Oh, there should be much fanfare and excitement. But there is only concrete dust and boxes. Yes, it is GLORIOUS to sleep in my own bed -- and not within 2 feet of one of my children. Yes, it is GLORIOUS to have my pantry and 'fridge full of food to choose from, or not, for dinner. But we still have much to do before it completely feels like home. And, when we relayed a new plumbing problem to our insurance adjustor, he asked, "Is the wall where the problem is already closed up? Oh, that's what I was afraid of." Cutting into my sheetrock AGAIN is definitely NOT in my happy place.
Much to do and much to tell about end of school and the most fabulous bubble day ever but it is late, I still have two days of teaching/ battle in Room 24, and the concrete dust that has filled my nostrils and lungs is giving me fits and I am not entirely well.
Just wanted to post a quick, "We're here!"
Wednesday
Sunday
Hotel Chatter
Oddly enough, I am finding these few days living in the hotel to be some precious moments with my kids. I don't often get to see them blink awake in the morning -- oh, I wake them up, but when I leave the room to hustle on my way, they still have their eyes closed and are moaning unintelligibly. I don't often get to hear them sigh as they roll over in their sleep -- I am frequently reminded of the tiny little bodies that did that what seems to be last week. And I am tickled to be reminded of their morning personalities. Ashley greets the day much like she greets the rest of life -- full of gusto, chatter, and cheerfulness. Riley needs to ponder life and let sleep slowly slide off of him before he can face life (much like his momma).
But he evidently is thinkin' as he awakes (unlike his momma). Friday morning he woke up, blinked at the window for several minutes, then finally turned to me:
"Mom, knock knock."
Mom: "Who's there?"
Riley: "An interrupting parrot."
Mom: "An interrup..."
Riley: "SQUAWK!"
THAT totally cracked me up!
Later, at a further stage of dress and awake, he was singing that well-loved (or not) old folk song, "There's a hole in the bucket". He made it through several verses, and poor Liza wasn't getting any closer to a repaired bucket than the first verse. He finally said, "That song just goes on and on and on and on... I think he just doesn't want to fix the bucket."
That Riley is always getting to the bottom of things!
But he evidently is thinkin' as he awakes (unlike his momma). Friday morning he woke up, blinked at the window for several minutes, then finally turned to me:
"Mom, knock knock."
Mom: "Who's there?"
Riley: "An interrupting parrot."
Mom: "An interrup..."
Riley: "SQUAWK!"
THAT totally cracked me up!
Later, at a further stage of dress and awake, he was singing that well-loved (or not) old folk song, "There's a hole in the bucket". He made it through several verses, and poor Liza wasn't getting any closer to a repaired bucket than the first verse. He finally said, "That song just goes on and on and on and on... I think he just doesn't want to fix the bucket."
That Riley is always getting to the bottom of things!
Thursday
Defining Moments
(note: the following article was printed in my local 'Abilene Families', but the last two sentences were omitted. For your reading enjoyment, or not:)
As a mother, you would think that I would be all about Mother’s Day – a day just for ME, a day to get, get, get, and a day when praise is lavished on all mothers. Who could ask for anything more? Truthfully, mother’s day – especially the Hallmark version of it – makes me very uncomfortable. You know which kind of image I’m talking about – a young mother, clad in a pristine white gown in an immaculate, beautifully decorated home, holding a perfectly chubby, cooing baby as they gaze into each other’s eyes. The poetry accompanying the image details the sacrifices the loving mother makes and how wonderful she is and on and on and on. I simply can’t relate: My home has never been immaculate OR decorated, I learned a long time ago not to wear white while holding a child of any age, and I regret how much time I didn’t spend gazing at my babies before they transformed into galloping toddlers, now pre-teens.
The words are what make me squirm the most. Mothers are not defined by the Hallmark moments, but by the horrible moments. Anybody loves to play with a giggling baby or rambunctious toddler, but it’s mom who cleans up when potty-training is not quite successful. It’s mom wiping heads and doing laundry and providing a clean basin when the stomach virus tears through the house at 3 a.m. It’s mom holding constant vigil at a hospital bedside or waiting room. It’s mom lifting, feeding, bathing, and caring for a handicapped child day in and day out. It’s mom wearing a trough in the carpet next to her bed as she kneels for a child who has lost their way or is fighting in harm’s way or whose heart is broken beyond repair. I don’t know of any woman who would ask to be put in any of those situations, but those are the moments that define motherhood. We don’t want praise or pretty words about things we do that we would rather not do. It’s just what we do. It’s being a mom.
While these flowery thoughts and sentiments make me somewhat uncomfortable, they can be downright painful for many people. Mothers who must wait until they get to heaven to hug their child again, mothers who selflessly blessed an adoptive family with their own baby, mothers whose only children are really nieces, nephews, and friends since life has not brought her children of her own and countless other situations can bring pain and disappointment to this day of celebration.
As you think of the women you know that you would consider “extraordinary mothers”, they are probably women making it just one day at a time in extraordinary situations. You probably don’t call to mind a mom of two healthy children with a healthy spouse still living in the home. You probably don’t think of someone like, well, me. The extraordinary mothers we know may have many children raising them all to be successful individuals, may have handicapped or chronically ill children, may have lost a child, or may go to great lengths for her children to have normalcy in the midst of difficult life circumstances. Few of these women would want the accolades or flowery words of a Hallmark commercial. They are simply putting one foot in front of the other because another being in this life depends on it. It’s just what we do. It’s being a mom.
I can’t speak for all moms, but as much as I love words, I don’t want to hear many about what kind of mom I am on Mother’s Day. For me, it simply reminds me of all the places I fall short or what a bad attitude I occasionally have while doing what I do – being a mom. Oh, sure, I won’t turn down any gifts – diamonds are my favorite, sapphire is my birthstone, and if you’re buying a ring remember that my fingers are crazy skinny – but if you need to use any words, a simple, “Thanks for what you do” will suffice, and I wouldn’t mind hearing that once a week. Not saying, “But I don’t want to” when asked to do your job would be nice, because I rarely want to cook your dinner or fold your clothes, but it’s what I do. It’s being a mom. And, most of all, just grow up to make your momma proud.
Unfortunately, in the past year, my children have been acquainted with several children who have lost a parent to death. Knowing that anything can happen, I have been reminded at those times to let my children know what I want most for them out of life. At one point we were driving and discussing a child who had lost a parent and how hard that would be. I said, “If anything ever happens to me, first I want you to know how much I love you. And all I want for you in life is to love the Lord and to marry someone who loves the Lord.”
This brought a know-it-all nod from one child who said in a satisfied tone, “I knew you were going to say that.”
Very well, then. Carry on. That’s all I need to know for a happy Mother’s Day!
As a mother, you would think that I would be all about Mother’s Day – a day just for ME, a day to get, get, get, and a day when praise is lavished on all mothers. Who could ask for anything more? Truthfully, mother’s day – especially the Hallmark version of it – makes me very uncomfortable. You know which kind of image I’m talking about – a young mother, clad in a pristine white gown in an immaculate, beautifully decorated home, holding a perfectly chubby, cooing baby as they gaze into each other’s eyes. The poetry accompanying the image details the sacrifices the loving mother makes and how wonderful she is and on and on and on. I simply can’t relate: My home has never been immaculate OR decorated, I learned a long time ago not to wear white while holding a child of any age, and I regret how much time I didn’t spend gazing at my babies before they transformed into galloping toddlers, now pre-teens.
The words are what make me squirm the most. Mothers are not defined by the Hallmark moments, but by the horrible moments. Anybody loves to play with a giggling baby or rambunctious toddler, but it’s mom who cleans up when potty-training is not quite successful. It’s mom wiping heads and doing laundry and providing a clean basin when the stomach virus tears through the house at 3 a.m. It’s mom holding constant vigil at a hospital bedside or waiting room. It’s mom lifting, feeding, bathing, and caring for a handicapped child day in and day out. It’s mom wearing a trough in the carpet next to her bed as she kneels for a child who has lost their way or is fighting in harm’s way or whose heart is broken beyond repair. I don’t know of any woman who would ask to be put in any of those situations, but those are the moments that define motherhood. We don’t want praise or pretty words about things we do that we would rather not do. It’s just what we do. It’s being a mom.
While these flowery thoughts and sentiments make me somewhat uncomfortable, they can be downright painful for many people. Mothers who must wait until they get to heaven to hug their child again, mothers who selflessly blessed an adoptive family with their own baby, mothers whose only children are really nieces, nephews, and friends since life has not brought her children of her own and countless other situations can bring pain and disappointment to this day of celebration.
As you think of the women you know that you would consider “extraordinary mothers”, they are probably women making it just one day at a time in extraordinary situations. You probably don’t call to mind a mom of two healthy children with a healthy spouse still living in the home. You probably don’t think of someone like, well, me. The extraordinary mothers we know may have many children raising them all to be successful individuals, may have handicapped or chronically ill children, may have lost a child, or may go to great lengths for her children to have normalcy in the midst of difficult life circumstances. Few of these women would want the accolades or flowery words of a Hallmark commercial. They are simply putting one foot in front of the other because another being in this life depends on it. It’s just what we do. It’s being a mom.
I can’t speak for all moms, but as much as I love words, I don’t want to hear many about what kind of mom I am on Mother’s Day. For me, it simply reminds me of all the places I fall short or what a bad attitude I occasionally have while doing what I do – being a mom. Oh, sure, I won’t turn down any gifts – diamonds are my favorite, sapphire is my birthstone, and if you’re buying a ring remember that my fingers are crazy skinny – but if you need to use any words, a simple, “Thanks for what you do” will suffice, and I wouldn’t mind hearing that once a week. Not saying, “But I don’t want to” when asked to do your job would be nice, because I rarely want to cook your dinner or fold your clothes, but it’s what I do. It’s being a mom. And, most of all, just grow up to make your momma proud.
Unfortunately, in the past year, my children have been acquainted with several children who have lost a parent to death. Knowing that anything can happen, I have been reminded at those times to let my children know what I want most for them out of life. At one point we were driving and discussing a child who had lost a parent and how hard that would be. I said, “If anything ever happens to me, first I want you to know how much I love you. And all I want for you in life is to love the Lord and to marry someone who loves the Lord.”
This brought a know-it-all nod from one child who said in a satisfied tone, “I knew you were going to say that.”
Very well, then. Carry on. That’s all I need to know for a happy Mother’s Day!
Wednesday
Random Thoughts for a Rainy Wednesday
This scares the b'jabbers out of me.
If I would spend half as much time thinking about what I was about to say as I spend apologizing for something I have already said, I wouldn't NEED to apologize quite so much!
I've never run a marathon, but I'm guessing in the put-the-Stirman-house-aright marathon (there's a t-shirt I need!) we are about at mile 11 -- wondering why in heaven's name we signed up for this gig and realizing in no uncertain terms that the worst is yet to come. Oddly enough, I feel certain that Monday we were at least at mile 14 and we've spent the last two days going backwards. About a week, people. About a week.
Only because I know my blog audience, I would like to send a memo to a certain technology-type-person:
Technology is great,
Technology is grand,
Technology is always there to lend a hand. (at this point even the 2nd grade level poetry runs out)
My campus loves technology, my district loves technology, and I use all $47 worth of technology in my classroom to the fullest! I am whole-heartedly on board with technology and wish the budget-powers-that-be were, as well.
That said, PLEASE don't make me take any more surveys about technology. My plate is full of other things currently.
If I would spend half as much time thinking about what I was about to say as I spend apologizing for something I have already said, I wouldn't NEED to apologize quite so much!
I've never run a marathon, but I'm guessing in the put-the-Stirman-house-aright marathon (there's a t-shirt I need!) we are about at mile 11 -- wondering why in heaven's name we signed up for this gig and realizing in no uncertain terms that the worst is yet to come. Oddly enough, I feel certain that Monday we were at least at mile 14 and we've spent the last two days going backwards. About a week, people. About a week.
Only because I know my blog audience, I would like to send a memo to a certain technology-type-person:
Technology is great,
Technology is grand,
Technology is always there to lend a hand. (at this point even the 2nd grade level poetry runs out)
My campus loves technology, my district loves technology, and I use all $47 worth of technology in my classroom to the fullest! I am whole-heartedly on board with technology and wish the budget-powers-that-be were, as well.
That said, PLEASE don't make me take any more surveys about technology. My plate is full of other things currently.
Tuesday
Question for the Day...
Tomorrow is one month since my house troubles began. Thursday is three weeks that we have not lived in our home. Currently in my 800-square foot domicile the TV blares in the other room – it seems there is some sort of military calamity transpiring – while one child next to me will only cease their running monologue narrating life long enough to listen to the chatter of the Gameboy.
After the day I had in Room 24, this is not a relaxing place for me and oh, how I long to run and hide from the auditory assault. But all my punkin’s are here and safe. Talking incessantly, but safe.
I had forgotten, but it is perfectly logical, that it takes way longer to put a house back together than it does to destroy it. And, at my house, it seems we take one step forward on the putting together, but there is always more destruction to be done. There was more concrete dust flying at my house today. I guess there were 3 square inches in the back of the house not covered in concrete dust.
BST asks some great questions on his blog. Not having seen Jeff Walling’s new haircut, I can’t really speak to that one, but I thought this was a great question:
Can people really experience the fullness of joy without walking through intense sorrow?
What do you think?
After the day I had in Room 24, this is not a relaxing place for me and oh, how I long to run and hide from the auditory assault. But all my punkin’s are here and safe. Talking incessantly, but safe.
I had forgotten, but it is perfectly logical, that it takes way longer to put a house back together than it does to destroy it. And, at my house, it seems we take one step forward on the putting together, but there is always more destruction to be done. There was more concrete dust flying at my house today. I guess there were 3 square inches in the back of the house not covered in concrete dust.
BST asks some great questions on his blog. Not having seen Jeff Walling’s new haircut, I can’t really speak to that one, but I thought this was a great question:
Can people really experience the fullness of joy without walking through intense sorrow?
What do you think?
Thursday
It was a shirt!
Remember I thought it was going to be tile? I thought some sort of minor housing detail would be what would finally send me over the edge. But, no, it was an article of clothing. This evening was the area- wide 5th grade track meet. Ashley ran and, of course, did us proud!
However, it occurred to me at 4 this morning that she probably needed some specific shirt to wear for this event. So, on her rising, I asked. “Oh, yeah…” was the response. “I think a few weeks ago Mr. Graham said we needed to wear our ‘Just Say No’ shirts.” “Didn’t you get a note about it?” “No, I was with PALS at Mr. Gatti’s during PE yesterday. I saw everyone else coming back with one, but I didn’t get one.”
So far, no sweat. I’ve seen the ‘Just Say No’ shirt recently. It’s in our bedroom, close to the top of her pile of clothes we moved to our bedroom to avoid concrete dust. So, Troy took her by the house on the way to school to find the shirt. It’s all good.
So, as a side note in an email this morning, Troy mentioned, “Also, we found a camo shirt for Ashley in our bedroom but it wasn't THE shirt she was looking for. She says she can make it work.”
Um, no. It will NOT work. Because I said so, that’s why. I start making plans to go to the house to look for it at the house during my conference time. But first it occurs to me to ask the counselor at Ashley’s school if they have any extra shirts that they could throw on her, so I send an email.
I’m not hearing from the counselor, so since Troy was going to meet “tile guy” at the house at lunch, I asked him to please look for me.
His reply, “Babe, I went in with her and pulled all that stuff- it's not there.” I can’t print MY reply to that revelation. I am on a non-stop quest to get my child the right shirt. I can feel the entire façade of my calmness and cheeriness collapsing around this one shirt.
Troy tried to reassure me: “Don't sweat it, she was REALLY fine with wearing the other shirt......” To which I replied, “I know SHE is fine with it, and the rest of the world is fine with it, but i'm freaking b/c not only is keeping everyone calm my job, getting everyone what they need is my job. Getting everyone where they are supposed to be and having what all they need is my job and I'm not doing my job. I know I'm doing the best I can, but I failed on this one and I'm not getting past it. And when I see her tonight in her "make it work" shirt, and everyone else has on the right shirt, I will be reminded that I didn't do my job. Like I said, this is just the little drop that is making me run over...”
I was freaking, I KNEW I was freaking, but somehow Ashley in that shirt was going to make our family appear as if we had it all together, and I could NOT rest until I got her in one. Still not hearing from the counselor. Took my class to lunch and called the counselor to see if she had gotten my email (HELLO??? Life crisis, here! PLEASE respond!!) Left voice mail with counselor. Called school secretary, who, I think, is aware of my crumbling house, looking for the school counselor. She gave me her best, “Please don’t go postal over a shirt” voice and promised she would have counselor check her voice mail.
I returned from lunch to an email from the counselor: “I got her one.” Indeed, heavens opened and smiled on me just in that instance – and shortly after that Troy called all giddy about tile guy AND some other flooring, as well. We were starting to be put back together. Life would go on.
P.S. Meet Ashley at the track meet where she is in the same shirt she left the hotel in this morning. “Didn’t Mrs. Holder get you a shirt?” I ask, incredulously. “Yeah,” she said, “but it’s so hot. I’m just going to run in this one.” Her daddy encouraged her to re-think that choice before every last vein popped out of my forehead. The world returned to its axis as my first-born donned a camo shirt with neon orange writing on it. Sometimes it truly is the little things.
However, it occurred to me at 4 this morning that she probably needed some specific shirt to wear for this event. So, on her rising, I asked. “Oh, yeah…” was the response. “I think a few weeks ago Mr. Graham said we needed to wear our ‘Just Say No’ shirts.” “Didn’t you get a note about it?” “No, I was with PALS at Mr. Gatti’s during PE yesterday. I saw everyone else coming back with one, but I didn’t get one.”
So far, no sweat. I’ve seen the ‘Just Say No’ shirt recently. It’s in our bedroom, close to the top of her pile of clothes we moved to our bedroom to avoid concrete dust. So, Troy took her by the house on the way to school to find the shirt. It’s all good.
So, as a side note in an email this morning, Troy mentioned, “Also, we found a camo shirt for Ashley in our bedroom but it wasn't THE shirt she was looking for. She says she can make it work.”
Um, no. It will NOT work. Because I said so, that’s why. I start making plans to go to the house to look for it at the house during my conference time. But first it occurs to me to ask the counselor at Ashley’s school if they have any extra shirts that they could throw on her, so I send an email.
I’m not hearing from the counselor, so since Troy was going to meet “tile guy” at the house at lunch, I asked him to please look for me.
His reply, “Babe, I went in with her and pulled all that stuff- it's not there.” I can’t print MY reply to that revelation. I am on a non-stop quest to get my child the right shirt. I can feel the entire façade of my calmness and cheeriness collapsing around this one shirt.
Troy tried to reassure me: “Don't sweat it, she was REALLY fine with wearing the other shirt......” To which I replied, “I know SHE is fine with it, and the rest of the world is fine with it, but i'm freaking b/c not only is keeping everyone calm my job, getting everyone what they need is my job. Getting everyone where they are supposed to be and having what all they need is my job and I'm not doing my job. I know I'm doing the best I can, but I failed on this one and I'm not getting past it. And when I see her tonight in her "make it work" shirt, and everyone else has on the right shirt, I will be reminded that I didn't do my job. Like I said, this is just the little drop that is making me run over...”
I was freaking, I KNEW I was freaking, but somehow Ashley in that shirt was going to make our family appear as if we had it all together, and I could NOT rest until I got her in one. Still not hearing from the counselor. Took my class to lunch and called the counselor to see if she had gotten my email (HELLO??? Life crisis, here! PLEASE respond!!) Left voice mail with counselor. Called school secretary, who, I think, is aware of my crumbling house, looking for the school counselor. She gave me her best, “Please don’t go postal over a shirt” voice and promised she would have counselor check her voice mail.
I returned from lunch to an email from the counselor: “I got her one.” Indeed, heavens opened and smiled on me just in that instance – and shortly after that Troy called all giddy about tile guy AND some other flooring, as well. We were starting to be put back together. Life would go on.
P.S. Meet Ashley at the track meet where she is in the same shirt she left the hotel in this morning. “Didn’t Mrs. Holder get you a shirt?” I ask, incredulously. “Yeah,” she said, “but it’s so hot. I’m just going to run in this one.” Her daddy encouraged her to re-think that choice before every last vein popped out of my forehead. The world returned to its axis as my first-born donned a camo shirt with neon orange writing on it. Sometimes it truly is the little things.
Second Grade Quote for the Day:
Introducing the cursive capital 'Y':
"Cool! Now we can write 'universe'!"
Huh? Do you mean "you-niverse"??
"Cool! Now we can write 'universe'!"
Huh? Do you mean "you-niverse"??
Saturday
Top Ten Things I LOVE about Living in a Hotel
10. Confusing my friends with caller I.D.
9. No need to give directions to pizza delivery guy.
8. Living here fits very nicely into my "happy place" which includes denial of what my home currently looks like.
7. The look on people's faces when I tell them where I'm currently living:
(Did she leave her husband? Have they been evicted? Did they lose their home?)
6. Afternoon swims
5. Happy Hour!
4. Maid service!
3. Cleaning the kitchen means throwing away the pizza box and paper plates.
2. Hot breakfasts! (that I don't touch, cook, or clean)
And the Number One Thing I LOVE about living in a hotel:
1. INDOOR PLUMBING -- and no trough down the middle of the floor!
9. No need to give directions to pizza delivery guy.
8. Living here fits very nicely into my "happy place" which includes denial of what my home currently looks like.
7. The look on people's faces when I tell them where I'm currently living:
(Did she leave her husband? Have they been evicted? Did they lose their home?)
6. Afternoon swims
5. Happy Hour!
4. Maid service!
3. Cleaning the kitchen means throwing away the pizza box and paper plates.
2. Hot breakfasts! (that I don't touch, cook, or clean)
And the Number One Thing I LOVE about living in a hotel:
1. INDOOR PLUMBING -- and no trough down the middle of the floor!
Wednesday
Happy Hour, Good Grammar, and Deadlines
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I ripped this off of Beth Moore's blog -- all in the name of sisterly encouragement, of course. I'm sure Beth won't mind! I do love it.Riley is back at school and feelin', well, not-quite-groovy, but much better.
A few funnies from today: I had to stop at Coach Brady's house to deal with some fund-raising stuff and was outside visiting. Ashley was getting antsy to leave and, at one point, yelled out, "Moooooommmmm, happy hour is almost over!" It took me a second to realize what she was talking about and I felt the need to turn to Brooke and Brady and explain: "She's talking about Happy Hour at Sonic (half-price slushes), not at the hotel." Later I realized that my need to explain was probably a little incriminating in itself!
Later, I had homework for her "s*x ed" class at school -- that is more like a self-esteem, value-yourself class thus far. I was supposed to list at least ten values that are important for me to pass along to my daughter. I confess I wanted to put, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength and love your neighbor as yourself," and think that pretty well covers it, but I tried to come up with 10 things. When I got Troy to help me we came up with 10 that seemed VERY redundant to me (can YOU come up with 10 different values you want to pass along to your child?) Ashley was going over the list and laughed at my #10. I tried to explain, "Punctuality goes with respect for other people and their time" (yes, it's a value I would LIKE to pass along to my children, but probably won't since it is rarely modeled for them). She is enlightened now, "Oh! I thought you were talking about using periods, commas, and quotation marks." So then I had to explain the difference between punctuation and punctuality. AND I had an 11th value I wanted to put: Good grammar.
I've had several people ask me: How much longer? I honestly don't know what they are asking -- until we can move back to our house or until our house is put back together. No matter -- I know the answer to neither. I don't mind not knowing the answer and I figure I'm probably happier not knowing -- but I feel like a bit of an idiot admitting I have no idea. I think that somewhere in there someone has told me a when -- but the only one I know for sure I've been told has already come and gone and deadline not met. So I ignore. But in my attempt to make everyone happy -- or maybe just make me look like less of an idiot -- I have decided that my answer will be, "About another week." How long until they are finished? About another week. How long will you still be living at the hotel? About another week. How long will it take for your house to be finished? About another week. Until then, I'll be poolside enjoying happy hour! :-) Sonic's OR the hotel's!
Tuesday
Coffee Group On the Road
I meant to include this in the last post, but I was horribly distracted between talk of new kitchen tile and getting the dance-off results from the kids while they observed the dinner at the hotel. So my coffee group gals hit the road this weekend. I'm going to claim being the youngest and most agile since they crammed me in the back little seat -- but I went the whole way saying (honestly) that I didn't mind and actually liked my little cubby! But what a fun trip. Oh, I am so blessed.
I do love to speak at ladies' things. Mainly, I guess, I just love to talk and I REALLY love to talk about what the Lord teaches me. Then, when I get to sit and visit with my friends and travel with them -- I'm just so blessed.
We spoke at Crossroads Retreat Center in Caldwell, Texas, which is pretty 'fur acrosst' Texas from Abilene! Beautiful, beautiful country, though! And I got to see old family -- my sisters from my congregation in Temple. What beautiful, beautiful souls they are. I am so blessed.
So, we talked and we laughed and we ate and we laughed some more. And sweet Judy drove and drove and drove some more. And we continued to laugh. All in all, a grand time was had by all.
I do love to speak at ladies' things. Mainly, I guess, I just love to talk and I REALLY love to talk about what the Lord teaches me. Then, when I get to sit and visit with my friends and travel with them -- I'm just so blessed.
We spoke at Crossroads Retreat Center in Caldwell, Texas, which is pretty 'fur acrosst' Texas from Abilene! Beautiful, beautiful country, though! And I got to see old family -- my sisters from my congregation in Temple. What beautiful, beautiful souls they are. I am so blessed.
So, we talked and we laughed and we ate and we laughed some more. And sweet Judy drove and drove and drove some more. And we continued to laugh. All in all, a grand time was had by all.
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life Goes On
The excavation of my home and foundation continues. However, I do have to confess that the bees left almost as soon as I posted about their presence. Troy says that's how they travel -- swarm, rest, swarm. Comforting, no?
The foundation of my home is laid bare and, in some cases, removed from my home. There is a hole in the hall bath about 4 feet deep. There are piles of dirt in Ashley's room that have dumped huge clods onto her carpet that is rolled to one side. Concrete dust covers every inch of my home. Obviously not in my happy place.
HOWEVER -- since last Thursday my home has been some hotel. Thursday was Best Western, then I left town, then we've been at the Elegante' Suites (formerly Embassy). My kids are eating better breakfasts than they have all year -- okay, my whole family is. Troy doesn't even have to eat lunch! Someone comes to make my beds and bring me fresh towels every day. I'm 2 for 2: days for naps. It is, indeed, all good in the 'hood!
Of course, the questions continue -- how long? how much? what is the problem? No idea. I know we won't be back in our home for at least another week. I know my home won't be much of a home when we do get back. It will be weeks of tripping over installers and displaced furniture. I know that parts of my foundation can't be closed up for weeks while we wait on soil sample testing. I don't know how it will all work. But I do know it will work. Again, it's inconvenient, but not a problem. I truly can't complain -- oh, I have, but I really have no room to. I know people that have actual problems. Living in a hotel having my dinner delivered to me -- not exactly a problem.
Judy says it's just like a vacation -- the first night here did appear just like some of MY vacations, but I doubt like many of Judy's. Wal-Mart at 11 p.m. Saturday so that Riley could have something other than athletic shorts to wear to church. Raucous softball teams celebrating until 3 a.m. Just like my vacations!
Having been through a flood and reconstruction 5 years ago, we are much better equipped to deal with this than we were the flood. I feel like we are making better decisions and I can think through our decorating options while we have this "opportunity" to re-model! Again, just like a vacation (even right this minute, the dinner in the atrium of the hotel is having some awesome live music -- you just don't get that at home! The kids just returned reporting on the dance-off).
And, since life goes on, bumps and scrapes come with it. Last night at baseball practice Riley took off after a long hit and tried to hurdle a rope that blocks off a portion of the track. With all the grace of his momma, he caught one leg on the rope and landed hip and elbow first. The kid is bunged up. When he still could hardly walk this morning, I took a sick day and took him into the doctor. Yep, he's beat up. Yep, he'll be fine. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life Goes On.
The foundation of my home is laid bare and, in some cases, removed from my home. There is a hole in the hall bath about 4 feet deep. There are piles of dirt in Ashley's room that have dumped huge clods onto her carpet that is rolled to one side. Concrete dust covers every inch of my home. Obviously not in my happy place.
HOWEVER -- since last Thursday my home has been some hotel. Thursday was Best Western, then I left town, then we've been at the Elegante' Suites (formerly Embassy). My kids are eating better breakfasts than they have all year -- okay, my whole family is. Troy doesn't even have to eat lunch! Someone comes to make my beds and bring me fresh towels every day. I'm 2 for 2: days for naps. It is, indeed, all good in the 'hood!
Of course, the questions continue -- how long? how much? what is the problem? No idea. I know we won't be back in our home for at least another week. I know my home won't be much of a home when we do get back. It will be weeks of tripping over installers and displaced furniture. I know that parts of my foundation can't be closed up for weeks while we wait on soil sample testing. I don't know how it will all work. But I do know it will work. Again, it's inconvenient, but not a problem. I truly can't complain -- oh, I have, but I really have no room to. I know people that have actual problems. Living in a hotel having my dinner delivered to me -- not exactly a problem.
Judy says it's just like a vacation -- the first night here did appear just like some of MY vacations, but I doubt like many of Judy's. Wal-Mart at 11 p.m. Saturday so that Riley could have something other than athletic shorts to wear to church. Raucous softball teams celebrating until 3 a.m. Just like my vacations!
Having been through a flood and reconstruction 5 years ago, we are much better equipped to deal with this than we were the flood. I feel like we are making better decisions and I can think through our decorating options while we have this "opportunity" to re-model! Again, just like a vacation (even right this minute, the dinner in the atrium of the hotel is having some awesome live music -- you just don't get that at home! The kids just returned reporting on the dance-off).
And, since life goes on, bumps and scrapes come with it. Last night at baseball practice Riley took off after a long hit and tried to hurdle a rope that blocks off a portion of the track. With all the grace of his momma, he caught one leg on the rope and landed hip and elbow first. The kid is bunged up. When he still could hardly walk this morning, I took a sick day and took him into the doctor. Yep, he's beat up. Yep, he'll be fine. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life Goes On.
Thursday
Now We Have Honey to Sweeten Life's Lemonade..
So Ashley calls me outside. "See that black spot on the tree?" Well, it's a pretty scrawny tree and a fairly large spot, so, yes, I see it... 
So, joining our happy little jackhammered home is a swarm of bees. I'm sure there is something I could and should be doing about that, but I don't know what. So, I'm keeping the children away until their father gets home!
So, joining our happy little jackhammered home is a swarm of bees. I'm sure there is something I could and should be doing about that, but I don't know what. So, I'm keeping the children away until their father gets home!
Happy Place... Growing Dim ... So Far Away
Well, to Pete, I guess, this is progress. I don't know if you can see, but I put a little, tiny red arrow to indicate where I stood yesterday to take a picture of my kitchen. Now my happy trough goes from my kitchen to the edge of my living room. Tomorrow it should go through the hall bath, the Master shower, the hall, the hall closet, and finish it's tour of the Stirman home in Ashley's room.
I do believe this is my favorite, though:
as if my living room were Pete's personal spelunking project.
I do believe this is my favorite, though:
as if my living room were Pete's personal spelunking project. He truly is a nice man and if I have to spend all day having my teeth rattled by a jack-hammering plumber, it may as well be Pete! He and Jason, our State Farm adjuster, are going to have to go on my Christmas card list!
Wednesday
Photographic Evidence
My kitchen sink area and floor Wednesday morning:
The kitchen sink is in my garage, and here is the floor area by Wednesday afternoon:
Lovely, no? (for reference, those are 18" tiles -- the picture shows 6 of them torn up, and I'm standing at the 7th one to take the pic)
The kitchen sink is in my garage, and here is the floor area by Wednesday afternoon: Lovely, no? (for reference, those are 18" tiles -- the picture shows 6 of them torn up, and I'm standing at the 7th one to take the pic)Seeing these pictures makes me realize that I have no idea where my cabinet doors are. Just a minute, let me look around... no, they are not in my happy place, which is where I have to stay right now. There are no questions and no answers in my happy place -- how much more do they have to dig up? how long will this take? you're sure State Farm will cover all of this? None of those are in my happy place, so I can't help you. My refrigerator is in front of my french doors and there is plywood over the trough. That is what I know -- OH, and I know that I made a grand pioneer woman and hauled water so I could cook and clean for a week with no drainage, but now I have no water and no sink to hold my "wash basins". So, I'm done and we shall be eating out until I have a sink again. That information is in my happy place. I think also in my happy place I am going to take children to breakfast this morning since there is one of those big, state-wide exams and they need a decent breakfast -- and there isn't one at this house! Come join me in my happy place!
Nothing Noteworthy
First, y'all knew I had to check out the new Diet Coke Plus, right? I saw it on the news earlier this week. Troy, of course, rolled his eyes. But if I can drink that bubbly beverage that I love so very much AND get a few vitamins, I'm ALL about it. I wouldn't have thought it would have been in our tiny city yet, but Kendra sent me an email about it pretty fired up (you don't know Diet Coke love/ addiction until you've met Kendra) so I set out in search of it today. Okay, truthfully I just went to Wal-Mart since that's where Kendra told me she had found it. I wouldn't have made a special trip there, but I needed a few other things, you know the W-M drill... Anyway, I know you are dying for my review so here goes: Flavor? sweeter than regular Diet Coke (NOT a plus, in my book) yet with more of an aftertaste. All in all, it's tolerable, and if it had vitamins I thought I really needed I would make a point to drink one every day. Which brings me to the vitamin content: How's your magnesium level? Niacin? I'm sure the B-6 and B-12 proponents will argue with me, but I really think I'm okay on that front, as well. I know that I am chronically short of calcium and iron, but I also know that caffeine interferes with the absorption of both of those things, so we probably won't find them in a Diet Coke anytime soon. All in all, Diet Coke plus is a grand idea --- but I doubt it will stick around very long.
And on the homefront -- I can't wait until I can post my picture of my kitchen floor with the 5 foot trough down the middle of it. It used to smell like fresh dirt, which I just thought I didn't enjoy until they got closer to the problem area and now it smells like sewer gas. I have learned that when Pete the Plumber is jack-hammering your kitchen floor, there is no where in the house to get away from the sound or feel. If you go into the backyard, put your earplugs in so far that the sound of your breathing is magnified, then take a huge swig of Diet Coke, the sound of the fizzing of the bubbles in your mouth is a fun distraction from the jackhammering, but you can still hear it. If you go to Wal-Mart or the mall, you can't hear it at all. There is currently talk of a trough that slices the flooring, as well as some cabinetry and fixtures, all the way through my home to remedy the extent of the problem. I am doing what is very typical of me at such a time -- I am very far away in my happy place and not processing. In 2 weeks, when I still have a trough in my home, plumbers jackhammering my life, and State Farm telling me that my tile is no longer made and they can replace it with ugly tile 'A' --- at that point I will also do what is fairly typical of me and have a nervous breakdown when I notice that we are running low on Honey-Nut Cheerios or something to that effect. Just bear with me.
Friday I get to go on a road trip with my gals and tell more of God's story at a retreat. I am so thankful for my gals! I get to continue to find my happy place while poor Troy continues to sit through jackhammering and sewer gas smell. May God bless the daddies left behind on a ladies retreat!
And on the homefront -- I can't wait until I can post my picture of my kitchen floor with the 5 foot trough down the middle of it. It used to smell like fresh dirt, which I just thought I didn't enjoy until they got closer to the problem area and now it smells like sewer gas. I have learned that when Pete the Plumber is jack-hammering your kitchen floor, there is no where in the house to get away from the sound or feel. If you go into the backyard, put your earplugs in so far that the sound of your breathing is magnified, then take a huge swig of Diet Coke, the sound of the fizzing of the bubbles in your mouth is a fun distraction from the jackhammering, but you can still hear it. If you go to Wal-Mart or the mall, you can't hear it at all. There is currently talk of a trough that slices the flooring, as well as some cabinetry and fixtures, all the way through my home to remedy the extent of the problem. I am doing what is very typical of me at such a time -- I am very far away in my happy place and not processing. In 2 weeks, when I still have a trough in my home, plumbers jackhammering my life, and State Farm telling me that my tile is no longer made and they can replace it with ugly tile 'A' --- at that point I will also do what is fairly typical of me and have a nervous breakdown when I notice that we are running low on Honey-Nut Cheerios or something to that effect. Just bear with me.
Friday I get to go on a road trip with my gals and tell more of God's story at a retreat. I am so thankful for my gals! I get to continue to find my happy place while poor Troy continues to sit through jackhammering and sewer gas smell. May God bless the daddies left behind on a ladies retreat!
Tuesday
The Days Are Evil
Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Ephesians 5:15, 16
The days are truly evil. Besides the horror of yesterday, there are so many memories of evil this week:
April 19, 1993 – Branch Davidian leader, David Koresh, sets fire to the compound outside of Waco after federal agents released tear gas in the compound. Dozens of Branch Davidians were shot and killed before the fire ever started.
April 19, 1995 – Timothy McVeigh parks a truck full of explosives in front of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people. It was the deadliest terrorist act on American soil at the time.
April 19, 1993 – Branch Davidian leader, David Koresh, sets fire to the compound outside of Waco after federal agents released tear gas in the compound. Dozens of Branch Davidians were shot and killed before the fire ever started.
April 19, 1995 – Timothy McVeigh parks a truck full of explosives in front of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people. It was the deadliest terrorist act on American soil at the time.
April 20, 1999 -- Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold go on a shooting rampage at Columbine High School in Jefferson County, Colorado. They kill 12 students and 1 teacher before ending their own lives.
This year, April 17, 2007 has been added to the list of days in April that are memories of terror. I have no answers. I have no reasons 'why'. I have no understanding about any of it. But I have hope. Sometimes hope is all you can go on.
Heather offers much in the way of perspective this week. A week ago Heather thought she had a horrible ear infection that was making her so dizzy. Today she had an appointment at the Mayo Clinic to discuss options for the brain tumor she has learned she has. Please read her words here. Keep up with her here. And pray for her always.
Thursday
Like a Good Neighbor...
Yeah, I heard you... you, over there in Pennsylvania -- I heard you laugh when I said my husband was on the phone with State Farm. I heard you tell your friend what a moron I am for paying THAT much for homeowner's insurance. Well, let me give you some fuel for your laughter: State Farm has not only my homeowner's insurance, but my auto (both) and my husband's life (yes, I have life, and some of it is SF and some is someone else cheap -- b/c a death certificate is non-debateable: dead is dead. No exclusions of coverage) 'Cause here's the deal -- while I could have saved a few bucks over the years on my insurance, State Farm has paid me back and paid me back so many times over -- flood and car damage -- done! Now that my house has shifted, thus crushing a pipe under my kitchen, State Farm is once again saying, "You're covered!" Yeah, I could save a few bucks on insurance, but will they be there when I need them?
'Cause like a good neighbor... State Farm is there.
This is just to be written record/ reminder for the next time we have a "budget meeting" at the house and Troy wants to talk about saving $13/ month. He'll just have to pack his lunch a few more times if he wants to save $13/ month!
'Cause like a good neighbor... State Farm is there.
This is just to be written record/ reminder for the next time we have a "budget meeting" at the house and Troy wants to talk about saving $13/ month. He'll just have to pack his lunch a few more times if he wants to save $13/ month!
Wednesday
No, Seriously!
Have you ever gone about your day just fine until someone asks you, "Do you feel all right?" with a VERY concerned look on their face? Well, I thought I was all right. Yes, yes, I think I must be fine. But you wonder... do I look sick? Then if ANOTHER person asks you -- well, you just may as well go home and go to bed because you are definitely sick at that point, if only because your brain has convinced yourself that you are ill.
I thought I was fine and happy and wonderful today, but I keep getting these "this encouraging message made me think of you" emails. Which, don't get me wrong, I love to be encouraged, but they seemed to be aimed at the soul unable to tread another step without a little encouragement. Well, I thought I was fine and happy and wonderful...
Perhaps the brevity of my "plumbing issue" post caused folks to think that I was in my flannel jammies sobbing over pipes. I may have been in my flannel jammies, but I haven't sobbed and I really don't plan to. The brevity of the post comes from it being 16 hours after I had picked my head up off of the pillow, but anytime you can say, "We have to go out to eat" AND you're entitled to pay for it with your emergency fund because, truly, it could classify as an emergency-- it's not an entirely bad situation!
As my little friend Allie told me, "It's all good in the 'hood!" Now, I'm not sure my little slice of suburbia would be considered "the 'hood", but it's definitely good. Yes, there are plans to jackhammer parts of my home, but it's not my (or anyone else's) head, heart, or even big toe, for pity's sake. And, as my friend Donna Leavelle says, "If you've got problems that money can solve, then you don't really have problems." Every day of my life convinces me of that again and again. And, fabulously enough, the Lord has provided so many things in this part of our lives, shame on me if I miss all of the blessings before me for the few inconveniences.
So, um, thanks for all of the encouragement, I think. But, really, I think I'm fine -- unless you know something I don't!
I thought I was fine and happy and wonderful today, but I keep getting these "this encouraging message made me think of you" emails. Which, don't get me wrong, I love to be encouraged, but they seemed to be aimed at the soul unable to tread another step without a little encouragement. Well, I thought I was fine and happy and wonderful...
Perhaps the brevity of my "plumbing issue" post caused folks to think that I was in my flannel jammies sobbing over pipes. I may have been in my flannel jammies, but I haven't sobbed and I really don't plan to. The brevity of the post comes from it being 16 hours after I had picked my head up off of the pillow, but anytime you can say, "We have to go out to eat" AND you're entitled to pay for it with your emergency fund because, truly, it could classify as an emergency-- it's not an entirely bad situation!
As my little friend Allie told me, "It's all good in the 'hood!" Now, I'm not sure my little slice of suburbia would be considered "the 'hood", but it's definitely good. Yes, there are plans to jackhammer parts of my home, but it's not my (or anyone else's) head, heart, or even big toe, for pity's sake. And, as my friend Donna Leavelle says, "If you've got problems that money can solve, then you don't really have problems." Every day of my life convinces me of that again and again. And, fabulously enough, the Lord has provided so many things in this part of our lives, shame on me if I miss all of the blessings before me for the few inconveniences.
So, um, thanks for all of the encouragement, I think. But, really, I think I'm fine -- unless you know something I don't!
Tuesday
A Day in the Life
Today, I didn't want to hear:
- "Mom, the plumber is here." (okay, when a plumber is needed, it is always good for one to be there, but it was 7:48, I was trying to leave for work and Troy was still in the shower. So, of course, the plumber was 12 minutes EARLY).
- From Hector at the Help Desk: "Yes, ma'am, I realize you've been entering that data for 30 minutes (almost my entire conference time! HELLO!) but there is no way to get the program "unfrozen" without losing that data."
- Text message from Troy, at home with the plumbers: "Call when you can -- big problem."
- I call: "Hang on, I'm on the other line with State Farm."
- Email later: "State Farm is sending an adjuster, but they say it doesn't sound like something they will cover."
Today, I was thrilled to hear:
- But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. Jeremiah 17:7
- He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy. Job 8:21
- Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Isaiah 40:28, 29
Sunday
Batter Up!
originally on heartlight.org
March 30, 2005
I hate baseball.
There you have it. Just as my delay in seeing "The Passion of the Christ" calls my citizenship in heaven into question, I feel certain that my loathing of America’s past-time also calls my United States citizenship into question. But there it is – I hate baseball.
So God, having the fabulous sense of humor I feel any loving Creator should have, sent me a son. A son who, in his 7th year, wants to play baseball more than anything. Soccer? Nope. Basketball? Nothin’ doin’. Baseball? Sign him up! Sign him up we did.
Now we’ve invested in cleats, hats, socks, belts, and numerous other items that seem to be essential for playing a game of baseball. Now I spend my evenings sitting in the not-yet-warm West Texas wind watching small children learn to "throw a string, not a rainbow". I figure in a one hour Little League game (and I think I’m being optimistic to assume it will only last an hour) the ball in motion and all subsequent action will total approximately 12 minutes of that game. My son’s part in the action may total about 4 minutes. Again, I believe myself to be an optimist.
I admit that my disdain has had to give way to minor dislike as I watch the enthusiasm that my son has for the sport. Minutes waiting for practice to begin (PRACTICE, mind you – we haven’t even had a game yet!) are painstaking agony. Minutes at practice fly by all too quickly. The little leaguer gushes with knowledge and excitement after each practice. Finally, last night I admit my heart thawed totally toward the sport. I commented, in all honesty, "Well, I’m really glad that you seem to like it." His response was nothing less than incredulous: "Like it?!?! Are you kidding?!?! It’s the best thing that ever happened to me!!!"
Now, keep in mind that my son’s life is not necessarily fraught with hardship unless you count unloading the dishwasher and feeding the dog difficult manual labor. But if baseball is the best thing that ever happened to him, then buy me some peanuts and CrackerJacks, I don’t care if I never get back from the old ball game! I have laughed to myself at how little it took to change my view of the game – simply the fact that it is the delight of one of the loves of my life.
I believe that those of us blessed to be parents are given that task in order to get a tiny glimpse into God’s love for us. Lately I have been perplexed by the verse "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4) What if the desire of my heart involves 6-pack abs and single digit clothing sizes? I have no hard and fast answers (nor hard abs) but I do know that this spring West Texas day was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And I do believe that it tickled God to no end for me to tell Him so. I also believe that as I continue to pour out my heart to God and know Him as the loving parent He is, the desires of my heart will more closely match His.
Without a doubt, HE is the best thing that ever happened to me!
Batter up!
March 30, 2005
I hate baseball.
There you have it. Just as my delay in seeing "The Passion of the Christ" calls my citizenship in heaven into question, I feel certain that my loathing of America’s past-time also calls my United States citizenship into question. But there it is – I hate baseball.
So God, having the fabulous sense of humor I feel any loving Creator should have, sent me a son. A son who, in his 7th year, wants to play baseball more than anything. Soccer? Nope. Basketball? Nothin’ doin’. Baseball? Sign him up! Sign him up we did.
Now we’ve invested in cleats, hats, socks, belts, and numerous other items that seem to be essential for playing a game of baseball. Now I spend my evenings sitting in the not-yet-warm West Texas wind watching small children learn to "throw a string, not a rainbow". I figure in a one hour Little League game (and I think I’m being optimistic to assume it will only last an hour) the ball in motion and all subsequent action will total approximately 12 minutes of that game. My son’s part in the action may total about 4 minutes. Again, I believe myself to be an optimist.
I admit that my disdain has had to give way to minor dislike as I watch the enthusiasm that my son has for the sport. Minutes waiting for practice to begin (PRACTICE, mind you – we haven’t even had a game yet!) are painstaking agony. Minutes at practice fly by all too quickly. The little leaguer gushes with knowledge and excitement after each practice. Finally, last night I admit my heart thawed totally toward the sport. I commented, in all honesty, "Well, I’m really glad that you seem to like it." His response was nothing less than incredulous: "Like it?!?! Are you kidding?!?! It’s the best thing that ever happened to me!!!"
Now, keep in mind that my son’s life is not necessarily fraught with hardship unless you count unloading the dishwasher and feeding the dog difficult manual labor. But if baseball is the best thing that ever happened to him, then buy me some peanuts and CrackerJacks, I don’t care if I never get back from the old ball game! I have laughed to myself at how little it took to change my view of the game – simply the fact that it is the delight of one of the loves of my life.
I believe that those of us blessed to be parents are given that task in order to get a tiny glimpse into God’s love for us. Lately I have been perplexed by the verse "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4) What if the desire of my heart involves 6-pack abs and single digit clothing sizes? I have no hard and fast answers (nor hard abs) but I do know that this spring West Texas day was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And I do believe that it tickled God to no end for me to tell Him so. I also believe that as I continue to pour out my heart to God and know Him as the loving parent He is, the desires of my heart will more closely match His.
Without a doubt, HE is the best thing that ever happened to me!
Batter up!
Blogger's note -- now, two years later, enthusiasm has not
waned and I look forward to countless more hours on impossibly hard metal
bleachers and dinners of Dixie Burgers or concession stand
nachos.
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