34...

Today marks the end of my 34th year.

Without any particular eloquence and in no particular order…34 things I learned in my 34th year:

1. Nothing else matches the peculiar joy of seeing your husband in a monk’s robe, in public.

2. SUVs are overrated – unless you require three car seats, which I no longer do.

3. Lifelong friends can be just that….if you let them.

4. “If you never know truth then you never know love.” –The (great philosophers) Black Eyed Peas

5. My sons are adopting their father’s sense of humor. Triple hilarity for me.

6. Time does heal. Jury’s still out on whether it heals all.

7. Sending your last child to school changes everything.

8. Oh, be careful little fingers what you say.

9. “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” –Proverbs 4:23

10. Rome is amazing. Where can we go next?

11. Hard work brings satisfaction but workaholism is an unpleasant binge.

12. Confession brings healing.

13. Seven year old girls can be quite sassy. And fun.

14. Hardship breeds compassion.

15. Coffee is delicious. How did I not know this before?

16. When gale force winds strike, I can cling to the tree trunk of my heritage. A blessed soul anchor.

17. Bacon and eggs every Sunday does the body good. So does p90x.

18. If you want it to die, stop feeding it.

19. Isolation. Just say no.

20. Passion is not the highest order of love.

21. I like a small house.

22. Kindred spirits can be found in the most unexpected bodies.

23. I do not have to wallow in the backwash of my own stupidity.

24. Social media is no replacement for deep friendship.

25. The secret to icing a 3-layer cake is frozen cake.

26. The greener grass on the other side of the fence tastes very bitter.

27. When your reality turns out to be illusion, you’d better have something Truly Real to run to.

28. Everyone hurts. Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone needs to hear that they are valuable.

29. Temptation is a treat on a hook. It goes down easy, but comes out hard.

30. I enjoy heat. This is not new. I could say it every year.

31. Bambu in Springfield, MO has the best fried rice ever.

32. “Trust, grace and forgiveness are the true measure of a man’s fortitude.” –Richard W. Browne

33. I cannot. But God can.

34. I have Hope.

My squeaky life...

I’m taking mental inventory of all things squeaky in my possession and it’s turning in to quite a list. Both cars, the dryer, the chairs in my dining room, the boys’ bunk bed. There was even one potential buyer of our home who was sure to let us know there was one squeaky board on our deck. I’m thinking of purchasing WD-40 by the case. Sam’s Club surely sells that.

All school year, Richard has had the privilege of driving my car. Yes, it’s my car because I picked it out and paid for it. Well, he helped with that last part. But still…my car! The reason he drives my car is because it’s big enough to haul six youngsters for carpool to and from school. And, since he’s the teacher already going to school, he drives the carpool. Great. So, what do I get to drive? His car. Huhh…..yeah. His car is fine and all, but it squeaks. Every time the car stops it gives off this nails-on-a-chalkboard screech that evidently even the best minds in Southwest Missouri brake care cannot figure out. I’ve calculated that it happens right as I hit the 3 MPH mark and does not relent until I’ve reached a complete halt. This is especially noticeable at places like….the drive-thru window, the bank, pulling up to a friend’s house. Totally cool.

That’s bad enough, but now MY car also squeaks. But, it only happens when I’m making a slow, sharp turn. Richard declares it’s the tire rubber on the road. Why would it be the rubber on the road? No other cars have this problem. And, I’m only going a snail’s pace when it happens. It’s not like I’m pulling a Mario Andretti in the McDonald’s drive thru. The only response I get from him on this rebuttal is that only a person of my advancing age would conjure Mario Andretti—a man who has probably not driven a race car in at least a couple of decades.

It reminds me of my first car…the 1988 Honda Accord that Dad bought for $500 from some guy up the street. I loved it. I hated it. I loved everything but the first 15 seconds after I started it up. I’d park as far away from everything as I could in the high school parking lot. Then, when it was time to fire her up, I’d suddenly HAVE to tie my shoe or clean something up off the floorboard. I’d hide there, ducked down in my shameful pose until the squealing stopped. Again, totally cool.

One of these days I’ll have saved up to buy Richard a new car that I can drive. Requirement number one? It must be completely silent. Perhaps a battery-operated hover-car. Or maybe one of those human transport backpacks coming from New Zealand. Now, THAT would be totally cool.

Science fair...

Do I have to? Do I REALLY HAVE TO….help my children with their science projects? Seriously. We just finished up History Day for which each child had to choose a historical character, write and memorize a one-page speech, come up with a period costume and present all the facts they’ve learned about said character on a cheerfully decorated poster board. Avery chose Hannah of the Bible and Carson was King Richard the Lionhearted. I survived History Day. Barely.

Just when I started to come down from that frenzy, I was whiplashed into the next big TO DO.

Science Fair.

For Avery, science fair requires her to choose and animal, create some sort of visual display and present her findings regarding the animal to her classroom. Then, she must be prepared to be drilled by the judges. She chose the whale. Did you know that the whale blows mostly air and snot out of its blowhole? Now you do.

Carson wanted to answer the question “Where is lightning before it strikes?” I was hoping we could just send a letter to God on that one and be done with it. But, no. He did an experiment involving rubbing a balloon on his hair and then touching it to a fluorescent light bulb. Voila!…lightning. He had to write a paper to accompany his demonstration, present it to the class and create yet another poster board revealing his findings.

Can I just say that when a child is 6 or 8 years old, they require an enormous amount of help when it comes to these projects? They have no concept of the scientific method, hypotheses, theories, cause and effect, natural laws, etc. They can barely tie their shoes. Add to that the fact that the Science Fair is a JUDGED event and you have the makings of one nasty mama-child cocktail – one part competition, one part perfection, one part impatience and one part deadlines. AGH! I’ve literally awoken in the middle of the night worried over these projects like they were some sort of college entrance exam.

Do the kids care? Not a bit. I’m the only one stressed – torn between “do everything for them so it actually gets done” and “let them do the work themselves and present a ridiculous looking effort that pales in comparison to every other fair entry which was obviously done by a parent and not a six year old!”

Remember that day when you graduated college and you thought to yourself, “YES! Thank God! No more exams, projects, assignments, speeches, group projects! It’s over!!” …..???

Yeah….me neither.

Who needs teeth anyway...

So, today I had two more teeth removed. Apparently some people can afford to lose six of their permanent teeth and still not have enough room in their tiny little mouths for all the leftovers. Such is the case with me—trying to make room for corrective lower jaw surgery in a few months. Aren’t you looking forward to me blogging about that???

My sweet hubby took me to the appointment this morning. He was okay with spending his time this way as long as we were able to pick up the new tv he bought on the way home. Two birds, one stone. I was all for it.

After a pep talk from the doctor about “yes, we think you need this procedure” and “yes, we do have to remove these teeth to get there”, they numbed me up quite nicely, jerked out the teeth and sent me on my way. What a sight I was, though! I realized as the nurse opened the door and led me out that I was re-entering the public with two wads of bloody gauze hanging out of my mouth and a lower lip and tongue that could neither feel nor move.

I tried to hide the mess with my hand and wanted to duck out quickly, but of course I couldn’t leave without the obligatory stop at the cashier. I sprint-walked to the counter and tried not to look at anyone directly in the eye. I also kept touching my face to be sure I wasn’t drooling on anything. The kind lady took my payment and when she finally returned after an eternity of me wanting to crawl into a hole she says, “Hey! Didn’t I see you at kickboxing last week?”

Awesome.

Someone I barely know would like to start a conversation right at this moment….this moment when I have a bulging, drooly face and am unable to utter one intelligible syllable. She starts asking about the North Carolina t-shirt I wore last week and if I liked the kickboxing class and if I was going to be there tonight. All I could come up with was something like, “Ye ah ike eh i. Nah u-ay.” I waved apologetically and dashed out the door.

Richard was waiting for me in the lobby. He’s seen me in bad shape before, but never quite like this. He stuffed a laugh as I tried unsuccessfully to say something meaningful. We jumped in the car and as promised, we headed over to our friend’s house to pick up the new (i.e. hand-me-down) tv. Our friends live in a gated community, so we always have to introduce ourselves to gain entrance. The car in front of us at the gate took quite a while and Richard mockingly said under his breath, “Yes, hi, we’re here to steal things.” Once it was our turn, he managed to respectfully make his intentions known and as we drove through the gate, he said, “Some security…the [people we’re visiting] aren’t even home!”

Thanks to the help of the electronic installer dudes at our friend’s house, he got the massive tv loaded up into the SUV. By this point, my blood and spit have soaked through the little gauze pads and so as we’re pulling away, I ask him to stop at the side of the road so I can switch them out. Dis…gust….ing! He comments, “Yeah, this doesn’t look shady AT ALL…” meaning that of course it’s completely not normal to be driving out of this place with a swiped tv that you picked up from people who weren’t even home in a neighborhood where you don’t belong and with a bloody-mouthed woman in the front seat….it was like bad scene from CSI.

I still couldn’t feel anything from the bottom half of my face, so I was quite shocked when once on the highway with our loot I look down to find that I had managed to drool blood down my neck and the front of my black coat. I start shrieking. Richard says comfortingly, “Well, it could be worse. At least it’s not from your va-jay-jay.”

So, now it’s the evening. The tv is currently beaming the NBA on TNT into our basement in a whole new level of high-definition love. I can feel my face and the two gaping holes in my mouth are no longer gushing. Richard asked if I kept the teeth. I asked, “Whatever for?!” He said, “Ten bucks, baby!” I’ll have to consult with the Tooth Fairy about that one....I'm sure in all the mayhem I've broken AT LEAST one of her rules.

Cookbooks and hymnals...

White Sauce.

It was the key ingredient I needed to recreate the delicious pasta my friend Karen made last Saturday.

It was the key to turning my ordinary every-other-week spaghetti into a mouth-watering delight for my family. And…

…it was the key to unlocking a great treasure left behind by my Grandma.

I think of Grandma Seawel most often when I’m cooking. Many of my very favorite foods came from her kitchen. Chicken and dumplings. Pancakes. Fried eggs. Lasagna. Garden tomatoes. Pie. Hot pickles straight out of the canning jars. There were other meals too, which perhaps due to overzealous experimentation were a little to “out there” for my young taste buds. But either way, there can be no doubt the woman loved to cook. And generally, I loved to eat what she cooked up!

Grandma passed away in 2003 and I soon after inherited her entire recipe collection. The wall hanging box is full of fading recipe cards; handwritten and typed, some stained, some taped together, many modified multiple times with Grandma’s tweaks for a myriad of meals…….and, I kid you not, no less than 442 variations on pie crust and filling.

Along with the recipe box came her 1961 edition Betty Crocker cookbook. Aside from admiring the vintage cover, I didn’t give much thought to the cookbook. But, I knew that if anyone could teach me how to make a proper White Sauce, it would be Grandma’s 1961 Betty! So I pulled her down off the shelf and opened her right up. Flipping through to the coveted White Sauce, the pages fell open to an unexpected treasure that stopped me in my tracks.

In typical Grandma Seawel fashion, there in the fold of the pages I found a stapled-together set of cards just like those preserved in her recipe box. Each one faded, modified with shorthand notes and re-modified with white-out . Each one bent near the staples, evidence that she had returned to these cards again and again for review.

However, on the cards I found recipes not for meals, but of another kind. They were the hand-written poetic words of what must have been some of her favorite hymns. Holy, Holy, Holy. Have Thine Own Way. My Jesus, I Love Thee. One I’ve never heard moved me deeply and I’ll share here as she had written it.

Holy Spirit breathe on me,
Until my heart is clean;
Let sunshine fill its inmost part,
With not a cloud between;

Holy Spirit breathe on me,
My stubborn will subdue;
Teach me in words of living flame
What Christ would have me do.

Holy Spirit breathe on me,
Fill me with power divine;
Kindle a flame of love and zeal
Within this heart of mine.

Holy Spirit breathe on me,
Till I am all thy own,
Until my will is lost in Thine,
To live for Thee alone.

What’s amazing to me is that the very moment Grandma put that small stack of stapled cards into 1961 Betty, God knew that decades later I’d be at home one evening looking for White Sauce…and that I would need encouragement…and that he would speak to me through what was left behind for me to discover.

When I’m gone and my grandchildren are rummaging through my things, I hope what they find points them to Jesus….and if they find something that fills their bellies with good food too….then so be it!

Bring on the White Sauce!

The Tooth Fairy Rules...

…and what I mean by that is not that she governs but that there is an ever-growing list of Tooth Fairy Commandments (rules) by which our children must abide in order to remain in her good graces. In other words, if Mom and Dad forget that a child has lost a tooth and thereby forget to fulfill their Tooth Fairy duties, there will be a new rule revealed in the morning explaining exactly why the child was not visited by her highness.

I’ve mentioned before that we don’t do Santa, but the Tooth Fairy is our good personal friend. We know her well and reserve the right to add to, subtract from and misinterpret to our benefit all of her Commandments. Furthermore, we will employ The Commandments in any way necessary to sustain the ruse that brings our children such great joy.

The Tooth Fairy Commandments
(as of today, February 17, 2010 8:26am – Household Browne reserves the right to change these rules at any time without any notice whatsoever)

1. Tooth shall be securely sealed inside a snack-size Ziploc baggie.
2. Tooth in baggie shall be placed under owner’s pillow prior to falling asleep.
3. Baggie must be placed under the pillow on the side of the bed facing the doorway.
4. Baggie must slightly protrude out from under the pillow.
5. Owner of tooth must be asleep by 9pm.
6. If tooth is accidentally lost prior to being placed under the pillow and owner shows sufficient signs of remorse and panic (tears required), the Tooth Fairy may still come. She is all-knowing, compassionate and just.
7. Tooth must not fall to the ground in the middle of the night.
8. NEW – added 2/17/2010 – Tooth must not be broken in half.

If any of The Commandments are broken, fear not, we do extend grace and the opportunity the following night to right your wrong – and hopefully Mom and Dad are not too distracted to forget again!

Under the weather...

Some mamas swoon over snuggles from their sick kiddos. Not me. If I’m going to be slobbered on by a six month old or a six year old, said wee one had better be twenty four hours free of all ick. My kids are more likely to be quarantined than cuddled when they fall ill.

That said, when Number One came down with a fever and earache yesterday, I took full advantage of the opportunity to lead by example and stay in my jammies in bed all day with him. After two library books, six hours of Winter Olympic coverage, one bowl of buttery popcorn and a relatively peaceful snowy afternoon I was looking forward to an evening of blissful rest with my baby sleeping next to me.

Not so.

Number One tends to be a loud sleeper. Random noises throughout the night. Waking his sister regularly at 5am with no knowledge of the fact. Couple those tendencies with a fever and a wicked earache and you’ve got the makings for a crazy night in mama's bed. After waking him up four times to ask him to please be quiet (poor Sugar had no idea what I was talking about), we finally had to move him into his own room to be quarantined. Not because of his sickies, but because of his noises.

Again at three am, he was so loud that I had to go into his room, turn on the big light, call his name and smack him around a little bit before his precious disoriented self finally awoke to his bug-eyed mom hovering over him in a full on whisper-yell pleading, “What in the WORLD is wrong with you?!” Again, poor Sugar had no idea.

At the doctor’s office today, we realized he hadn’t been there since his Kindergarten screening. It’s now more than two and a half years later. Pretty good track record for health, I’d say. So, my heart softened a little. And, when he woke up from his four-hour early evening nap on the couch, I invited him into my room for a snack of Goldfish and water and some more Winter Olympics. At 10:30pm. Maybe I’m swooning a little over his snuggles.

That is until he falls asleep…then it’s quarantine city again.

Every mama has her limits.