it's nice to have boys...

who have a sense of humor.

Boy #1: "Mom! I think I dislocated my toe!" Boy #2: "What does that mean - you can't find it?"

dream fulfilled

Walking up to Cub Foods today I spied the bell ringer. I gave each boy a dollar to put into the red kettle. After we got inside, one boy asked me who the money was for. After I explained, another one said, "Wow! I've always wanted to give to the Salvation Army!"

it's nice to have boys...

who don't appreciate all the money you save by cutting their hair. The haircuts didn't go so well tonight - "You cut my hair too short! I look like a dimrod!"

boys say the funniest things...

‎"Mom, you're hideous."

"Why would you say that?"

" 'Cause you're a girl and it's a girl's name."

When I told Mr. 3-year-old that it meant ugly, he got a shocked look on his face and then he giggled. Typical boy. I feel so pretty right now.

good question

Are you on a certain website too much when your six-year-old says something stupid and then immediately tells you, "You better not put that on Facebook!"

siding

Here's what we've been doing most of the late summer and fall - siding and painting. I'm pretty happy with this product from Menards - it's a pre-primed engineered wood lap siding from called LP Smartside.

It wasn't difficult to install, just took some time (well, most of the summer really). I only got involved when it came time to pick paint colors, caulk the seams and paint the trim and siding.

In case you're wondering, the paint colors are Fairview Taupe on the siding and Edgecomb Gray for the trim. Both are Benjamin Moore colors.

Next summer we (meaning hubby) will be putting cedar shakes on the gable end and on the dormers in front. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to stain it gray or let it age naturally.

bridging the gap

There is a generational gap of gargantuan proportions in our home. The old folks are just not understanding the young ‘uns. Or it could be that the youngsters are just plain crazy.

Recent snow is a prime example. Number three woke up nearly unable to speak because he was so excited about the temperature change that caused liquid to turn to white crystals and accumulate on our lawn. Even though there was barely half an inch, he immediately began digging through his closet trying to find winter boots and snow pants. After destroying the bedroom, he headed outdoors to pull out the snowboards.

Before questioning his sanity, I sat mesmerized that the child who can never find anything (not even his underwear most days) managed to pull together an entire outdoor ensemble more appropriate for 20 below than for the 34-degree October day we were blessed with.

Thankfully the snow didn’t last long. But the next morning, the same kid was looking out the window chewing out the weatherman, mumbling something about doing his job better. (Don’t ask me where they get this stuff - I gave up trying to figure out the mysteries of the world a long time ago.)

All four boys were delighted with the snow. Even the one who couldn’t get his snow boots on. (Turns out he has grown, again, and they no longer fit. Imagine that.) A few minutes later he traipsed out to the garage to get his rubber boots. Problem solved.

The only mentally stable person in the house that day didn’t stay that way long, after first viewing snow on the ground when she had siding to paint and then seeing the pile of wet, muddy “winter” clothes in the entryway.

A few days later, all four boys were clammering to cut into the pumpkins Grandma and Grandpa had given them. (Yes, we’ve had a weird fall in Minnesota.) I had visions of seeds and string and pumpkin guts all over the kitchen floor. And I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone declared a pumpkin fight - seeds, string and all. Then they’d still want to roast the seeds, even after most ended up on the floor.

Number four was adamant that I make him pumpkin pie. All day long, all I heard was him begging to cut up his pumpkin and bake a pie. The only way I got out of it was the “discovery” that I had only one egg in the fridge. Whew.

Number two was insistent that I couldn’t use his pumpkin this year to actually make pumpkin. He was going to carve a jack-o-lantern. Hmmm, boys loose in the kitchen with vegetables (that weigh as much as they do) and sharp knives suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. The trouble is neither did cutting up three gigantic pumpkins. Either way involved mess and work. And four stinky boys peeking over my shoulder and each other’s for about three minutes before someone bumps someone else’s pumpkin and World War III starts in my kitchen didn’t exactly seem fun either.

Both the snow and the pumpkins were thrills for the boys. I was slightly less excited about the hassle factor they were creating in my world. I couldn’t do much else that day anyway, so I did the next best thing.

I took a nap.

By the time I got up, number two had actually completed his jack-o-lantern and removed all the seeds, setting them aside to soak. Somehow he managed not to cut himself and somewhat more miraculously, managed to not smear pumpkin everywhere, including his brothers’ hair.

The other two, upon learning that they could still make pumpkin seeds, promptly decided that they were going to can the carving and make pumpkin instead. I’m not sure if it was gluttony or sloth that made that decision, but I’m pretty sure I came out on the losing end. Mom is one to bake the pumpkin, puree the pumpkin, make the pumpkin pie and bake the pumpkin bread. I felt a little bit like the Little Red Hen. Who will help me eat the pumpkin pie and snack on the pumpkin bread? You guessed it - four hungry little boys with pumpkin seed breath.

I’m not sure at what point in my life I went from getting excited about innocent things like snow and pumpkins to judging the value of something by how much work it will require of me or how much of a mess it will create.

I used to love the smell of Play-Do; now I cringe at the crumbs it leaves behind. I used to make snowmen outside with carrots and an old scarf; now I hate to waste a perfectly good vegetable or have to wash the scarf in a week. I used to love baths; now I can’t help but gulp at wasting water. I used to be a kid; now I am the Mom.

I think I need to build a bridge.

boys say the funniest things...

Grandma tried to give Number Four a hug before Grandpa and he wanted nothing to do w/it. When he got to Grandpa, he stuck his arms out wide and said, "I have room for two people!"

hugs

Grandma tried to give Number Four a hug before Grandpa and he wanted nothing to do w/it. (Most of my boys have been serious "Grandpa's boys" at that age.) When he got to Grandpa, he stuck his arms out wide and said, "I have room for two people!"

He must get that from his father.

it's personal

This morning, God made my day. I was the recipient of a very blunt, sort of personal question - and all I could do was laugh. It was exactly what I needed to start my day off. I knew the asker wasn't asking just to be nosy (okay maybe a little nosy) but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the only reason.

Our little internet chat made me chuckle, helped me through some junk and gave me the promise of another person's prayer for me to work through some more junk. This person, who proudly claims to not be a "people" person, really was God with skin on this morning - a people person whether she knew it or not, if only for a few minutes.

I truly appreciate no-nonsense, matter-of-fact people who don't beat around any sort of shrub. People who will ask a blunt question. People who will tell you exactly what they're thinking, sometimes whether or not you ask for their opinion.

And usually, they don't get upset if you don't agree with them. Those are the kind of people that I like to have in my life - brutally honest, blunt people who can speak the truth in love. (Not an easy gift or talent, I might add.)

Sometimes I need to hear stuff like that and like today, welcome it. Other times, I just get ticked and won't listen, or at least won't listen right away. But today, I'm so grateful that someone was wise enough to see through me, brave enough to ask a personal question and kind enough to hear the answer, give some counsel and prayer.

After all, is it really supposed to be so personal?

swing batter, batter...

Here's why I really love Facebook. I posted this as a status update:
If life hands you lemons, make lemonade. So what do you do when life throws you a curveball?

Here are the responses I got:

Catch it and throw it back?

If you're the batter, BUNT... or learn to hit a curve ball outta the park!! :)

That last comment if fantastic...too bad it is not so easy to do, but what a goal.

Love the comments...and pray. Don't get hit in the face with the ball.

Swing...you might hit it out of the park and then you will be the teams hero....and if not your team will stand there and pat you on the back and tell you great job...

(ME) I was sort of thinking about just quitting the game...

It's too easy to just quit..the curve ball is not the only one in the game..there may be a nice slow pitch with the next throw and you can knock it right out of the park..

If it's a strike...swing!! what do you have to lose?!

(ME) I think i got hit by the pitch. ;)

Will start to pray for you to be ready to get up to home plate again.

Walk's as good as a hit! Have quick feet on the bases! See ya at home!!


It's always interesting to get other people's perspectives, and often makes a person feel better just to hear some positive pep talk. Not sure if I'm ready to get back in the game yet, but at least I know some good coaches.

wrestling with god

For nearly nine months now, I have been a Wrestling Mom. That does not mean that I am the wrestler, but rather the Chauffeur, the Shoe-tier, the Bloody-nose Wiper, the Cheerleader, the Photographer, the very inept Coach and occasionally I might even take a dodgeball to the head.

Those just some of the duties required of a Wrestling Mom. Another one is Parade Walker. Or Fund Raiser. Or even Sweaty Clothes Washer. They’re all just loads of fun, pun intended.

I now know what a half-nelson is, how to recognize clasping, the scoring system in freestyle wrestling and have even had to demonstrate “the pancake” to two boys who missed practice one night. (And no, it’s not sitting on top of them with my 65-pound weight advantage, although there are days when it’s tempting.)

We have been traveling to local practices, and not-so-local programs. We’ve participated in a few tournaments and two different styles of wrestling. Hubby has even purchased wrestling mats for the basement floor. (I tend to think padded walls would be a better investment.) We’ve even made a road trip out of the sport, where the actual time of wrestling was shorter than one potty break along the way.

The best part of all this wrestling though, is the energy the boys burn, which makes my job as Wrestling Mom much easier. They can channel their aggression into wrestling with each other, instead of the normal punching and kicking I used to see. (Well, who am I kidding - they still do that, only now they throw a few takedowns in the mix as well.) They come home from practice too exhausted to argue about bedtime or beg for snacks, and usually too tired to pick up their stinky shoes and bags. There is a whole new odor that goes along with this sport - Eau de Wrestling Room can fry nose hairs. I’m told it rivals hockey gear, but really don’t want to put it to the test.

I sometimes wonder if we’re overdoing it by wrestling year round, but figure any sport found in the Bible can’t be all bad. After all, Jacob was a wrestler, and apparently somewhat good.

What I find most interesting about that account in Exodus 32 is the idea that Jacob actually wrestled with God. And I’m pretty sure it’s not included in Scripture as an example of a Biblically-sanctioned sport. The fact that Jacob wrestled with God has extreme significance in my life as well.

I can actually be a Wrestling Mom who wrestles, with God that is.

I can struggle with whatever, even to the point of grappling with God about it - and not have to feel guilty because I am struggling with something. Like Jacob, I might wrestle overnight. Or weeks even. I’m not sure there’s a time limit on wrestling with God. Periods, maybe. I might take a break or a breather, and be back on the mat using all my mental and physical strength to do some more battle.

Am I battling against God? If I’m honest, yes I am. I fight against what I don’t want for my life, or fight for what I do. Sometimes I’m raving mad - at my situation, at God, at my life. Other times, I’m fighting out of grief or fear or even just plain old stubbornness. You’d be amazed at how far a strong will (obstinance) can take you in a wrestling match. Or let me put that another way - you’d be amazed at how long it takes to give in, even if I’m already beat and have one and a half shoulders to the mat.

It would be easy to look at Jacob’s wrestling match and conclude that I should attempt to outwrestle God. But that’s not the point.

Jacob got up in the middle of the night and sent his family and possessions across a stream. (How’s that for a wake-up call?) The Bible doesn’t tell us why Jacob was alone, but it does give us, in Chapter 31, a good idea of what was going through his mind - fear. He was afraid because he thought his brother was coming after him. And probably a bit unsure of God’s promise: “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go...I will not leave you until I have done what I promised you.” (Gen. 28:15)

I wonder if Jacob purposely sent everyone away because he needed to pray and think. Difficult to do that with the distraction of hundreds of cows, sheep, goats and donkeys, not to mention servants. Perhaps he just needed to be alone.

That is when God (the opponent) initiated the wrestling. The Bible doesn’t give us the how or why, just that they wrestled until daybreak. What I take away from the sparse details of this hours-long bout is that God will actually meet with us to wrestle. The struggle can produce stronger faith - will I resist Him or will I trust Him? And even if I resist, He still pursues me.

I might not be able to work out my issues any other way than by battling through them. Accepting some struggles does not always come easy. (Even though James tells me to consider my trials joy for what they can do for my faith.) Where God’s grace comes is in allowing a match in the first place, and in showing me who I am and who He is. He might even leave me with a souvenir scar to remind me of what I’ve learned.

God wrestled with Jacob and his fears just as He allows me to wrestle with Him about my fears and doubts. I find it comforting that He would do that - even if I’m only a Wrestling Mom who knows a grand total of two moves: falling on my knees and begging for mercy.