God isn't a wall between us and the goings on of the world - in other words, Man that was a giant scary tornado

I'm a little stumped for words this second day after Christmas.  I was planning to write a catchy little 12 Days of Christmas for y'all detailing all the fun around here - till a giant tornado ripped through our part of the world, killing 11, injuring countless others, and tearing my cousin's house to pieces.  



And I would like to say something lovely about God's grace sparing their lives and leaving their bathroom, where they huddled together, standing around them safely while the rest of their house blew away.  (By the way, it was also my cousin's birthday.  Happy Birthday to you.) 

But I have no idea if it was indeed God's grace.  Or luck.  Or just the way the wind blew.  Maybe it was all in the timing and their choice to take shelter in the bathroom instead of another room in the house.  Maybe we just don't know enough to be proclaiming Facebook praise for our own good fortune when there are others, neighbors even, who weren't so lucky.  

I don't typically post comments on other people's thoughts or commentaries about events, especially religious or political.  But last night in the midst of the storm, one in particular caught my attention - as a questioning friend so descriptively posted her frustration over the countless many who touted their safety to the will and protection of God.  So she asked, Were the ones who weren't so fortunate not praying hard enough?  

And I think if you've ever given any time or energy to figuring out the hows and whys of the Christian faith, that question, THAT right there, is the one that we'll all be standing in the Heavenly question line to ask as soon as we arrive.  I'm imagining so many of us confused that they'll have to set up small group counseling sessions to de-brief us from our earthly experiences.  

So here's what I shared in response to her question.  Not so eloquent, maybe, as it is to the point.  (And as always, I would love your comments, but please.... this ain't Facebook, folks.  Keep it respectful, or keep it off my blog.  Imagine me saying that sweetly, of course.  With my Dallas southern drawl and a big ol' smile.) 

Dear Jennifer, 


Rarely do I comment on things such as this but your question intrigued me. 
First I would say that being a Christian does not shelter us from the hardships of life. In fact, there are those that would say that Christians are tested even further because of our beliefs. I'm not sure I agree with that, however. But understanding that a belief in Christ is not insulation or protection from what life brings is the first step in understanding the bad things that happen. 
Then I would want you to know that prayer is neither protection nor immediate wish granting in any form, as much as we try to make it so. Prayer is direct communication with God, meant as an ongoing conversation of praise for the good, and guidance through the bad.  So not much makes me crazier that seeing all the Facebook prayer requests and little praying hands emoticons. I don't think God is checking his news feed all that much. 
Living a life as a follower of Christ puts us in a unique position of answering questions such as yours. And this is what is most important to know in those situations. God isn't a wall between us and the goings on of the world. Neither is he the giver of the bad things. The only answer to prayer that God ever promises to any of us is his faithfulness in being with us no matter what happens. And when we view our prayers as asking for his support, not his miracles, we can, with his grace, be stronger in all things.
post script... To me, being a Christian not only means a new heart for following God, but new eyes.  New eyes to see all our day to day goings on with a new lens of hope, despite the circumstance.  Now that being said, each of you know me well enough by now to know that I talk a big talk.  Daily application may or may not be one of my strengths.

But I do know that it's not for me to worry about or to figure out. That's the joy and the promise of Christmas.

Hi. I'm Kristi and I am a slip-covered furniture thief.

I never considered it thievery to take old furniture finds from someone else's trash pile ... but today I spied a beat up old chair with a possibly useful slipcover on it.  But it was in the Marshall's parking lot out by one of those catch all donation boxes - the ones that ask for clothes and toys, but people throw whatever the heck they want out of their houses out there kind of places.



So I parked up next to it, got out, incognito in my dark shades, and poked all around the trash pile flowing out into the parking lot, trying to decide if it was wrong to take it or not. 

But gosh there was so much traffic and people everywhere and one lady in her car may or may not have been videoing me to send it to the local news about bad people at Christmas time stealing from the poor.  So I didn't take the entire chair.  I removed the slipcover only.... and shoved it in the front seat of my car.  Then for good measure I took the seat cushion.  Which I consider to be a reservation placed on my interest in making that chair something wonderful. I actually tried to look as if I may have been the one dropping off said donated chair, but with a puzzled look on my face and a slight head tilt of consideration,...as if I may have changed my mind about donating it.  I have obviously all these years been hiding a sneaky streak deep within.   But my plan is that if the slipcover doesn't fit what I need it to fit, I can take it back and no longer be a thief.  That makes me feel better about the whole thing.

Poor decisions are often made on far too little sleep.  Such wise words to describe my entire existence for the last few weeks.  I definitely put on a good face at work because I'm busy and I forget how tired I really am, but y'all.... all I want for Christmas is a good night's sleep, a good night's sleep, oh a good night's sleep.    

Husband gets super irritated with me because on the nights when he's home from work, he snores so ridiculously loud that he ends up on the couch and then he's grumpy the next morning, too.  It's just a vicious, sleepless cycle of grumpiness around here.

And the dog threw up this morning.  Which I didn't witness, but Kid 1 did and those were the only words he could muster this morning in the car on the way to school... describing the awfulness of what awaited me when I got back home and walked into the kitchen.  Before that?  All I got from him was a scowl and a murmured grunt/frustrated hand motion as I accidentally blocked his view of himself in the full length mirror.  Lord.  We need a vacation.

And... speaking of Kid 1...



Here we are ready to go to his first ever high school athletic banquet. In real life we weren't blurry. 



And here I am after I got to the athletic banquet and he ditched me for his friends and made  me cry.  Just a shell of the woman I was an hour before.  But still wearing a cute dress because happy or sad, fashion still speaks volumes. 

Husband was meeting me at the school, running a little late and by the time he got there, I had been sitting by the water fountain all alone in the high school cafeteria for long enough to realize that my boy may no longer need his mom at his special events.  So I exited unannounced, and broke down somewhere between the cafeteria and the freshman biology room.  Granted, it had already been an iffy sort of day.  And had this particular instance not made me cry, something else was surely gonna.  I know myself well enough to declare a meltdown warning several hours in advance. 

But husband found me sad and alone, whimpering in the hallway,  and took me out to eat so I could cry outside the view of teenagers.  Kid 1 did call to see where I went;  I'll give him that.  And he was sorry for turning me into Lonely Mom.  And he, in all honesty, admitted that he didn't know what to do.  Friends or mom... friends or mom? 

This is a school where I would dare to say that 95% of all kids attend every function without parents. And most of them have probably never known anything different.  Even the teachers act surprised to see parental involvement.  So I either have to see this as the time to step back our interests... or as a time to step it up and be there to support not only my own kids but those whose parents can't be there.

It's common knowledge around these parts that the Walters' run a makeshift before and after school child care center for the tween and teen set.  Kid 2 is the first one to get up and get to the bus by 7:15 each day.  Then the 6th grade crew starts to arrive at the house for playtime with Kid 3 and a safe place to wait till they leave for school at 8.  And at that same time, screams can be heard for Kid 1 to get his act together and get to his bus stop in the next 7 minutes or it's gonna be an unexcused absence for you young man and Mama isn't writing you a note.  Then after school the kiddos come rolling through again for snacks and video games and for several of them, a safe place to wait a while for parents that are still at work.  Now... that being said, I did just dis-arm one of our little guests with a loaded air soft gun headed to the elementary school to play.  Mom eyes wide open around here ALL.THE.TIME. 

We really struggled with the choice of what school to let Kid 3 attend this year for his first year in middle school.  We ended up choosing our local middle school and lucky for us all, he loves it.  But a lot of people don't/won't use that school - it's our first year to step out on faith and courage and give it a try.  My friend Debi said recently that our school choice may turn out to be our own little neighborhood ministry, showing several kids what a traditional family looks like on an unrehearsed daily basis.  It looks like me trying to feed everyone and get dressed for work.  It looks like three boys trying to find pants.  It looks like kids who can't find their shoes or backpacks and forgot to do their homework.  It looks like Fireman Dave rolling in from the station in time to help me get some control over the battle of chaos.  It looks like lots of people in a smallish sort of space, trying to be nice to each other and still get out the door on time.  It looks like craziness wrapped in a bow.   Maybe a Christmas bow. 

Three years ago this Christmas we took a short trip to Galveston, just for a couple of days.  We stayed at the Tremont Hotel, a lovely place housed in a beautifully restored historic building.  And there, on our second morning, I sat alone, eating in the lobby restaurant ready to enjoy a day to myself, and experienced my very first panic attack.  

I tried to breathe and the harder I tried, the less air I could get.  And I was both hot and cold all at once -  and at the same time, had this incredibly energetic need to run away from something,  overwhelmed with genuine fear- just that I didn't know what I was afraid of.

And I tried to have Fireman Dave paged at the indoor water park where he and the boys were spending the day, but never could find them.  So I tried to ignore what my mind was tricking me into believing might actually kill me .... and I went shopping.  I made it about two blocks and into one beautiful shop that I would've otherwise enjoyed, and there I doubted that I would be able to make it back to the hotel at all.  

And y'all, I sat outside that store on a bench, and cried what should've been an embarrassing public display of near hysterical tears, but I didn't have enough focus or strength to know anything else around me existed.  I ended up back at the hotel - on the treadmill in the gym, and I ran for what seemed like hours.   When I could settle down a bit, I slowed down my pace to a walk.  But when the fear came back, the only thing that made me feel like I was going to walk out of that place alive, was to keep running.  I don't know how long I was running, but at one point I finally turned around and saw Fireman Dave walking into the gym and for the first time in hours, I felt like I was going to be okay.  I still cry every time I remember that day.  



This was me the day after that ugly business started.  I'm either hanging onto Fireman Dave's arm because I was freezing to death or afraid to let go.  I think both. 

Panic is a disease.  Panic attacks, panic disorder, anxiety attacks, ... call it what you will.  It is a mental health condition that has no one size fits all explanation.  But it's fear of the unknown, fear that all  you've trusted to be normal - the simple act of breathing, the normalcy of a regular heart beat, may never be normal again. 

It went on that way the rest of the day, and it began to happen regularly at home, and eventually it happened at work.  Which was the big STOP sign for me.  I knew at that point that I wasn't in control of the attacks.  I couldn't predict or stop them, but I also knew I didn't want to rely on other people or tranquilizing medications either.

So I learned how to  recognize the signs of approaching panic.  I've better learned to remove myself from situations, places and people who may cause my symptoms to show up again.  Because they will.  And they do.  But smaller and up until this writing, anyway, a lot less scary.   

A lot has changed in three years.  The thing is that I don't know what comes next.  I have no idea if I'll battle this particular monster my entire life, or if new and more interesting monsters may come my way.  

I don't know what my relationship with my estranged family will ever be again.  I don't know how much longer my kids will invite me to be their date to anything.  I don't know if this blog will grow into all my heart has dreamed.  I also don't know why things have to change right when they're going along so nicely.  

But I do know that it's not for me to worry about or to figure out.   That's the joy and the promise of Christmas.  



post script.... here is how the nativity scene turned out on my mantle.  




Which is all well and cute... but not for me.  Turns out I am completely anti-glitter.  In fact I may be the kind of gal that calls the glitter police if I ever see anyone trying to bring glitter crafts into my home.  I had forgotten that since the boys are big now and have outgrown the age of shiny preschool crafts.  But for what it's worth, the scene turned out pretty and Fireman Dave is once again, AMAZING.  He is full of hidden talents still yet to be discovered, I think.  You can read that post here if you missed it.

But this is what I ended up using.  



It's more me.  It's simple, colorful and I did it all myself.  A round of applause please.

Strange Things are Happening

You know how some days when you get home after teaching 4 classes and you're totally gross in a dried sweat, but still wet pants sort of way?  ... And you had to go to the bathroom when you ran into  Target on the way home and only one stall had toilet paper and all the other ones were as gross as you were after you taught 4 classes?  And none of that makes you happy?

But sweet words to the rescue as I received a beautiful compliment from a friend about the blog.  She's one of those crazy creative, talented people whom I would love to be like but I can't cut and glue things very well so I just end up buying whatever cute things I want.

I think I am going to title this post.... Strange things are happening.  Because they are.  Here's a list.

1.  One day last week I taught a class with the 6ft tall Chick-fil-A cow mascot as my co teacher.  Only for about 2 minutes because the cow was on a tight schedule, but still.  And it was half funny plus half weird and fully maddening because the cow wandered in there unannounced and without warning and just proceeded to join me in some Zumba hip rolling.  And then the gym management took pictures and I was about 25 miles south of Presentable at that time.  I also wore a shirt that happens to add a few bonus pounds to my look.  And had I known I would be photographed for Chick-fil-A  promotional purposes, I would've chosen my wardrobe more wisely.

2.  I found a tooth in my bed one morning.  And it was a big tooth.  A molar.  And out of reflexive reaction, I immediately started feeling around in my own mouth to make sure all my own teeth were accounted for.  And indeed they were.  So I asked the boys if anyone happened to put a tooth in Mama's bed, and for what particular reason ... but they all said they didn't do it.  So I am baffled, as this has never happened to me before.  I have no idea whose tooth it was but it went in the trash can and onto my list of mysteries that may never be solved.

3.  I came home twice this week to find the back door unlocked as an invitation for crime to make itself welcome in our home.  Husband says he locked it.   But he also stood considering the Bluebell ice cream at the grocery store one day and told me we need to get some of that chicken.   So I worry about him from time to time.  But each time I found the door unlocked, I peeked my head in, asked the sleeping dog if everything was okay.  And she said yes both times.  So I took my life in my hands and went in and got in the shower.  Refer back to #1 on the list where I was over the top gross from work.  And it could've totally been a re-enactment of the shower scene from Psycho and Fireman Dave would've felt awful that he left the door unlocked.  But it turned out okay. 

One time I called husband from the Walmart and told him I was feeling a little light headed and having some anxiety causing chest palpitations.  And he pretty much told me I was just stressed because I was in Walmart,  and that I was over reacting.  And I told him that if I died right there in the toothpaste aisle that he would live to regret those last words he spoke to me.   That time turned out okay, too.

4.  Strange thing number 4.... I caught two pot holders on fire in less than one week.   Maybe that's not strange. 

Husband was at the fire station for about the last 10,000 hours and I've been home with naughty kids.  I went to a church function with a friend Saturday morning and came home to find Kid 3 with a light switch mark imprinted on his face.  I'm sure you can guess how that happened.  There were additional claims of cuts, bruises, and abrasions, and not sharing the store brand cheese puffs.

Then later that same day Kid 3 got mad at I forget what, and tore through the house tossing chair cushions, turning over an ottoman... and then ran away from home in his socks.  So I drove around to find him and took him to husband at the fire station and said,... Take him.  He's yours.   Of course Kid 3 protested the whole way, certain that I wouldn't really take him anywhere since he had no shoes - but I told him that's what happens when you run away from home in your socks.  



And I had the greatest plan to make this adorable handmade nativity that I saw on Pinterest.  Refer back to paragraph #2 where I admit I am not crafty.  So it took me about 5 days of shopping at the craft store and organizing my thoughts to print and cut out baby Jesus and his family... but I gave up after I cut about one figure.  Because I also have an extremely short attention span unless it involves shopping.   

But y'all,  I came home from work today and found that Fireman Dave had cut, glued AND glittered my nativity characters, hung them in the sun to dry, and decked all our halls with Christmas lights.  And now he's outside crafting the stable out of sticks and hand tools like an Amish man.  Later today he has plans to supervise Kid 3's science fair project, rescue some kittens from a tree, and then cook a multi course meal.  Because he can do all things.  And it seems I am only good at setting things on fire and running off my children.  Yes I get jealous.  It's a real thing for me.



My friend is having a major medical procedure done this week and she's a little nervous about it all.  And I was thinking about a particular scripture that she's been focusing on.  


She is clothed in strength and dignity and she laughs without fear of the future.
Proverbs 31:25 

And she's questioning how to walk into her future without fear... and I believe she is also wondering how to walk with dignity in a hospital gown.  

But I see this in her - I see courage.  I see faith.  Of course I see doubt.  But I also see honesty that doesn't hide the fact that she wants to live as the woman in this verse.  Me too.  Hope springs eternal.  

But alongside my jealous streak is also a giant neon colored swatch of resentfulness, a big dark stained splotch of Please love me and make me feel secure about myself....And a bigger than life, tear stained stripe of scars from a lifetime of trying to make my own way; Trying to find my own security and self worth  - And a bucket full of failed attempts at looking for love in all the wrong places.   

I think I have days of strength.  Or at least pretend strength.  But then I sit at a church thing with my friend on a Saturday morning, surrounded by ladies sharing and caring and finding support in all kinds of this and that, and I get up and leave early because I don't want anyone to see that I'm really kinda weak.    

And the dignity part?  Gosh.  I think there have been so many times that I have fallen miles upon miles short in this.  Because I forget that I've already been promised a million little gifts by a God that has never given up on me.  One day I'm gonna meet him and shake his hand.  

Nope.  I take that back.  I'll probably hug him and cry a lot.   And then I'll ask to be assigned to a group of other Heavenly people who don't want to do crafts. 

I see that now for what it's worth

HopeInk.com
So as some of y'all know, I am a regular contributor to my church blog.  A large-ish sort of publication that stands a 50/50 chance of me writing something I'm proud of or that could embarrass the you - know - what out of me once a week.  And really, I'm still surprised every time I see it published.  And then I laugh a little bit like I think a bank robber may, running away with a giant bag of money - knowing full well he doesn't deserve that giant bag of blessings.  

It's a blog - not so much about Christian things - as it is a blog by Christians who write about regular things.  Sort of a collection, if you will, of normal Dallas people, telling stories of our daily experiences as God believers trying to live out the call of Christ in our community.  

I am thankful to be a part of a church that teaches, not preaches.  A church that accepts, not rejects.  And a church that welcomes both our questions and doubts about faith as well as celebrates our professions thereof.  

So what made them invite me to be a contributor?  Who the heck knows.  But I'm both proud and humbled at the same time that they trust me to weekly share my brand of wit and wisdom with such a beautiful community of faith.  

And I love that I got to be the one to share my simple thoughts this past week on Thanksgiving day, the final post leading us into the season of Advent.  Here it is.... mostly a little storied detail about our day, but I also think a good introduction to this first week of Advent, the week of Hope.  The week that we don't wish and hope specific things for ourselves, but rather a time to invite and accept the Hope of God into our lives to do as he has planned.   Looking back on previous Thanksgivings of mine growing up, I had no idea the plans that lay in store for me.  But the hope of Christ prevailed.  Insert Hallelujah chorus here. 


  Thanksgiving so far....

Overheard this morning already are two things that stand out in my mind.  And I will commit them to my forever Thanksgiving memories due to their remarkable insight, though debatable if either was right or wrong.  But I applaud the declaration of both in all assuredness and confidence of manner. 

The first comment being this,... by my oldest, and shyest of fellas in the world in the art of giving compliments and/or general show of affection... He said, and I quote, "Mama, why does your hair look so good today?" 

And I could've taken that as an underhanded insult disguised as a compliment about my good hair day, really meaning that he thinks it looks good today because most days he thinks I look a mess.  But I didn't.  I did not, may I repeat.  I accepted the compliment, looked in the mirror to preserve an image of that very moment, and said, "I have no idea. Now take my picture so we can document my good hair for Thanksgivings yet to come." 

The second thing I heard today came from my youngest, in reference to both brothers, I believe, yelled out loudly in the middle of an XBOX football game, when he told his brothers that they have evil souls, or maybe it was that they have souls of darkness.  Anyway, it turned into a conversation of how his teacher is encouraging him to expand his vocabulary and he is simply practicing such on this fine Thanksgiving morning.  I love a good student always putting his lessons into practice. 

I was in the kitchen cooking everyone's requested favorites for the big meal, and David was waiting his turn for the oven as he is in charge of the turkey.   And we made it most of the way through the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, trying to commit to certain traditions that make this day each year somewhat unique from the others.  And I feel sure there will be some front yard football in our future, maybe some driveway basketball,  and everyone will sweat and add to my pile of holiday laundry that never ceases no matter what the calendar says. 

But today we're all here.  And I am more and more aware of how few of these days we have because of busy schedules and just the plain truth of growing up and out of our little family unit.  I see today with eyes that recognize change as a matter of fact, a simple truth, and a bit of sadness to see it moving toward us faster and faster as the kids grow up. 

But I am thankful for that little edge that knowing brings.  It allows me the vision of doing without.  And it gives me a beautiful appreciation of the now.  It's just the 5 of us this year, at home together.  I remember feeling sad about something my mom always said to me about our holidays growing up.  I never had a single childhood holiday with just our immediate family.  She thought of that as us just sitting around bored and staring at each other.  Yes, that was really said.  And that thought hurt.  It hurt to hear that our together wasn't special enough for a holiday.  It hurt to know that my company wasn't enough.  So we gathered in larger places with distant relatives that we saw once or twice a year, to fill the day, not celebrate the day.   

I see that now for what it's worth.  It became a good lesson for me to hold the ones that I am most thankful for, closer than I hold anyone else.  And in the middle of that holding and keeping, to make room for others that need to be held, too.  Yes, it's just the five of us here today.  But more than anything I'm thankful for enough love to go around for as many people as wish to show up. 


Blessings to you this Thanksgiving weekend as we close the door on the festivities of one celebration, and step into hope, awaiting the light of the world.   

That's a really long time to sit on a turkey

Thanksgiving so far....


I took the boys to a little amusement park place yesterday with my friend Debi and her kids.  And the kids played and we moms sat there and talked for so long that I could feel myself getting tired and more tired.  And I yawned a lot and then I remembered that I forgot to eat.  Which for me is bad news because I have some extreme moody reactions to fasting.  Even for a few hours.  And I'm sure I nodded a lot to whatever Debi said to me there toward the end, to look like I was really listening.  But she's a nurse and I place all confidence that she could save me come what may. 

Here's part of our conversation that I remember:

Us:  random chatter about our kids, other people's kids, and mostly other people's bad kids. 

Her:  I hate you right now

Me:  silence.  Waiting to hear why she hates me right now.  But I felt a small heart palpitation thinking that she met me at the go kart place to break up with me and not be my friend anymore because I ignored her ever so kind invitation for a recent road trip to Natchez.

Her:  I hate it because the kids act like crazy teenage zombies and then eat each other's souls.  Or something like that.  I don't think those were her real words.  But by then I had realized that she didn't say she hated ME, she said she hated the middle school stage of life.  So I was happy and didn't care about the rest. 

Then she taught me how to make a turkey. 

Me:  Fireman Dave is cooking the turkey.  I pretty much don't have to do anything but act like I don't know how to cook a turkey.  But I told him he needs to make it come out not dry.  Because all turkeys are dry and that's the big reason people secretly don't like Thanksgiving but out of tradition we keep doing it anyway. 

Her:  You have to make a brine..... (and without hesitation she started to tell me how to make Turkey Brine ala Debi - because my eyes were glassy from hunger and I was yawning every 5 seconds, she must've read my body language as please teach me how to make turkey brine.)

Me:  Can I just bring you the turkey and you do it for me?

Her:  It's easy!  Because I'm a super cook and you are not.  But I will share my secrets with you because it's a holiday and we're sitting here waiting for our kids to use up all their arcade tokens and we need to talk about SOMETHING. And I don't hate you. 

Her:  You take a little pepper, lots of salt, some other things, ....  pour it all over the turkey and then sit on it overnight.

Me:  I have to sit on it?  That's a really long time to sit on a turkey.

Her:  NO!  I said put a skillet on it.  To weigh it down while it swims in the brine.  Let's just go to the store and I'll get you all the things you need.

So I said yes.  I said yes to turkey brine and friendship and the grocery store but only if I could get some food for my children and a bite or two for me because I was really in no condition to drive.  

So the boys and I went through a drive through chicken place and started gobbling as quick as we could grab the bag from the hand of the sweet young man dressed as a Christmas elf  in the drive thru window.  Drive, eat.  Drive, eat.  Then the boys asked me where their drinks were and I told them I left them behind at the restaurant and blamed it on Forgetful Low Blood Sugar Syndrome.  We also forgot napkins and I had nowhere to wipe my greasy fried chicken fingers so my wonderful boys offered me their pants legs to use as napkins.  With these words,... Mama, sometimes you have to act like us.  We do it all the time.    

Then I met Debi at the grocery store and honked at her repeatedly trying to get her to see where I was in the parking lot.  And the boys said I was embarrassing them honking and yelling out the window like that.  And didn't I teach them that honking was only for emergencies.  Then we left our kids locked in our respective cars because they're old enough to know not to talk to strangers in parking lots.  But not old enough to know not to kill each other while there is no parental supervision so we had to shop fast.

Then the boys and I went back to the chicken drive thru, claimed our forgotten drinks and the young elf remembered us and called us by name... You're Coke, Dr. Pepper and Root-Beer, right?  And I felt acknowledged and comforted by his great service.  And then we went home.


Happy Thanksgiving day to you.  Let's talk thanks and blessings and all things good soon. 

The one in which I tell you how frustrated I am about lots of things



Last week Kid 3 got kicked in the head at football practice.  Without a helmet.  Then he got his head slammed in the car door by Kid 1 along with something else awful one brother or another did to his finger.  Which is exactly why sometimes I go in my room and sleep till forever the next day and hope the house is still standing when I wake up.  

No one ever told me when I had three boys that one day, one would slam another kid's head in the car door and not feel a lick of sorry about it.  Those are things they just don't tell you when you're out there  preparing for parenthood by stocking up on onesies and diapers.

Also this past week my shower broke while I was in there and I couldn't turn off the cold water.  So I had to leave it showering while I called Fireman Dave at work and told him I had an interesting sort of problem.  And can he come home and turn off the shower please?   So the shower sprayed out another million gallons of water while I waited for him to leave work and be my first responder plumber.  If you would like to be on my speed dial list of handy men,  and can fix things like runaway showers and fit throwing tween boys, let me know.  I'm taking applications.

Last week I also called 911 about 3 times in a row about a man wandering the middle school campus who appeared to be out of his mind.  Out of his mind and wandering aimlessly toward children.  So I may or may not have prevented a terrible fate.  Or maybe he was having a medical crisis like low blood sugar and dehydration and falling all over himself on the way to get lunch.  Sometimes I look like that after teaching 4 classes.  Please don't call the police on me.

We have one kid doing pretty well in school, one kid doing kinda well in school, and another that doesn't believe me when I tell him that summer school isn't going to be fun.  It's always our biggest battle.  And that battle led to the tantrum of the century over the weekend which made me wish we had a safe room built underground to hide in.

I'm frustrated.  And part of me is angry about how much I want my kids to care about things and each other..... and basically, anyone other than themselves.  I took them shopping to fill our Samaritan's Purse Operation Christmas Child boxes this week.  And in my mind, I hoped they would walk around the store and think about the things that a boy in another country would like or need.  And at the same time, have it finally make sense to them that they have so darn much.  

For each gift, we got a soccer ball and pump, school supplies, new toothbrushes, toothpaste and soap.  Soap.  Y'all, I wanted my boys to say, Gee, we have all the soap we ever need.  Or maybe, Hey, I never thought about where my toothbrush comes from but sometimes a  new one just appears in the drawer.  Or even a small prayer thanking God that they get more at Christmas each year than a soccer ball and a toothbrush in a shoe box.

But I didn't see recognition.  And I didn't see what appeared to me as the excitement that we should feel when we're really giving from the heart.  But I have to admit that I don't usually feel that too  much at Christmas either.  I mostly feel like yelling for the store manager to turn off the #^%$ Christmas music or I'm never shopping here again.  So I kinda understand the disconnect my boys feel or don't feel when mom takes them to Target and tells them to buy a gift for a boy they don't know, ages 10-14 in another country.  We can't create feeling that isn't there.  Only God can work in a hardened heart and make it soft again.   So we packed up our boxes, ready to ship... and I have to trust that one day the boys will remember that we gave.  And think that maybe it will be a good thing to give again.

Y'all, I think a general rule of writing is to not do it following a temper tantrum by a 12 year old.  I think the rule also says not to write on your blog immediately following your 14 year old announcing that he won't change his bed sheets like you asked him to because he plans to wait for the maid to do it.  We don't have a maid.

Sometimes families are just hard.  Sometimes our family is hard.  This week my family was hard, meaning not at all soft with no comfy place for a frustrated mom to land.

Of course tired comes into the mix.  Last weekend I gave up on all responsibility at about dark thirty o'clock, left the rest of my workload undone, and woke the next  morning at 10:30.  My body rebelling against math problems, teacher conferences, and grocery trips.  And I got fed up with the once acceptable shabby chic bedspread over the old chair in my bedroom and threw it out along with the rest of my eBay sales pile that I can't ever get around to selling...and my new pajamas that maybe I should've given a little more thought to before throwing out.  Now I need new pajamas.

And I got mad at husband.  Because he said something hurtful to me in a way that only someone who knows you really well can.  He went right to the heart with this one ...... telling me that I leave every time things get tough around here.  Granted, I had my purse on my shoulder with plans to go out and shop for pajamas instead of listening to Kid 3 throw his fit, so maybe he has a point.  

But I argued the word, always that he chose to describe the situation.  I think occasional may be a better word.  As in, Kristi is like a beautiful and brilliantly minded bird, occasionally recognizing the exact time she needs to fly south to better climates.  

And then I cried at the table trying to eat the lasagna husband made -  that I said had too much garlic in it.  But he told me to eat it anyway, while my world fell apart.

And I say that in the lightest of ways.  Because I wish I could say intelligent and feeling things about Paris and terrorism and world peace.  But I can't.  And I don't know a whole lot more about anything other than the day to day things that I live around here.

But maybe that's exactly what I should be sharing.  My day to day.  It seems every mom blogger in the land, the Christian ones I read anyway, have been posting at warp speed about the Paris incident of last weekend.  I think we all have feelings about that and other things that make us sad.  But having an opinion doesn't make me qualified to share my thoughts on it.  It's not my job to tell anyone what I think is the right thing to do.  I can't even teach my kids to give and care and not slam brother's head in the car door.  It's my job, my opportunity, rather, to share things that I do well.  As well as things I stink at.

I have to say that I get really tired of reading angry words that people have to say to each other in the name of religion and politics.  I get really tired of hearing people defending their own beliefs and opinions to the point that they're unable to hear the beliefs and opinions of someone else.

I had to think about writing this week, wondering if I should take a week of silence to let people give thought to the bigger issues of the world.  Then I decided that sometimes taking a little break from the bigger issues of the world may be just what we need.   

Blessings to you this week as you go about your day to day.  

post script.... Here's the info for Samaritan's Purse Operation Christmas Child  This is national collection week for packed boxes.  Next they get sorted, shipped and at Christmas,  can end up in any number of places around the world, sharing the gift of Christmas with a child that may otherwise never hear the good news.  If you would like to pack a box and participate, this is your week to make wonderful things happen.  

Oh... and Kid 3's head is just fine.  We were kinda hoping the knocks to the head this week would've rattled around some loose math knowledge in there but that has yet to be seen.  Love that kid like crazy.  

I think telling my boys about my growing up years has to come on an as needed basis


And it happened just like that.  

Kid 1 actually had a conversation with me... not once, but more than once which in mathematical terms equals an infinity of mom love for him this week and forever.  AND we went out to eat together, just Kid 1 and me, and talked. 

Now granted, it was an invitation to our favorite pizza place, and brothers were supposed to come along as well, but they had better opportunities arise than having early evening pizza with their mother. 

And on other days this week I heard about school, and football, and jazz band and of course, the usual, We have no good food in this house.  And the ever popular, I can't find any socks.  




And it gets better.... further discussion this week with another kid - who shall remain numberless this time around - was about girls.  And you know I totally jumped at the opportunity to give my opinion on the perfect girl for him.  Or for any young man, so feel free to pass this along....   A young lady should be, first of all, a lady.  She should have respect for others, but just as much so, respect for herself.  She radiates kindness, using kind words and gestures that reflect gentleness  and caring.  She is polite, well mannered, courteous and thoughtful of others.  And she's a good friend and fun to be aroundAnd, boys, being pretty is a definite plus, but pretty is as pretty does.  You may quote me.   

All that was discussed on the drive home from TARGET, which just proves that parents seriously have to take every opportunity and run with it. Especially when they're seat-belted in your car and can't get away.





But I loved this week.  I love that the boys were all pleased with their classes and only one kid missed the bus.  But the most interesting part of the week for me, a very thoughtful part, actually, was one I didn't really plan on.  But who does when it comes to deep thoughts and reflection?  Definitely not me.

As Kid 1 and I visited over dinner last night, he asked me how my high school years were.  Particularly my freshman year.  But I ended up giving him a short tour of the highs and lows of that time for me.


So here's the answer I would like Kid 1 to know about my high school days...



First, I would tell them that this is NOT a glamour shot photo.  Never had one.  This was one of my senior pictures for the yearbook, the one in which I got to keep my shirt on.... because you know how yearbook photographers always make the girls wrap themselves in some sort of cape to expose the shoulder region in an attempt at I don't know what?  I actually think it's all a big high school yearbook photographer inside joke.  And all the girls just fall for it year after year so we continue to pass on the tradition of wearing nothing but faux velvet and a smile.  And this was, after all, the 80's and we had a certain affinity for eye makeup and lots of hair gel. (So boys, as you read this one day, this was me, just waiting to one day become your mom.  But more importantly, if I ever ask to borrow your hair gel, just say no.)


I think more than anything, I would tell my kids that I loved school.  I loved my friends and my teachers and my very first job.  The job that led me to my lifetime love of fitness and the job I still do and love today.  Only now I skip the leotards, leg warmers, and suntan tights. 


I had lots of good teachers, but one that stood out to me in a very unique way. He had us write a personal journal every day.  It could be about anything and everything.  I recently found that journal in a box in the closet.  And while reading through it, Lord help me, I was blushing full of embarrassment at the idea of ever being that young and stupid.  Then I ripped out the most embarrassing parts and put them in the paper shredder.  But what I saw in there was that my teacher commented on everything I wrote -  every entry, every day.... with amazing gentleness of word and spirit, filling for me a need that he probably never realized back then.

And I worked.  A lot.  As much and as often as I could.  I started working at a local gym when I was about 16, and for my last couple of years of high school I worked every afternoon and night after school till the gym closed.  I went to work straight from school, fed myself at the cafeteria next door to the gym, and got home crazy late just to sleep and get up and do it again the next day.  

Weekends were full days of work, church, friends and boyfriend the rest of the time.  And on occasion, when all else failed and I had nowhere else to go, a couch of someone with an understanding parent, long enough to get me back to school the next Monday and start the cycle all over again. 


Because home for me was a place that didn't feel like a home way too much of the time.  It was a place that I went to as needed but had to put on a mental suit of armor for the hours I was there.  It was a place that I never knew what to expect.  So school for me was really the best place I could think to be.  I am so lucky to be able to say that about my high school days.   

So I think I was pretty independent for a teen.  And self sufficient.  And I could stretch a dollar till it screamed.  And y'all, I always found the cutest purses on clearance at the mall close to work, so I looked both smart, assured, and well accessorized.  But really I knew that staying away, and making my own way, was the only chance I was ever going have to make it out of my house pre-nervous breakdown.




But back in the day, I found that God was a great provider of people who held me up when I couldn't do it on my own.  Teachers, friends  - that came and went as I needed usually, like on-call angel messengers, I like to think. 

And what I think now is that back then, I had no idea how to pray.  How to really pray.  Do you?  Maybe we can talk about the parts of prayer someday here.  Did you even know there's sort of a prayer formula?  Much like sentence diagramming in middle school english class, but a lot sweeter and closer to God's heart than nouns and verbs.  

For me in high school, church was a place I went because it was something I had always done.  It was fun, I had friends there, and my future husband was there - one of life's biggest surprises.  Thanks be to God for my tendency toward obsessive compulsiveness that keeps me bound to routines and habits - some of which have turned out to be blessings bigger than I can count.

But what I really really really didn't know then, and couldn't even begin to understand at that age, was that every tear I cried and the exhaustion that a teenage girl can feel from running away from her day to day, and never taking time to be still in the peace of His understanding?.... was seen and heard, and collected in God's loving hand.  And held there till the time that I was able to finally see past the hurt and make out glimpses of a future.  I think I had no idea at the time, that my teachers, friends and my job were my saving graces against feeling hopeless.  

And looking back from this age and stage of life, I think that telling my boys about my growing up years has to come on an as needed basis.  So for the How were your high school years question? I would say they were some of my greatest times of growth and understanding, for me and of me.  I would also tell them that it's funny how things can change, sometimes in an instant, sometimes so slowly that we hardly even notice till someone asks us over a dinner of pizza and good conversation.

post script.... this post was started closer to the beginning of this school year.  So here's what's been happening in these short months...

The idea of young love got put on pause for a bit.  Kid 3 has lost two uniform shirts, one pair of glasses and several school ID badges.  And a couple of my sweeties would like to know if you can maybe tutor them in math because mom and dad lose every ounce of patience trying to do it.  And Kid 1, my inspiration for this post,  loved his first high school football season, he told me very last minute that he needs black pants for jazz band, and he hated the frozen pizza I cooked last night.  It's turning out to be a good year.    
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