Out of the mouth of babes...

Conversations with a 4 year old. They never seem to go the way you plan.

#1.

I'm driving down the road looking at the girls in my rear-view mirror. I yell out: "I love you!"

Without missing a beat Charis says, "So you don't want us to be eaten by mean animals?"

Um. yes, I would say that about sums it up. Wouldn't you?


#2.

Charis: "Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Me: After carefully weighing my words... "I want to be a wife to your daddy and a mommy to you."

Charis: "MOM-MY!" Exasperated, she throws her hands on her hips "You have to be someone that actually DOES something."

Who knew my little 4 year old was hanging out with hardcore feminists on the side.


#3.

Grandma asks Charis to name the seasons.

"Spring. Summer. Fall. Winter. And Christmas. That's where you give me presents."



#4.

Jet and the girls are always pretending that they're different animals, chasing each other around the house.

One night Jet said: "I'm a lion and you're an antelope. And I'll eat you."

Charis turns to him and says, "Noooo. I'll be an elephant. So I can STEP on you."


Life is never boring when you have children.

Project "Landscape Outdoors"

We have gotten so much done in our yard over the past two weeks and I'm beyond thrilled!! For those of you that aren't aware, 2 years ago, Jet and I bought our third fixer-upper house. He's Handy-man Extraordinaire. And I...well, I can paint. So we've gotten good at turning run-down houses into beautiful homes.


But because they're fixer-uppers, landscaping is always lacking. In fact, to refer to our yards as "landscaped" is a gross exaggeration. Mafia Weeds have killed all signs of grass. Ants of all sizes have made themselves quite at home. Paint is in sorry shape. Tree limbs are wildly askew. Etc Etc.


The first few months, we ATTACKED the inside, while living elsewhere. Being that the previous owners had 12 cats, 2 furry dogs and a bird...the place was in need of seeing a sponge...and a chisel. And while there are still some things that we eventually want to do inside, it is basically finished for the time-being. Project Outdoors has officially commenced.


Now grant it, we HAVE done some pretty major things in our yard over the past 2 years, but it just seems to all be coming together in the past 2 months. For instance, in the very beginning we took M-A-N-Y trips to the dump, to free the yard of the mass debris left by the ever-so-generous previous owners. We took down four major bushes, with roots that most likely touched the fires of hell. (For those of you that don't get metaphors, I'm saying they were DEEP.) *wink* We took down a hugely unattractive carport...that unbeknownst of us, was rotting from woodbee drillings. Jet cut down two large trees...one of which was a walnut tree split in half by the fury of some hurricane. The bitter old tree's favorite pasttime was to litter our yard with walnuts, pelting our dog in the process. And on and on the list goes...


But here recenty!! Our neighbors paid over $2000 to have two very massive trees taken down. (They both were on the property line, though MUCH closer to our home than theirs) The one tree (as pictured) was at least 4 ft. in diameter...and it's branches towered over our three story home. It was over 100 years old, planted when this house was built. Though it was very beautiful, it had to come down. I prayed every time heavy winds went through, being that the girls' room lied next to the tree. So to have our neighbors take care of that was a huge blessing on every realm: no more leaves in our gutters...no more worrying that it'll crash into the girls' room...not having to pay one cent!! :)


About two weeks ago, we finally finished a deck that we've been working on for nearly a year!! Praise the Lord! ...and all thanks to my parents who decided to give us early birthday and Christmas presents by buying us the railing. Can I just say I LOVE IT?!! We were also able to finish a brick patio, put up lattice, get rid of a bunch of rock.....We were on a roll!! Even the girls were outside with their miniature wheelbarrows collecting debris.


AND Jet just took off a couple of days from work, giving us a FIVE day "weekend". While most people would have gone to the beach, we went to the work bench. Hey, when you buy a fixer- upper, you gotta be committed!

We put up screen doors, knocked down one porch's walls, scraped rust off the shed roof and paint off its walls in preparation to re-paint it, put up new chandeliers that we got last Christmas but haven't had time to install, and a bunch more!!!! AHHHH! :) I hope to have some before and after pictures on here in the not-t0-distant future.


Yes, there still is a LONG list of things we want to do to the outside. Probably things that time and/or money will keep us from starting for many, many years. But for TODAY, I'm beyond thrilled that our deck is finished, that the massive trees are gone, and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. We are supremely blessed.

Snake Alert

In a span of two days, we've found (AND killed) 6 snakes: 4 gardner snakes, 2 extra-long black snakes. Did I mention "extra long"!? Ew. Even now, thinking about it makes cringe. The day before our glorious discovery, our neighbor found and killed one near our property line. In the past month, two other neighbors have found some. National Geographic, anyone?

So as I'm talking with a neighbor about it last night, she goes on to reveal the fact that she not only found one in her yard, but she stepped on it. AS she was playing with her 3- and 1- year olds. Oh, Lord. (excuse me while I pray) And it struck her. Now, grant it, it was a gardner snake. They're harmless. I'm not even sure they have real teeth to speak of. But still!! The snake bit her, while she was beside two talking children. Aren't snakes supposed to run away? Isn't that the rule? Because if not, someone needs to clue me in so I can obey said rule, and run.

My dad says it's good that we're finding so many...he says it means we're "flushing them out". I say ...Uh, no. Not good. It means that we're probably home to their breeding ground. And obviously they've become quite comfortable being sexually active on our land! *groan*

And get this, the one black snake didn't even try to get away from Jet. it showed no fear. ...Crap. So not only do we have fertile snakes. We have fearless, fertile snakes. Bad combination. At least they aren't poisonous. Though I have to admit, I'm wondering if any other type of snake has heard of our hotel and decided to take up residency.

And for those of you that are a bit offended that we did, in fact, behead 6 "good" snakes, you are very welcome to come and gather all the snakes you want from our land. Free of charge. But...and it must be said...as long as they are on MY property, I will continue to do them bodily harm. So much for me being a "Save the Whale" type person, eh?

I saw a bumper stick one time that read:
"I LOVE ANIMALS. ...they're delicious."

Made ME laugh.... :)

In Sickness and in Health

A week ago was really rough; Selah was extremely sick. To the point that we were "this close" to taking her to the ER because she was unresponsive. Scared me to death. But one morning, she just woke up a completely different child. She even said, "My tummy says I'm hungry!" Made me smile.

It's times like these, times when my children experience pain and sickness, that I am so thankful that they are usually very healthy. I cannot fathom those parents that live day in and day out at the foot of a hospital bed. Or trying to talk their child into doing one more blood test. Or watching their child's hair fall out due to chemo. Just watching those info-mercials on St.Jude's Hospital patients brings me to tears. I can't imagine LIVING it.

I have a fierce faith in the Almighty. I've experienced him on a very personal level. I KNOW he is real. I KNOW he loves and heals. I've seen it with my own eyes. But when I hear about those children who suffer endlessly, there's a question that burns in my heart. Yet it remains on the outskirts of my mind because I'm not sure I want to ask it. I'm not sure I want to acknowledge that it's there, to have my voice breathe life into the doubts that linger behind it. But regardless of my outward acknowledgement, the question remains. Why, Lord? Why do you, seemingly, stand by and do nothing?

I know, this is a question that is asked around the world: If God is a loving God then why...? And I won't even pretend to have answers. There's no way that I can understand ALL the intricasies of the Lord's mind and purposes. But *lightbulb goes off* I DO understand the power of prayer. A gift that God has given us...to UTILIZE...to EMBRACE.

Yes Lord, you could intervene. You could snap your fingers and *bam* things would be fixed. But for some strangely profound reason you've left a lot of the power in your children's hands: the Church and their prayers. So Lord, give me the words, the fearlessness, the tenacity, the...whatever-it-takes to get over myself enough to trust you and pray for the sick. Boldly.

And I definitely don't just mean in church. I mean in places like WalMart...when I see a man in a wheelchair. Or in Costco when I watch a teenage boy holding his mother's hand because he is blind. Your Word says "Lay your hands on the sick and they will recover." So maybe the answer to some of the whys of all this senseless suffering is that we, the church, have our hands behind our back?

Refusing to reach out. Remaining inactive. Resting in personal comfort.

With everything in me, I don't want to be like that. Empower me Lord...to move outside of my comfort zone. So that you will be glorified. So that your healing will breakforth in this day.

Bottom line: I have a powerfully deep love for my children. I love them like words cannot capture. So if I love my children like that when I am completely void of unconditional love outside of Christ, how much more does Jesus love those sick children!? I mean, If my children were sick or dying, I would do anything to make sure they got better. So I can only assume that He feels the same way, times 1000.

Lord... I know you are all about love and healing. Enable me to see with your eyes and empower me to BE your hands. The ones that reach out, that comfort, that heal. Because I have to admit, I am heartbroken when I see a child suffer. And because of that, I believe that you've already given me your heart.

'Til Death do us part

This morning before church, we saw a baby bird in one of our front flower beds. It still had the baby fluff feathers and was sitting quietly. Obviously the time had come for it to be kicked out of the nest. I love watching birds learn to fly, so I figured my young girls would too.

I promptly got them back out of the car so they could come see the cute little bird and hear the process of learning to fly. Gotta grab those educational moments while you can. *wink* They were fascinated.

Fast forward a few hours...

Baby Bird has moved to the center of a brick walkway. Only a few feet from where he was last seen. Only this time, its legs are strangely bent in unnatural directions; it wasn't moving as it should. I knew immediately something was wrong. Yes, I know. Power of deduction is a forte of mine.

Suddenly this little creature had the attention of our entire family. Well, minus the infant. My tender-hearted husband even talked about finding its nest and placing it back in so its mother could take care of it. But we couldn't find the nest. So he opted to give it something to drink, being that it had been out in the heat of the day for hours. He held it gently in his gloved hand, trying to coax it to drink from the dropper, but its neck flung around uncontrollably. Seconds after I took a picture of "Daddy saving bird", it died.

Charis, my 4 year old, burst into tears. "It died?" She was broken-hearted. As was I, admittedly. I've always hated to see things suffer. Especially something so cute as this. (insert: I had absolutely NO issues killing the snakes though! ...that story is to come)

After crying and crying, she composed herself enough to ask, "Will its mommy be sad?" THIS was the heart of my daughters sadness. Not that the bird died, but that it left behind family. Even last week, as I was showing her a documentary on seals, there came a part of the video where a sealion attacked one and ate it. Immediately she started to cry (I had no idea that scene was in there!). But she didn't grieve that the sea lion ATE the seal, as you would assume since it was a rather bloody scene. But she asked, "Was it a MOMMY seal?!"

I lied, as most clueless parents do in the heat of a traumatic moment that has taken you off guard. "No. it wasn't a mommy. In fact, that seal didn't have any family at all." I smiled, thinking that she would catch my sarcasm. But she didn't. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. "It didn't?" "Uh? No." "Oh...okay." And that was that.

But she knew that this baby bird had a mommy. I was the one that told her SHE pushed the, now, victimized bird out of the nest this morning. *big sigh*

So as I hold her tight and try to console her, my mind goes in 10 different directions. What could I say to ease her pain? I blurt out, "We could bury it so other animals don't eat it." Fresh, explosive sobs. Okay. Wrong thing to say. Even as I was saying it, I knew the whole "other animals eating it" bit was wrong, but the words wouldn't stop flying out of my mouth. Thank God that she stopped and said, "In a little box?" She actually smiled. Ahh yes. That's my girl, helping mommy get her food out of her mouth. "Yes! In a box."

So THAT heart issue taken care of, she, without giving me a moment to recover said, "Is that how I'M going to lay down when I'm dead?" Oh Lord...give me wisdom.

It's not that this whole "question death" scenerio is new to us. She's been at it for at least a few months now. It possibly started when we lost a baby last year (4 months pregnant). She knew the baby was in there...we had talked about it for a long time. And she knew when the baby died. At that point, questions started to emerge. But it wasn't until the past 4 months or so that she really started to verbalize them: questions about death and heaven and who is in heaven.

It's the last one, the who is in heaven, that she usually attacks with a passionate curiosity. One day, she asked who she'd see in heaven. So I started to list off some people "...and Papa (my granddaddy) is in heaven..."

IMMEDIATELY, tears well up in her eyes. Her lower lip juts out. "Papa?" She takes a deep breath to try and control the sob that I can tell is about to come forth. "But I LOVE Papa." My mind goes crazy...she's never met my Papa...what in the world? OHHHH! Finally, I clue in and realize that she thinks I'm talking about Don S., the beloved man at church that she calls Papa. I make sure she knows that Don has not died and will, in fact, be waiting for their weekly hug on Sunday.

Oh how the depths of a little girl's heart knows NO limit. God, help me to not crush that. But to nuture it. YET, at the same time, to teach her how to know the difference between whining/manipulation. and crying because of a truly broken heart.

There are those people that say being a parent is a cake walk. I'm yet to be invited to that tea party.

The stain magnet

Okay, so I know that I recently stated that motherhood has no set rules. Well, I was wrong. There is one. One that I figure I had better share with the newer moms...just to save you money.

It's called the Law of Stains. Now rest assured that this has, by default, become a TIME tested theory in our home. Therefore, I have recently upgraded it to "law". And it is this: you can have ttwo pieces of girl's clothes. One piece is brand new with the tags still on. Obviously the other one is used. Yard sale. Hand-me-down. Whatever.

Your child could wear said piece of used clothes on any varying trip: trip to park, trek in jungle, it makes no matter. For it will not get stained. Yes, it may get a little dirty, but it will not stain. You could take a field trip to the local butcher shop, where they let you try out the hatchet (not that we've done that) and not one speck of blood will attach itself to your child's outfit. You could be eating the juiciest hot dog, smothered in all the gook that makes it a stain liability. YET, your child will come away from the table without so much as a mustard mark. And finally, they could be hugging all over your husband, who just happened to change the oil in the car. And, you guessed it, like water off a duck's back. That oil has no power. Because simply put, the clothes are U-S-E-D.

Now, take that new outfit out of the closet. Cut the tags off and almost instantaneously, it becomes magnetic. To every stain known to mankind.

We have such a piece of clothing. It's called the Sunday Dress. A very sacred piece of new clothing, at that. One bought for a particularly special day. A day where your entire family gathers together to celebrate and, at times, to mark the dress-up occasion with lots and lots of photos. Thus, outfit adornment, has become very important. Especially when you have three very adorable little girls.

So we dress our girls very carefully in their Sunday finery. Tying the bow just so. Fixing their hair perfectly. Ahh...so cute. And then we head out the door. And suddenly gravitational forces, outside of my control and definitely against my regimented get-ready schedule, go to work.

It rained the night before. So there are puddles. Everywhere. Steer clear, I say. Steer clear! Walking...walking. Shew. We made it. To the car. AHHH, NO! Don't lean up against the car! It's wet and dirty. That means mud. So now, mud smears the front of one dress.

*patience patience, Christin* Remember this is a day to glorify the Lord, not to get your girls a modeling career. Focus, focus... Thankfully, I come equipped with Shout Stain Wipes. And off the offending mark comes. In record time too, I might add. Point for Mom. Now, lets shove them in the car before something else happens.

We arrive at church. A relatively clean place, I'm sure. Where loads of other girls are wearing white and lace and bows. So cute.

It's when I go to pick up Charis (after Sunday school) that I see "the stain law" has once again pulled rank. For she has one very pink smear on her dress. Right in the front. Charis? "Oh...we had jello-jigglers for snack." Jello? Isn't that the stuff that teenagers use to DYE their hair? You know, the stuff that sort of sinks in and takes over a fabric or hair shaft? Perfect.

The moral of the story. Yard sale. Because apparently when someone else has worn the clothing...you know, sort of broke it in...stains become a thing of the past. Especially if the clothes already come with stains. You can be assured not one iota of stain will bother to hop aboard. I'm not really sure WHY this theory works. But trust me, it does.

Brain working....thought processes churning...

HEY! let's just say that I happen to lose perspective and buy another new Sunday dress, could I come to your house and have YOUR kid wear it for a while? Yeah, I know he's a boy and all, but really...we're friends. Help a girl out. Because that way, the clothes become used before my child wears them. Just please, whatever you do, make sure your child remains locked in a room without food, pens, ...nothing. Of course we also must make sure that they don't have a stomach bug or head cold of any kind.

Okay, on second thought...does anyone have a mannequin I can borrow?

Love your enemies

The other day I was in the kitchen finishing up the last of the lunch preparation as the two oldest girls were in dining room getting ready to eat. Charis could be heard saying the blessing from where I stood. She said all of her normal stuff, "Lord Jesus, thank you for this food. And help us us feel better so we won't get sick anymore" (insert: this came from a time last year, around christmas, where our family couldn't shake being sick). She continued, "And Lord Jesus, if someone is mean to me, could you..."

I held my breath. I could hear it coming; she was going to ask for the nasty perpetrators to be spanked or punished in some way to get what they deserved. I smiled to myself, thinking what a funny thing to pray. But then she continued.

"...could you show them mercy?"

My mouth fell open. She's four. She's not supposed to be more mature than I am. She's not supposed to instinctively know to "pray for those that curse you."

In that moment, I could not have been more stunned. In that moment, I could not have been more proud.

My Brain Post Children...

Have you ever just woken up, as a mother (as I know some of you are not) and said, "Who the heck am I??!" And I'm not referring to the sudden alien body that you've been fitted for (because I know this body is definitely not mine. I'm still holding out hope that the Mother Ship will come and return my stolen athletic form to me).

No, it's not the body that I'm referring to. I speak of greater things. I speak of...the brain. The sudden lack of intelligence. The sudden inability to speak in complete sentences because you spend your days hanging out with preschoolers. I mean I USED to be extremely smart. Graduated at a state university in the top 9%. And in under 4 years. Wrote papers that gained the notice and respect of my professors. Could debate, one on one, in a class of 300 for 15 minutes with a professor who was trying to play the devil's advocate in a philosophy and morality class. Ahh the glory days of my brain! Days gone by.

Because these days, I'm being outwitted by a 2 year old.

Allow me to explain: And the following must be read in the context of Whine. Remember, it's their choice of language. Especially in the heat of debate, where they can navigate their way through easier if they use a familiar lingo. Now I must specify that it's all in a subtle shade of whine. The kind where you're not sure if it really is a whine or just their cute, little girl voice, yet to mature. Because...this has to be said in order to preserve my mom dignity... if it's an obvious Whine dialect, I tell them outright. "I'm not talking to you while you whining. Get back to me when you're done."



Child: Mom! I want my cup.
Mother: Then go get it.
Child: NOOOOO...I don't want to go upstairs.
Mother: Then, you don't get to have your cup.

Child (with a bit of increased, and surprisingly controlled, intensity): BUTTTT, I want it .
Mother (with a bit of forced patience): Selah, honey...if you want the cup, it's upstairs in your bed. You can walk up and get it.

Child: But I'll be alone. I dont' want to go upstairs and get it all by myself.

THOUGHT: Now, THIS plays on the heartstrings of my mother's heart. I think, "Aww...she's not being defiant or stubborn. she's just scared to be alone. How can I fault her for that?"

Mother (with a renewed I'm-her-hero-attitude): Okay, honey. I have to go upstairs and get something from my room anyway. So I'll just go up in a minute and get it for you, alright?

She smiles (and most likely thinks "you fool").
Child: Thank you. (see, she's even being polite!)
Mother: Aww..you're welcome hon.

It's not until I'm half way up the stairs that I realize: she comes upstairs by herself all the time. SHE's the one that hides in the dark, by herself, for 10 minutes while I run through the house yelling "Selah, WHERE are you?!"

See. Dupped. And by a 2 year old. Ahhh, my college psychology professors would be so proud. Of HER.

Working on being TRI-Lingual

I'm proud to announce that my girls are shockingly proficient in two languages. However, despite all my teaching efforts towards the Spanish language, they have chosen another route to the land of bilinguals. They now speak both English. And Whining. It's their fluency in the latter that tends to amaze me.

Yes, it has now been deemed an official language. At least for those who lean more towards the estrogen-heavy end of things. And in a house where we have 3 children, ALL of which are girls, I'm told that I had better get used to translating.


"buhhh, yew seeeeed we cud, moawwwwwmeee."
Actually, no I never said you could.

Apparently fluency in this language comes with the innate ability to remember things as only you would have them. Not as they really are. That too seems to be something that I must learn to navigate my way through. Who knew motherhood needed both an active understanding of Naval Intelligence AND a PhD in abnormal psychology?

The Whine Awakening in our home occurred about 6 months ago. When my girls were barely 4 and 2 and I...well, let's just say I was about 13 months pregnant. Therefore, it hit ALL of us at once. For I, too, found myself suddenly able to converse in this native tongue. My husband? Though he doesn't speak it, he is able to effectively communicate with those who are. It seems that most men are able to understand it without ever having it downloaded into their system at birth. I've heard they get the WWF (world wrestling federation)downloading...

Boys are, as it would seem, inheritantly different from the get-go. All the way thru adulthood. Including the way that people choose to interact with them.

For instance, when people hear that we have three girls, Jet and I get varied reactions. He gets the "Aww, how cute is that?!" "I bet they have you wrapped around their little fingers!" and "Oh, I bet you're hitting the gym now in preparation for the dating years." All cute sentiments aimed at the preciousness, if not sacredness, of a father-daughter relationship.

I, on the otherhand, get "the look". You know, that look where you suddenly feel like your 8 years old and you've been caught trying to get away with something that you knew better than to try in the first place. THAT look. And I get what I like to call the "just you wait" commentary. "Ohhhh...I have one boy and one girl. And man, if the girl wasn't WAY harder than the boy." "Prepare yourself for the mood swings." "My daughter and I have a love hate relationship. She loves to hate me." "Man, I don't want to be in YOUR house when PMS hits." "Just wait until you have a house full of teenage GIRLS." Somehow I get jipped of the Hallmark-like feeling that my husband gets to revel in.

And what gets me is ALL of these dark-foreboding comments are from none other than, the WOMEN. The ones that used to be those little girls. Are you kidding me?!

What is it about us women where we feel the need...no, the desire...to wreck someone else's image, though delightfully skewed as it may very well be, of what it is like to raise girls. Do I look like I need to be 'clued in'? Am I walking around looking like I need to be enlightened of the trials of raising hormonally challenged children?! Because seriously, if that's the type of tutelage I receive, I'd much rather live in ignorance, thank you very much.

So here's the deal. If you see me in the local Walmart, trying desparately to distinguish between Charis's dialect of Whine vs. Selah's, please do not stop to instruct me on the virtues of having boys. Please do not stop to inform me that it only gets worse. Please do not try to confuse me by saying anything. If you must, you can pray. Silently. To yourself. But if the urge to open your mouth and be heard is too much to bear, by all means, please just look at me and say something that resembles a Hallmark card. Because I warn you. I'm not only bilingual. I, too, was given the download of WWF. Due in part to having an older brother. And I'm not afraid to use it.
And for the record, I LOVE having all girls. I'd take more of them if the Lord so chooses. ;)

In the beginning...a Blog.

I never thought I'd do a blog. Period. And even as I start this site, I'm still a little iffy. I thought blogs were for people who just wanted to complain about life. about politics. about every random topic. And me? Well...I don't want to complain. I just want to keep in touch with those I love. Give them an insider's view in our home, hearts, and humor.

Because God knows that Time (or should I say my busy girls?) no longer allows me to indulge in long phone conversations! So consider this our "talk" time. Though be it to the masses...you and I can pretend that it's an intimate, cozy sort of conversation between just us. Go ahead, sit back, grab a cup of something and enter into my world. I warn you...enter at your own risk. For I will be blunt. Shockingly at times, I'm sure.

And as far as the title goes (because I'm sure I'll be questioned), most of it's pretty self -explanatory. I'm a mother. I'm married. And I'm a believer in Christ. And though I'm not pushing to be matryed (death that is imposed because of the person's stance concerning a religious faith or cause ), I AM trying to die to self every day. It's something that Christ asks of us. Simply put, it means to lay down my life, my desires, my pride, my... for the ultimate purposes of Jesus.

And that I am trying to do. Failing miserably, mind you. But trying all the same.

All of the above feels like a ever-changing path. There's no 'yellow brick road'. No set rules. No owners manual. Sadly, no paycheck. It's just ALL taking it a step at a time. Trying to make sure I don't get hedged in. Trying to make sure I don't completely screw up the psyche of these little girls. And yes, trying to make sure I do it all without being heavily medicated, intoxicated, or sedated.

So...here it is. My effort to stop time...or rather, try to capture it. In words. To capture the moment. In all its beauty. depth. emotion. humor.