There's one other thing Caleb has been saving his dollars for.

"Um, can I have a twenty dollar bill please?" he asked the bank teller. He handed her an envelope full of ones and fives. He's been waiting for this moment all month. The nice lady helped him count his money and then handed him the bill.

"Wow," he whispered. He's never seen one before. "Look Mommy! A twenty dollar bill!"

I'm surprised and amazed to see how excited he gets by what I consider small things. But then, $20 is a lot of money when you're seven. And he obviously felt on top of the world with that bill in his hand.

He's not so little anymore, this growing boy of mine. As his world changes, so does mine. I love it, every minute. But at the same time, I'm sad to see the innocence, the ignorance, leaving him. He's changing. And we're changing along with him.

On Being Brave

I sit quietly in my chair, tears rolling down my cheeks. I can hardly believe what I'm reading. Jason, deep in his own book across the room doesn't notice and that's fine with me. I don't really want to share this moment with anyone. Not yet. I sniff and look at the clock. I'm supposed to leave for a coffee date with a friend in a few minutes. I need to pull myself together.

After all, it's only a story, right?

I can't do it. I can't shake the sadness. Oh, I cheer up at coffee. My friend provides the perfect distraction. But even sipping my tea, I can still feel the weight of something-not-right. Heroines are not supposed to die. After giving so much, after surviving so much, they are supposed to live. To restore and heal and live.

So much of this story deals with healing and forgiveness. Potent messages that are not preached or pounded, but simply discovered. The characters are as surprised as we are to find that past wrongs, even grievous ones, can be overcome.

Why then, did the author choose to let the heroine die? I don't know. Her choice is unsettling, unhappy, but I respect it. And I respect how she handled the last chapters of the book afterward. Nothing rose-colored or happily-ever-after here. But there is courage. There is hope.

"There are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you ever loved, for the sake of something greater.

But sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain, and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life.

That is the sort of bravery I must have now." 

-- Four (from Allegiant by Veronica Roth) 

In Which I Try to Talk Sense to my Heart

We probably looked a little strange, the three of us huddled around one video game. Jason and Caleb manned the guns on the deck of our virtual pirate ship, while I stood at the helm with ship's wheel in my hand.
"Here comes the kraken! Get it, Caleb!"
"We gotta avoid the shipwrecks, spin the wheel!"

I know people were looking at us. I saw one young man smiling our way. He came over later during a lull in our pirate adventures and handed us a wad of tickets he had just won at ski ball. A random act of kindness that did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

Our hands got tired of pulling triggers after a while. We tried to interest Caleb in other games. Maybe the race cars or the whack-a-duck? Nope. He would not leave the pirate ship until we had beat every map, completed every quest. So we did. The three of us working together.

I've never beat a video game before. Feels pretty good. :)

I want to hold on to days like today. We've had a lot of good ones recently. And while I am grateful for each and every one, I find myself grabbing and clutching at them like a miser. Life is good right now. My hands and my time are full. I don't want anything to change.

My brain understands that's not a realistic expectation. Change is one of the few constants in the universe. Life sends challenges, God allows circumstances to mold and shape us. But my heart does not understand. It continues in a ridiculous hope that life can remain constant, always joyful, always ordered, always controlled. And even as I enjoy these lovely, full, busy days, my heart is afraid. Afraid I'll wake up tomorrow and these days will be over. Something will happen to throw my life into chaos again and I will be plunged into exhaustion and uncertainty and disarray.

So I grab and I clutch and I horde. And I wonder if I'll ever be courageous enough to open my hands and allow God to give or take away.

When did I become so invested in the status quo? Where did the adventurous girl who existed a year ago disappear to?

I have no idea. Questions for another day, I think.

Has it really been nine months since my last post? My jaw about dropped open when I realized that the last time I blogged, I had three kids in my house. Seems like ages ago. The Inkwell is still here, though. Like an old, faithful friend. It feels good to see it again, to feel the keys under my finger tips. It's been a long hiatus.

I guess we'll see where this keyboard takes me. :)

Then Three Became Five

Finally. A quiet moment. A rare thing these days.

Three kids in the house. One calls me Mommy. The other two call me Miss Cole. Our life has gone from a walk to a gallop literally overnight.

Let me tell you a little about our new additions. We weren't expecting to take in two kids, but you know how God has other plans sometimes... this brother and sister are very close and we didn't feel right splitting them up. So we now have a 7 year old girl and a 3 year old boy staying with us, at least through the next month.

B, the girl, is the little artist. My fridge is covered with her drawings. We made her an art wall in her room last week, so she could have a larger space to display her stuff. She is strong-willed and stubborn as the day is long, but underneath that is a very sweet spirit that looks out for others and wants to take care of everyone. She loves animals (including bugs). She caught a snake in our backyard yesterday and then found herself a pet worm. She begged and begged me to let her keep it in the house, but there are some lines I won't cross. No bugs (or snakes) in the house!

J, the boy, is adorable. That is the word for him. Even his pout and "angry face" are cute. It's hard not to laugh when we put him on time-out. He tries so hard to keep up with the big kids, but his little legs make tag and water fights kinda hard. He loves anything Cars. He also loves airplanes. He gets so excited when the navy planes fly overhead. He jumps up and down and shakes his little fist at the sky, shouting "Good work, airplane!"

Caleb is handling siblings better than we thought he would. He gets overwhelmed at times, but we make sure he gets alone time every day so he can process. Since we've talked to him over the last year about the possibility of a little brother, he now calls B and J his little brother and sister. Oops. We tried telling him that these are friends, that they probably aren't staying forever, but the nicknames have stuck and B and J don't seem to mind. B corrects him, though, because she is actually older. But Caleb is taller. So I guess the literal meaning of "little" sister works!

At least once a day, Caleb asks me when the kids are going home. But ten minutes later, he's happily playing tag with them, and alls well. I suppose everyone feels that way about siblings sometimes? Wishing they would just go away? I'm out of my element here, being an only child. This whole multiple dynamic is new ground for me. But we are finding our way.

After a week, I think my ears are finally adjusting to the new volume level in the house. And my throat has stopped hurting from all the extra talking I do! Three littles asking questions, needing re-direction, needing discipline, needing reassurance.

I have come to deeply respect the sanctity of Bedtime.

I also do dishes and laundry twice as often as I used to.

Details about these kiddos are confidential, but I don't imagine they will stay with us permanently. Long term, maybe, but my hope is that they will be reunited with their family. I am seeing firsthand what it looks like when a family gets ripped apart. It hurts my heart. It hurts these precious children even more. My prayer is that God will do what is best for these kids. Whatever that may be.

My quiet moment is nearly over. I have an overtired three year old who won't nap and a Caleb who is antagonizing him. Oy. :)

I'll keep ya'll posted on our adventures! Keep us in your prayers!

When Zombies Come to Visit

You know it's a good day when Lego zombies arrive in the mail all the way from England. Thank you, Ebay! We spent a pretty penny on this couple to bring them across the pond.

The Lego set they belong to was recently retired. Much to our dismay. Caleb has been collecting these Monster Fighters sets since last year, but we hadn't added the zombie one to our library yet. Now it's gone. Unless you want to spend $200 for it on Ebay.

No thank you, Ebay.

While you can no longer buy it from Lego directly, the Lego website does still have instructions for building it. Which may be downloaded for free. Last week I took a closer look at said instructions. And realized we already owned most of the pieces to this set. Borrowing from other sets, we made our own Zombie Graveyard.

 

(With Caleb-embellishments, of course. Note the giant hammer to the right. And the catapult with missile attachements on the roof). We bought a few special pieces off Ebay that we couldn't fudge ourselves, like the zombie moonstone and the mini figures. But for the most part, we built it using what we already had. And I'm mighty proud of that.

This is my favorite part of the set. It's a coffin.

And inside? The Zombie Groom! Ready to rise and meet his Bride under the shadow of the graveyard crypt. They must defend their moonstone, after all. The Monster Fighters are after it.

See? This poor fellow wandered too close. Betcha he won't make that mistake again!

Tied Fabric Garlands

This was my rainy afternoon project:

 

Strips of cloth, twisted cord, and some handy knot-tying skills (ha, not really).

 

Oooo, the picture on Pinterest wasn't lying. This is looking pretty good!

 

Ta-dah! A tied fabric strip garland! Made four of these, start to finish, in about two hours. Gonna use them as decorations for a Jane Austen murder mystery party in July. Thank you, Pinterest!

 

Here's the actual pin, in case you want to see. There are some other great garland ideas on this site!

 

On the Brink of Something New

"We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly."

-- 1Corinthians 13, The Message

Words. Refreshing, revealing, relate-able words from Corinthians that echo through my own thoughts. Realizing, perhaps for the first time, how vast is this God whom I believe in. So unknowable, so mysterious. So utterly beyond the box I've constructed for him all my life. So much beyond, my mind cannot hold him. Even his Spirit, just his Spirit, is enough to overwhelm me some days.

I reach through the mist toward a dream. An old dream. I can't touch it yet, but I'm getting close. I can't see the details but it's taking shape. We're on the brink of something new. My fingers push impatiently at the next few days, eager to meet this new that is coming. But my feet are firmly planted in the present and I can move through time no faster than anyone else.

So I wait. As I have waited. As I was told to. Maybe, just maybe, the waiting is almost over.

I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Just Beachy

I was mighty grouchy this morning. So was a certain little boy.

So we took ourselves to the beach after lunch.

 

 

We found our happy.

 

Down the Rabbit Hole or Medication, pt. 2

Step into my house. Time is measured differently here.

He doesn't eat during the day. A banana here, a waffle there, perhaps a small bag of fruit snacks if I coax him. That's all.

Until magic hour.

Meds wear off just after dinner time. Then he's HUNGRY. Like a bear coming out of hibernation. All the meals he's missed, all the calories he hasn't had, he makes up for in one three-hour binge. Watermelon, chips, chicken nuggets, yogurt, popcorn, cantelope, toast, cereal, chocolate milk. He eats and eats and eats and I'm left wondering where he's putting it all. But we keep the courses coming until he has his fill. Only then do my mommy worries settle a bit as I mentally add up calories and realize with relief that he's not going to starve.

That's our life on medication. A daily routine of feast and famine.

He's lost a little weight since the meds. Nothing to worry about, the doctor assures me. All the same, the little boy who used to eat constantly night and day is no more and I'm still trying to adjust.

"Are the meds helping?" the doctor asked me yesterday at his check-up.
"Yes, they are . . . " I trailed off, watching my son bounce off the walls in the exam room. He always bounces off the walls in exam rooms. It's one of the constants in life.
"They haven't solved all our problems, " I explained. "But then, we weren't expecting them to."

True. The meds have helped. School work comes easier. Social situations are better navigated. Restaurants are no longer on my list of Places to Avoid. Even listening and following directions seems to happen more often.

But the medication has not fixed everything. Caleb is still a highly energetic boy with sensory needs. He still struggles to function in a classroom setting, even with me right by his side. I still refuse to enter the black hole that is Shopping with the Boy. And he doesn't sleep much.

In fact, some days I wonder if the meds are doing enough.

But I should note here, and thankfully so, what medication has not done. It has not changed my son. He is not a zombie, staring off into space, out of sync with the world while evil pharmeceuticals run unchecked through his veins. He is still Caleb, creator of monsters, builder of legos, player of computer games. He's still in love with the beach, all things related to Halloween, and is the most recent Dr. Who convert in the house. He still tells me stories. He is my little boy. Meds and all.

I Dreamed of Green

I always wanted to live some place green.

I remember the day I decided my favorite color was green, because there was so precious little of it in the desert. I stood on the roofless playhouse my dad had built, looking out over the endless miles of dirt and Joshua trees. I promised myself when I grew up, I would live some place green.

By the time I was twelve, I was convinced I had a black thumb.

My parents had given me have a little plot of dirt in a corner of the backyard for my very own. It was a sunny, happy little plot, under an apricot tree. And I was determined to have an herb garden. I marked it off with a little wire picket fence. I painstakingly drew grids on graph paper and planned where every plant would go, taking into account amount of sunshine and water each needed, how big each plant would get, etc. I even put a patio chair in the corner, so I would have a place to sit and enjoy my garden. And over the next few years, I attempted to grow every herb you could think of.

First I tried growing them from seed (yeah, that didn't work).

So then I tried buying the actual plants: dill, basil, oregano, mint, thyme, sage. Everything herb-like that Wal-Mart stocked in their garden department.

I dumped months of allowance and babysitting money into my little plot. I planned, I planted, I watered.

And they died. One by one. The dill couldn't take the heat. Neither could the basil. I over-watered the aloe vera, rotting the roots. The sage shriveled up under the intense sunlight.

The one and only plant that survived my years of black thumb-dom was a lavender bush I planted under the apricot tree. Maybe the shade made the difference. Or maybe the water didn't leech away so readily. Whatever the reason, that one lavender bush took hold of the desert soil with abandon and within a few years, grew to a monstrous size.

Oh, how I loved that bush! Every spring I could look forward to a profusion of little purple flowers and a scent that captured my heart like no other. More than that, it proved I could grow things. My thumb wasn't black; the gritty desert soil simply conspired against me. The lavender gave me hope and when I moved away for college, I was sorry to leave it behind. Actually considered several (ill-advised) plans for taking it with me.

Now I walk the green grass in my front yard, delighting in all the little growing things that call it home. A newly planted daisy bush. Phlox that is coming back to life for its third year. Tiny nastursium leaves popping up out of the soil in yellow pots. Sweet pea seeds, planted but not yet sprouted. Lavender growing both in pots and in the ground. My yard will be a riot of color and beauty this summer. I have finally found a place where I can grow things.

I finally live some place green.

Welcome Sunshine

It's don't-leave-chocolate-in-your-car kind of weather.

It's a beach-towel-hanging-over-the-deck-railing-to-dry kind of day.

It's a sand-between-your-toes afternoon.

This is August in May.

Summer weather already? Yes please, and thank you!

Beachy days make me so happy.

Laughing, shrieking children. Jeans rolled up. Sports-brella providing shade.

Friendly conversations under an unbelievable blue sky.

I'd forgotten the world could be this beautiful. Five months of misty gray will do that to your memory.

I can feel myself waking up. The world is waking up with me.

It's going to be a beautiful summer. Made all the more special because it's come early.

It's the sand-collecting-in-my-trunk season. And I aim to enjoy every single minute.

Pillow Talk

He comes into my room this morning, jumps up on to the bed. Without preamble, he says:

 

“Mommy, why you not making waffles?”

Well, good morning to you too little boy. Only it probably came out my mouth like "Nuuuh, ughh."

Then the questions start.

“Uh, Mommy? What’s a mirage?”

“How you make a heart with your fingers?”

“What are rumors?”

“Does Daddy sleep on this side of the bed?”

And then finally, “Mommy? What about Santa Claus?”

“What about Santa Claus, Caleb?” At this point, coffee is sounding pretty good.

“Is he real?”

“No, he isn’t real.”

“He’s not real???” (We had this conversation multiple times last Christmas. This revelation really shouldn’t come as a shock).

“Well, he was a real person who lived a long time ago. But he’s dead now.”

“He’s extinct like the dinosaurs?”

At which point, the laughter overtakes me and I am unable to answer any more questions.

Hard to believe three years ago, we wondered if Caleb would ever be verbal. He’s come so far. I watch old home videos of him, when all he could say was “more” and “thank-welcome.” He’s adorable and blonde and oh-so-little. I remember my worries, the burden of uncertainty I carried around about his future.

Now I quote Shrek to people who comment on how chatty Caleb is.

“Yeah, it’s getting him to shut up that’s the trick!”

(No, I don’t say shut-up to my son. Sheesh people, keep your shirts on!)

He’s growing up, this little boy of mine. At an inch past four feet tall, he’s not exactly little anymore. My mom says he looks like a seven or eight year old, and I have to agree. The new hair cut might have something to do with it. We finally gave up the page boy/bowl look and let the stylist buzz it. Now he’s just a boy. No more “little.”

And I’ll admit that makes me just a teensy bit sad.

 

 

While we're on the topic of things hard to believe, we're still homeschooling. :) This new adventure hasn't been easy. I nearly quit a time or two (or twenty). But after some rookie mistakes, numerous adjustments, and a curriculum change, I'm pleased to say we finally found a routine that works for us. We only have two months left of kindergarten (!!!) and I'm actually looking forward to first grade next year.

We're also still adventuring through the land of Foster Care. We received our license in February; now we're just waiting for our first placement. Caleb is super-excited to be a big brother. We talk often about his "little brother", what toys he might like, what he might be doing today. We pray for him, too. Whoever he is, wherever he is, we pray he is safe and loved and taken care of. We pray God would prepare our hearts to welcome him into our family. We pray God would bring him soon.

Waiting is, without a doubt, the hardest part. I'm a girl of action. Give me a plan, point me in the right direction, and I will go go go until I either collapse or achieve the goal. But waiting? Waiting is so . . . unproductive. The Lord keeps reminding me that I wait for His timing, and through this waiting I learn patience. Which sounds way more way more philosophical than it actually is!

 

So that's a little of what we've been up to lately! I have catching up to do with my fellow bloggers, but I hope you're all enjoying a lovely spring and making plans for summer. :)

 

Brave First Steps

We took our first step into a brave new world today.

Nothing dramatic occurred to mark this day as different or special. We ran errands this morning. Ate lunch around the computer. Played World of Warcraft together. In a little while, I'll close the lap top, venture into the kitcehn, and make a double batch of waffles to put in the freezer. Oh the excitement!

But whether out of the ordinary or no, today is worth noting.

Today, Caleb started on ADHD medication.

This day has been a long time coming. Even as I picked up the prescription last night, I wondered.

Are we doing the right thing? It's a mother's perogative to worry about her child. Isn't it also a mother's perogative to want the very best for him?

That's where I am. Torn. Between worry and determination. Lord help me.

I guess only time will tell.

Silly Moments with Caleb

And now it's time for Silly Moments with Caleb. The part of the blog where I share some of Caleb's recent silly moments.

While Caleb was sick this week, we rented Despicable Me. A family favorite, he watched it no less than three times. He had shrink rays on the brain after that. He came into the living room some time later, and told me his "evil plan." Determined to find himself a Shrink Ray, by whatever means necessary, he attempted to "ska-doo" into the TV (thank you, Blues Clues). Before I could warn him off, his head connected with the television and I heard an audible crack. He turned around, slighty cross-eyed and shrugged. "It's all part of the plan. More or less." (And thank you, Special Agent Oso).

I laughed so hard! "Son, you mixed up so many different stories there, I think I'm dizzy!"

~~~
Since September, Caleb's new favorite toy has been Legos. Every day he plays with them. Mostly he builds monsters. But sometimes he makes creatures. And chariot-cannons. And cages for skeleton horses. And . . . well, you get the picture.

He has picked out a particularly large Lego set that he wants desperately. He'll tell anyone who asks (and many who don't) that he wants "the Monster Fighters Crazy Scientist."

We've told him (repeatedly) that he can ask for it for Christmas. We've told him Christmas isn't far away, and no, we're not buying it now, because it's a little on the expensive side.

But since when is patience a five-year-old's strong suit?

Over the last few weeks, Caleb has devised ever more improbable and impractical plans for getting said Lego set. It went from asking Santa, to enlisting the help of imaginary friends, to going on quests and solving mysteries, all of which somehow lead to Legos. The other morning, bright and early, he got up and without a word, went out the front door. Jason was already up and heard the door open. Going to investigate, he saw Caleb standing uncertainly in the driveway. "What are you doing, son?"

"I was going to Wal-Mart to get the Crazy Scientist," he said. "But I might get lost. I'll wait for Christmas." And with that, he turned around and came back inside.

Can I just tell you how glad I am he didn't decide to walk to Wal-Mart?

Oh, that crazy boy of mine!

Unfortunately, many of his plans also involved stealing the Legos from Wal-Mart. I blame Captain Hook for this. But that's another story. Suffice to say, we've had many many conversations about stealing in recent weeks and thankfully, I think Caleb finally understands that stealing is bad. I've also restricted how much Jake and the Neverland Pirates he watches. :)

Happy Thanksgiving week, friends!

Have You Seen My Brain?

It was here a minute ago.

*scratches head*

Hmmm, I sat down to watch TV a few hours ago and now it's gone. Like it just sprouted legs and walked off. Was it something I watched?

WARNING: Nerd content below

I have to watch what I watch these days. Balance is everything. One can get into serious trouble if one's TV habits are out of sync. Too much crime drama, for example, and I get depressed. I find myself pacing aimlessly through the house, wondering if anyone will ever love Tom or if Callen will ever discover what the G stands for. A dose of such shows now and then is fine, but a steady diet? Hardly healthy. I'm afraid I'd become another crime statistic.

Too many English period pieces and I begin thinking with an English accent. Oh that's fun. Try going over a grocery list with Emma Thompson in your head. You begin to wonder if you own enough tea or if beans really do taste good on toast (they don't). It's when I begin praying in English brogue that I know I've had too much. Somebody better stop me before I find a corset and start calling everyone by their last name.

Horror shows? Heh, no. That box shall remain unchecked on my list of TV experiences. I already have enough trouble sleeping.

Documentaries, anyone? Now I bet you're wondering "Can one truly overdo documentaries?" The answer is yes. I know I've had my fill when I'm afraid to fall asleep lest some creepy crawlie slithers into bed with me. Or when I refuse to take Caleb to the beach because, waiting quietly in the shallows, are 27 species of shark that I never knew existed, but who are quite willing to rend the flesh from my bones. Thank you, Discovery Channel, for another excellent educational program. And another sleepless night.

Science fiction? Now I love me some science fiction. You can't over indulge Sci-Fi. I will say this though: be careful what you watch. If your first experience with Sci-Fi was Star Trek, the genre has probably been ruined for you. With a few notable exceptions, not much measures up to Star Trek. My husband and I watched our first Battlestar Galactica episodes this week. All I could think was, "These poor people. No replicators, no holo decks. Heck, their ships don't even have shields. I doubt this war with the Cylons will end well. They should form an alliance with the Federation. Captain Picard could send an away team and. . . oh wait . . . this isn't Star Trek."

So you see, balance is everything. Watch a burned spy in Florida and then the popular doctor from the Hamptons. A little Sy-Fy with a little Discovery Channel. If you're careful, you can keep your brain happy and it won't leave you to go on vacation.

Now if you'll excuse me. We've been watching Scooby-Doo for the last three hours and my brain is probably half way across Washington by now. Higher faculties can only handle so much "Jinkies!" and "Zoinks!", ya know?

Happy Thursday, all! And remember: with great television comes great responsibility. Watch responsibly!

Lost and Found

A serendipitous moment chanced my way the other day. Trolling through iTunes I happened upon an old music group that I used to listen to when I was growing up. It was a Christian band from the 80's called "Wendy & Mary." Anyone heard of them? The music is simple. Nothing spectacular. But the lyrics are masterfully written, stirring and sweet. These two women sang Scripture. They sang Truth. Even as a little girl, I was moved by them. Wendy & Mary had the ability to evoke peace.

An ability that came in handy in a rather unexpected way. When I was seven, living in a small town in the middle of the Mojave desert, I lived through a 7.6 earthquake. It happened in 1992, the year of the L.A. riots and Hurricane Andrew. It was the year we got rid of Zorro the dalmation and bought Belle, the miniature schnauzer puppy. It was June, just a few weeks away from my eighth birthday. Just before dawn, before the triple-digit heat could rise with the sun, the earth rocked and rolled.

Vivid snippets of memory still survive in my mind. My dad throwing himself over me to protect me. My mom catching and pushing our tv back into the entertainment center as it bounced out. The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen. The shaking seemd to last forever. I remember wondering when it would end.

Gas and water lines ruptured during the earthquake and we lived with friends for two weeks until the utilities could be restored. Hairline fractures covered the ground for miles and I remember pushing dirt back into them in our yard for weeks after. Mom bought new dishes. The kitchen linoleum had cracked and had to be replaced. But mostly? I was afraid to sleep alone.

I spent the rest of the summer sleeping on the floor next to my mom and dad's bed. The very idea of returning to my own bed terrified me, so with all the insight and resourcefulness of an eight year old, I figured I'd just sleep with my parents forever. But when September rolled around and school started, Mom and Dad said it was time for me to return to my room.

I bit my lip, shook my head, started to cry. But my parents had a plan. They put my little Fisher Price cassette player in bed with me each night. And they gave me a Wendy & Mary tape to listen to. The music played softly in my room for months as I fell asleep hearing

"Patiently I waited and He heard my cry

He brought me up and set my feet on solid ground"

"Welcome home! to a Love that has waited since before time began,

to a Love that remains when everything else is gone"

"Only in God is my soul at rest, from Him comes my salvation,

My stronghold, my Savior, I shall not be afraid

My stronghold, my Savior, I shall not be moved."

For one frightened little girl, these songs conjured a peace that covered each night and held the fears at bay. Only now, looking back, do I realize just how intently He was watching over me.

So imagine my delight at finding these dear old songs available on iTunes!

May I introduce Wendy & Mary to you?

Welcome to Holland

A good friend of mine, with special needs kids of her own, sent this to me some months ago. It bubbled back up to the surface of my mind this week, so I thought I'd share it with you.
Welcome to Holland
by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability- to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip -to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills... and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ...about Holland.

Reprinted with permission from Emily Perl Kinglsey. 1987 copyright by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved.

Circling the Wagons

I've been circling the wagons this week. Holding on to what is precious and fleeting. Hanging on with all my might to what I believe is true.

Making hay while the sun shines. :)

This little boy is making hay right alongside me.

Sunday was interesting. We took Caleb to church with us for the first time in months. I actually started a post about it, but have not yet finished it. Maybe tomorrow. I have two more nights of foster parent training. It's starting to feel like a marathon. Good information. Hard information. I came home crying one night last week. The questions and doubts and scenarios were just too much for my pms-ing little self.

Are we doing the right thing? Can we handle two kids? How will Caleb react?

That should probably be another post. When I have time.

Caleb picked these for me today. He loves picking flowers in our yard and presenting them to me as gifts. "Present for you!" he yells proudly. "I'm an expert at flower picking!"

Yes, sweet boy, you are.

Caleb misses me while I'm gone at training. He's usually asleep by the time I get home, so every morning, I hear his happy little voice in my bedroom doorway:

"Mommy! You home? I missed you!"

Tomorrow night, I finish training. Then the real fun starts. My mom and step-dad are flying into Seattle and we're driving down Friday morning to spend the weekend with them down there. Can anyone say hotel with an indoor pool? :)

Needless to say, we're all super-excited.

I let Caleb take some pictures with my camera today. We were resting in the shade of our enormous maple tree after drawing on the driveway with chalk. He loves to take pictures. He loves to spin and take pictures at the same time. Makes for some funny shots!

We have spent a lot of time in the driveway this summer. Caleb likes chalk. He does some drawing of his own, but usually he dictates to me what I should draw. I drew this yesterday at his request: 

Today he printed "AHH!" above the tornado and added a stick figure.

No more National Geographic programs for a while, mkay?

Then he asked me how to draw a whirlpool. So I showed him. Now there are several on my driveway, in bright Caribbean colors. Please do watch your step if you come to visit.

We have not traveled a whole lot this summer. Even around our island home, we've stayed pretty local. This was bothering me. I like to travel, I love to explore, I always want to see new places.

But home has been a pleasant place to be this summer and as I discovered today, that's just fine. We're making memories right here, on our own doorstep.