No Grandparents Here

I need to confess that I had a Christmas meltdown last night during the little boys' Christmas concert.

It wasn't because every picture I took included this gentleman's bald head.

It wasn't tears brought on by Mr. Clark's charming rendition of "Legacy of Love," although it was beautiful.

I cried in the pew because I wished that my children had grandparents there to watch them like the other kids. The church was filled with big families with aunts and uncles and cousins.

And me and another boy.

J still smiled at us and waved from the stage. It was a precious moment.

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Cinderella v. The House Elf

Thanks to the blue-ray DVD release of the last Harry Potter film, our "Middle B" son has become very interested in the series.

At the same time, we are hosting a house guest from Japan who enjoys pretending to be "Cinderella." She irons our clothes, cooks, and washes dishes while we snap photos for her scrapbook.

She clamours for more tasks.

If she's "Cinderella" then I guess that makes me "The Evil Step-Mother," a role I don't feel suits me.

I'd rather have a House Elf like "Dobby." Then I'd be a wizard with magi al powers and a magical helper.

I suppose the end of the story is better for Cinderella. I wish that my Japanese friend would one day find her Prince.

She arranged our doll house before she left. At least that house remains tidy in her absence.

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Leadership 101 or Intro to Leadership

I'm taking a graduate course entitled, "Leading Continuous Digital Learning." In this class and the last two, we've explored the characteristics of leadership, management styles, how to overcome resistance, etc. It seems to me that there are as many opinions about leadership as there are leaders. I find that I am having trouble drawing any single conclusion from the myriad readings.

Leaders aren't necessarily fearless. They, however, hide their fear from their team.
Leaders ask for help.
Leaders will be bleeders.

Another teen in our community committed suicide this week after, they say, she was bullied. Parents are rushing to talk to their kids about homosexuality and acceptance in an attempt to avoid further tragedies.

I believe we are missing the mark here. School and church leaders are afraid to truly lead...they are afraid to appear politically incorrect. Recent events out of Penn State and Syracuse University suggest the same to me.

This child didn't know her worth as a child of God.

Help me Lord to be a better leader for my peers, my students, and my children.

A Touch of Grey

Thank you M, for your note! I'm so grateful that you think of me! It made my day to find your letter in the mail!

=============
It's a lesson to me, the devils and the East and the free
The abc's we all must face, try to save a little grace.
The Grateful Dead

This weekend I noticed that Mr. WestBerryDad and I had both acquired a further touch of grey.

Moving has been difficult. The dog, the sheep, the washer, the piano and well, a good 3/4 of our "stuff" is still at the "ex-house."

I'm in the middle of an investigation involving several arms of law enforcement and I need to reference years of back e-mails. My mother decided, out of the blue, to cancel said e-mail account (MOAN).

Last night a teenage member of our church family drove off of a ravine. The car flipped over and all four in the car were Mercy Flighted to the hospital (prayers, please).

And last week I took my company's required health evaluation. The on-line test revealed that if I don't shape up, I will probably die from a stress-related illness.

I've been duly warned.

So today I'm trying to incorporate even more stress-reduction into my day. After my shower I imaged the tension in my body lifting up to the Lord like steam rising. I listened to Bobby McFerrin on the radio ("Don't worry be happy!") I rap to myself a la Chile Peppers "give it away, give it away now."

I feel a bit silly.

Really, I am enjoying the journey. And I'm grateful for every second with my family even if the "cow gives kerosene." Who cares about another touch of grey (' cause my hairdresser is on speed dial:)

QVC

With turmoil in Egypt mounting and crisis all over the world, it seems frivolous to focus on shopping and excess. However, in my own little world there is an abundance of stress these days...a broken dryer, a teenager with a rotten attitude, overdue grad school papers. Gotta take a break from serious for a few minutes....

When we moved into our new house the six-, now seven-year old longed to put candles in the windows. With 15 rooms there is no shortage of windows so we settled on enough electric candles for the front windows that face the road. We purchased an even two dozen candles at Lowe's, filled them with AA batteries, screwed on the tops, and allowed W to set them out.

Each morning W loosed the bulbs to turn off the candles, and each night he lit them again. The ambiance they created was warm and welcoming.

This lasted for maybe three days. Then the boys began to use the candles as props for "scary games." Several candles got knocked off of their posts and were broken. We blew through two value packs of batteries. I took several shards of broken bulb glass in the heel.

Enough with the candles.

At our Open House a friend visited and said, "Oh, the QVC candles are so much better." Better ,how? They don't shatter? They don't use batteries so quickly? They burn brighter? Are they tied into a switch so that all 24 turn on and off at once?

I began to wonder if i'd really missed something with the QVC thing. I don't have TV, but I've certainly seen the show while staying at hotels. I could look it up on the internet.

Some of my girlfriends shop there quite often, but I usually tune out the conversation when it turns to this topic. What if it's true?! Do you shop on QVC?

Signed,
Mom with an inferiority complex.

Ketchup and Salt

We closed on the new farm last Tuesday. What an adventure this has been!

We stayed at the new house on the very first night. Mr. WestBerry fetched mattresses for the children and our bed and we collapsed after hosting his parents for an "opening day" dinner of pizza and wings provided by the sellers' real estate agent.

Since then, we've taken it day by day. We take a van or truck-load of boxes over on our way to/or from work or when a situation necessitates a special trip. Last night, for example, we discovered that their weren't enough boy socks at the new house (H2) for school so we ran over.

Our dog is at the old house, keeping guard. He was glad to see us (again).

Today I'm working on grading and my own homework here at H1 (House 1) because there is no high speed cable at H2. The washer and dryer are still here as is the stove. From the chest freezer downstairs I pulled some frozen french fries for my lunch.

But the ketchup and salt are at H2.

We're making do.

Croup

I was wondering, this morning, if I would even remember, ten or twenty years from now, that right before moving into our new house we had croup.

I do remember that I was sick for Christmas both last year and the year before. I remember that N had whooping cough while we were practicing for "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

That whole thing, quite frankly, was a nightmare. He would stand over the sink and cough and you would think that you heard the water running but in effect, it was blood gushing from his mouth. Once we had a diagnosis three county health departments got involved and we had to alert every person we'd been in contact with for two weeks prior.

So three children with croup seems minor, really.

J, in kinder garden, has missed a week of school. His fever was terribly high and he wheezed and gagged and barked for several days. We went to the doctor for steroid and saline inhalation treatments.

I was unable to miss more than two days of work to care for him. The two older brothers, generously, each took a day off of school to stay with J (and play video games).

W, in second grade, is still home. And it's Halloween. Will I break my "you can't go out if you don't go to school" rule?

We are supposed to go to a dinner party. The doctor says that croup is EVERYWHERE and, as long as there is no fever, we are free to mingle with the public.

Lots of hand washing this Halloween.

Hopes & Dreams

I'm taking a graduate level leadership course that focuses on motivation. At the same time, I've been waiting for a closing date for the purchase of our new farm and our "dream house." This has me thinking a lot about hopes and dreams.

This week the seller worked with us to tie public water in from the road to the house. He "gathered the troops," if you will, and mobilized town officials, a plumber, an excavator and a independent testing lab together in order to get the job done quickly. With much emotion he declares, "I just want to get this over with!"

I wish for the type on my work computer to be larger. I long for more time to read for pleasure.

As I drive by the Mexicans working in the fields to harvest squash and cabbage, I imagine what their wish lists look like. Enough money to travel back home to see family? A system that allows them to work here legally that is uncomplicated and free of corruption?

So much of the world lives in poverty. I'm so very grateful that safe, clean water CAN bee hooked up to my new house (even if it takes a few extra days!).

My Cottage Takeaways

Both of our older boys have commented, separately, that "this is a really great week...we are headed to football sectionals, the cottage closed, the furnace was repaired...." Their optimism strikes me as I struggle to stay positive about the cottage sale.

I have a few "takeaways" following yesterday's closing.

1. I do feel a deep sadness, yet I had a choice about selling the cottage. I can only begin to imagine the impact on a person after losing something due to bankruptcy or natural disaster.

2. I'm not supposed to be "tied to this earth" and I sometimes think I'm not. And yet I feel this strange pull to the beautiful view from our cottage windows, the sparkling water, the mosaic of lake stones...

3. God allowed me to help a customer whose husband suffered a traumatic brain injury a year ago while riding dirt bikes with his boys. He uttered his first words just this week, and then had a stroke that causes him to sleep most of the time. He has been transferred to four different hospitals, with setback after setback. He was the family's sole provider. What in the world do I have to be sad about??!!

Thank you Lord for the privilege of owning the cottage and for the happy memories we have of spending time there with our friends and family.

"Revive us again" (Allelujah by The Museum)

Motivation

I've been thinking about motivation lately, as I watch the Wall Street protests progress and I wonder HOW IN THE WORLD to motivate my boys to wash more dishes and turn their socks right side out. This week I began a new graduate level Education course and the introduction to one of the textbooks described two monkeys in an experiment. The scientist gave them a mechanical puzzle to see if they could solve it. There was no "prize" for the monkeys for solving the puzzle, yet they worked for days to figure it out and solved it over and over. This was curious to the investigator. What motivated the monkeys if there was no promise of food or play, no reward at the end of the day?

(I am, apparently, no better than a monkey because I don't give an iota about solving puzzles)(But then again...I am up at 4:45 a.m. to bake banana bread, wash dishes, fold laundry and blog).

Our cottage closing is tomorrow. I asked my brother for a ride there and he texted me back that he couldn't because he had too many errands to run. I would think that thousands of dollars would be a motivating factor in making sure that your older sis, the co-signer, arrives at the court house.

On the other hand, my friend Heidi didn't blink when I asked her to take me and stay for emotional support. Her motivation: friendship.

We have, of course, been watching the boys' football team play all season (they are headed to the sectionals...woot woot!). They are a strong, disciplined team. Up until Friday night, however, their execution seemed to lack passion.

Last season they played for Nick, their fellow team mate who was battling leukemia. After Nick passed away in June a deep sadness settled in. They continued to play in his memory.

On Friday the rival team constructed a coffin and placed it outside of the h.s. with a note...that at the game our boys would be "goin' down." At stake was a spot in the sectionals, and for my son, 24 cupcakes baked by his good friend Liv (a student at the "other" high school.

Tradition says that the winner of this yearly battle takes home "the rock," a large lake-stone-turned-trophy.

Friday night's game was suspenseful, intense, and FUN to watch, because the boys were, at last, fired up.

I'm hopeful that I can keep my own "eye on the prize" this week, the new farm we will be able to buy once the cottage closes.

Iphone 4S Launch Day

Today is Iphone Launch Day across the country. It's "all hands on deck" at the store so I've been called into work on what was my day off. I'm grateful that my manager respected my request to keep a 10:00 appointment. He doesn't need to know that it's a hair appointment:)

It's all I've got, after all, one hour of "time off." This morning I'll run to town to have J's residency form verified by the tax collector. Right after work we will all head to a home football game where we will scream and cheer until the end, pick up J, drive home and collapse.

It's an important game. The win determines their spot in sectionals and the point spread also matters in some way that I don't understand.

Perspective

We are really feeling "the squeeze" between selling the cottage and buying our new farm. My brother's lawyer moves at a snail's pace. Our lawyer has written him three letters asking him to set a closing date, the cottage buyer has called him, my husband and I have called several times...to our understanding EVERYTHING has been ready since September 13th.

The Real Estate Agent for the new farm stopped by the store last week to see what was going on. I imagine that she is also eager to close.

It's difficult to paint, cement, and fix here at the old farm while we are still "occupied." but Mr.WestBerryDad does his best. We're both, however, a little bit "on edge."

Enter the perfect Columbus Day Weekend. 80 degrees, sunny, Fall colors.

We enjoyed pumpkin carving, wine tasting, a canal-side picnic and a haunted hayride.

Popcorn, fry cakes, garlic cheese, cider.

Deeeeelicious.

Yesterday we invited one of W's 6-year-old friends over to play (Star Wars). His mom is expecting her third boy. Her first husband, Josh (B's dad), was killed in a horrific motorcycle accident three years ago. She offered me a good reminder on the phone while we were discussing our plans.

If I were to lose a loved one today, what would I look back on and wish I could change? Would we really wish we had painted more?

A la carte

I had a lovely day off yesterday. I bought mums, gourds and pumpkins and decorated the west porch. After visiting with my grandma in the nursing home I stopped in at my girlfriend Shawna's quilt shop. She is liquidating and closing the shop in order to take a job at LynnOaken Winery. She promises that I can continue to benefit from her craftiness (Phew!).

While on Main Street I stopped into Della's Chocolates to buy desserts for our homecoming party. The sponge candy immediately caught my eye. Knowing there wouldn't be time to bake and uncertain of the number of guests coming, I took one big bag each of white, dark chocolate and milk-chocolate covered orange. And they were uneven, drippy, melt-in-my-mouth pieces of confection perfection.

I'd like to think that I'm teaching my children an important lesson about the difference between processed, from-the-factory, off the shelf of the big box store and the hand dipped gourmet varieties of candies. And a lesson about supporting local businesses.

There was a special moment after the game when I saw my youngest share a piece with a new friend he'd made. $22 for three bags of sponge candy. A sweet exchange with a new pal while watching fireworks and listening to live music by the band, "Route 98," ...priceless.

Speaking of our culinary heritage we attended Octoberfest today at the boys' school. Other than watching the children squeal and giggle at the "dunk the pastor" booth, listening to the oompah band and eating kraut was THE BEST.

Human Diversity

Since I work for a premium cellular provider, one might assume that the majority of customers who visit the store would fit into the top economic bracket of society. However, my customers come from all walks of life (every day I experience the proverbial "that's what it means to work with the public").

Take Francis. Homeless. Sells his things to the pawn shop and then brings his cash to the store to buy accessories and extended batteries. He has fashioned numerous custom covers for his Droid3. He carries an "Obama phone" in his other pocket. He showed it to me the other day.

I asked him if he'd ever invented anything else and he told me about the ideas he had had long before those same products appeared in the store. He used to fix TVs.

He's in his 60's I assume, with graying blond hair. Small in stature with a large red "something" growing on his nose. He wears a green army jacket and a heavy silver chain with a cross pendant.

Sometimes we struggle when others have world views that are so different from our own. This can happen on the job, in our families, and even in our own households. For example, WestBarreDad and I cannot for the life of us understand why our middle son doesn't see work that needs to be done and step up to do it - like dishes ("We weren't raised that way and we aren't raising him that way":). (Sears rescheduled the dishwasher repair AGAIN. It will be over a month until they can find a technician to visit our neck of the woods).

I'm reminded of the Casting Crowns song, "If we are the body." "Jesus paid far too high a price for us to pick and choose who should come", or which personalities, living situations, or opinions are the most valuable. Today I pray for patience with difficult customers, difficult family members, and difficult co-workers. Oh, and difficult national appliance retailers.

The Jerusalem Council

I was required to submit a paper yesterday for a graduate-level IT course I'm taking (Problem Analysis). After reading Drucker, Postman, Deming and other authorities on the topic of computer-age management and studying Kaizen, Six-sigma, and other predominant 20-th Century Quality Management principles, I was supposed to draw a process map (and then defend) my own problem-solving process.

One of our lectures concluded with the idea that "there is more than one way to skin a cat." In other words, all of these theories are great to put in your management "toolbox" but other theories will surely rise to the top of the American/International business popularity race for a time. No single theory has proven effective in all situations.

So I chose to go to the Word. What is the Biblical principal for problem-solving? I discovered The Jerusalem Council.
The name refers to a meeting of Christians and Jews described in Acts 15. Historically, these two groups held vastly different world views and in this instance, they were arguing over the act of circumcision.

A. Community Tension (15:1-2a). Christian teachers from Judea, having come to Antioch, teach that the Gentiles must be circumcised if they are to be saved. Paul and Barnabas vigorously disagree.
B. Initiation (15:2b-5). A delegation, including Paul and Barnabas, are sent to consult with the apostles and elders in Jerusalem. The delegation is welcomed in Jerusalem, make an initial report, and the issue is quickly joined as believers from among the Pharisees insist that Gentiles be circumcised.
C. Exploration (15:6-7a). (Interpretation I) The meeting begins with “much debate.”
D. Narrative (Story)
◦ Peter’s Story (15:7b-11). Peter breaks into the debate and reminds the meeting of the story of his Joppa vision and experience with Cornelius, Roman centurion, in which it had become clear that God had accepted the Gentiles. He challenges them by reminding them of their own story in which they themselves had been unable to bear the “yoke” that they now wished to place on the Gentiles. {8} He concludes by focusing the Jesus story. Salvation, for both Jew and Gentile, comes only “through the grace of the Lord Jesus.”
◦ Barnabas and Paul’s Stories (15:12). The assembly is silent as they listen to these stories of what God has done among the Gentiles through Barnabas and Paul.
C’. Correlation (15:13-18). (Interpretation II) James begins with Peter’s story and shows how the prophets agree.
B’. Resolution (15:19-29). James proposes the conclusion. The apostles and elders, together with the entire church, agree and discern that the Holy Spirit approves. The answer is formulated in a letter.
A’. Community Action (15:30-35). A delegation is sent with Paul and Barnabas to convey the message to the church at Antioch. They are well-received in Antioch, and the Antioch church rejoices at the news.

Over and over, the Bible emphasizes discussion and putting differences aside (before the sun goes down).

I also appreciate this lesson, based on Old Testament: Nehemiah, Proverbs and Jeremiah.

Photo: West Jackson Council

Breakfast With Yuko

My dear friend Yuko is visiting for one week. She has a lot to accomplish during her short time here: paperwork for her elderly aunt, meetings with The Office of The Aging and the lawyer, etc. We were able to squeeze in breakfast at a local orchard. They have is a little picnic pavilion nestled inside a peach orchard. We enjoyed apple pie, unpasteurized cider, raw milk cheese and shortbread cookies. Delicious! Our long conversation and the beautiful surroundings...what a blessing she is to me.

The Years The Locusts Have Stolen

I met with the counselor yesterday and the outcome of that meeting was completely unexpected. She said that a member of the family had called her secretary and "complained heartily" over the results of the past few months. Considering this reaction (and others), she observed that the group is not committed to moving forward and we shouldn't continue to try. She spoke briefly of a Bible verse and a prayer that might bring comfort. God promises to restore us even after the most devastating of circumstances: Joel 2:25 King James Bible And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you. I Will Restore the Years the Locusts Have Eaten Norma Miller July 13, 2011 I came to the Lord one day, said, 'Pray will You tell me'?
I am serving You now, but things weren't always that way.
I am wondering, what about all those years that I have just thrown away'? I will restore the years the locusts have eaten.
I will make beautiful the things of the past.
I will cause your fountains to bubble with joy, and I will make you a blessing. I will restore the years the locusts have eaten.
I will make your streams to flow in the valley.
I will cause you to refresh in the desert, and I will make you a blessing. I will restore the years the locusts have eaten.
I will make beautiful the things of the past.
I will cause your fountains to bubble with joy, and I will make you a blessing. All praise to my Jesus for He loves me!
He turns all my mourning right into joy!
He says, 'You may weep for one night, but joy comes in the morning'. I will restore the years the locusts have eaten.
I will make beautiful the things of the past.
I will cause your fountains to bubble with joy, and i will make you a blessing.

There are only a few, but they're all MINE

This morning I experienced what I imagine every mother of small children anticipates...the morning ALL her children board the school bus and she is left to spend a few hours ALONE. School mornings haven't been easy. I've been sick, W suffers a meltdown every morning and vomits on the bus. There were no fewer than three calls on Friday from the school (one sick child, another needs his knee brace ASAP, another "dove into the bus." And I quote the school nurse). Yesterday the 4th child's homeroom teacher called to ask about missing paperwork. It gave me the opportunity to ask if all 8th graders were so "dizzy." Not only was he missing paperwork but he'd recently misplaced a TENOR sax. (REally??!! It's not the kind of thing that hides in the couch pillows.) So here I am. 7:30 a.m. There have been two calls from school already, Mrs. Preston wanted to OK the AP English reading list with me. W is threatening to vomit again. Counseling appointment at 10:00 a.m. No matter. I have a few hours of ME time and it's a beautiful Fall day with a cool breeze blowing. I'm going to mow (without anyone sneaking up along side). And work on my on line courses (without interruptions). And listen to Spanish music all day. Viva la soledad!

A historic game

J, now in tenth grade, played his first varsity football game on Saturday following months of pain, physical therapy and doctor's visits.

He had been injured in June at NFL camp.

We traveled to inner-city Buffalo to watch him play. We were frisked upon entering the sports complex and we walked through metal detectors and rows of security guards.

It was thrilling to see him go in and agonizing to see him limp out after taking a helmet to the shin.

The other team was viscous and the refs were kept busy calling personal fouls.The Panthers' cheerleaders growled and meowed.

Our boys were disciplined and focused. We shut them out 25 to 0.

Representation

This is the story of two lawyers. Theirs. And ours.

Their lawyer ignores deadlines. He doesn't get all of his information together ahead of time (further delaying the process beyond the deadline). I remember when I was younger and I would sit at his desk with my parents while he smoked. It was repulsive.

Our lawyer is smart-as-a-whip and kind. We haven't yet met face-to-face but we've spoken on the phone many times. She is generous with her counsel and always "right on the money." She returns phone calls promptly or calls me whenever an issue might arise.

Whenever I mention her name to people who have met her, they smile. Several people have spontaneously added, "I like her."

I was referred to her when I asked a county employee, "who is the best real estate lawyer you know of?"

This thought struck me yesterday. Something I really hadn't been so aware of before...the idea that who we choose to represent us "speaks volumes" about our character.

(The buyer's lawyer, not the lawyer mentioned above, is "Smokin' Joe Frazier. I wonder about him...haven't met him face to face yet either. Just his name/reputation suggests that he's a good fit for them:)

Fair Freedom

I thought about deleting yesterday's post. I was really a whiner. I was at a definite low.

Yesterday, show day, was difficult. The youngest filled his eyes with sawdust and had to be taken to the first aid station. W "disappeared" several times, leaving me worried and anxious.

But God sent me the perspective I needed.

First it was Mrs. M (long Polish last name. I won't even try). I had seen her oldest son sitting with her earlier in the week and I thought to myself, "Wow. Diabetes has really taken a toll on his body" (he's in his early 20's). Little did I know. I learned yesterday that in December he was pulled from his car, beaten and left for dead. The thieves took his coat.

All for a coat they hit him over and over with a piece of metal and he suffered a traumatic brain injury. Coming to the Fair every day is part of his therapy.

We did very well in the show. Champion Suffolk. Master Showman. Overall Best of Show.

I look back on year behind us and what we did to prepare. We sought out and bought N a new breed so that he might have a better chance of success at the Fair (it worked!). The boys and my husband spent many weekends moving pasture fence. Our animals were in excellent condition because of their efforts.

Today I'm thankful for our many freedoms...to attend the Fair (even if it is exhausting), to choose and afford the animals we have, for time off of our jobs, for our cars to help us with all of the running, for the washing machine and dishwasher :)

I'm grateful for our health and for the abundant energy the boys have.

Onto the pie eating contest, the Little Shepherd show and The Grand Master Showman contest.

Fair Crazies

Fair Induced Stress

It's Thursday, Sheep Show day.

I wish that I could watch the show from a webcam. I don't want to go to the Fair.

I can recognize the sources of stress and frustration but I can't seem to find a remedy or a solution.

1. J & W (ages 4 and 6) are over the top with excitement. Sugar +junk food +carnival rides + friends= high energy and sassiness. I find them almost unbearable. It might be fatigue - I slept in the van on the Fairgrounds last night next to N (age 13). Woke up at least 20 times by barking dogs from neighboring campers.

2. The Fair is smelly and dirty. I can't pack enough changes of clothes to keep myself and the family clean. Animal dirt doesn't really bother me...people dirt is bothering me A LOT (especially "the public" because I can smell the alcohol and drugs on them and my eyes zone in on their dental and skin diseases. It's disgusting.)

3. Family comes in today to watch the show. I understand that they are supporting us by coming to the show but the selfish side of me says, "if you really wanted to support us, watch the little kids so that I can watch the show." "Take them so that I can help the big kids get their animals ready." Why didn't I hire a sitter?

4. I should be grading papers. I should be getting the lawn mowed and the house ready to sell (the stress over the cottage sale is pushing me over the top, I'm sure). My to-do list seems never-ending. I try to work and the smallest children beg me to leave home for the Fair. It's a viscous cycle. I haven't managed to grade a single paper today or answer any student e-mails. It's almost 2 p.m. I've barely managed breakfast.

No conclusion.

My 2011 Fair Promise

Maybe this is more like a wish list.

I promise, this year, to try to worry less about whether or not the boys are wearing clean/dirty clothes. I will take enough extras to the campsite.

I will find a balance between running after the little ones and stopping to talk to old friends.

I won't feel resentful about what others do/don't do with their animals, our animals, their time or our time.

I will do my best to see the Fair through the eyes of the children, the younger and the older ones.

I will encourage the older ones to branch out and try new things without being overly bossy.

I will stroll through the Fairgrounds every day hand-in-hand with my husband. We will share a treat and maybe, we'll even watch a show.

Bring on the Fair!

Note: the sheep are moved in. The State Vet checked them out and they are all healthy. Tim is on his way here with the van. Next we go set up the campsite. 9 pm Monday

Surprised

I'm not a very trendy person. My clothes are threadbare and shabby because I buy them at the second hand store and then wear them for a good ten years (I'm ever grateful to my sweet husband who humors me by asking, with great sincerity, "Is that new? You look very nice.")

It's rare that I can say, "I saw that coming from a mile away." Just last week a former student of mine named Kate came into the store. She had been in my summer class two years ago, earning straight A's on her way to a teacher-education degree. She was energetic, funny, artistic and beautiful.

She is still beautiful, but her face shows signs of sadness and struggle. She has a newborn, her third child, and her husband left her in February. She works as a caricature artist at the local Amusement Park to feed her babies.

I tried my best to encourage her.

I'm surprised that my parents and my brother won't speak to me. I was surprised when a counselor suggested that this may be a spiritual battle. She encouraged me to pray to be delivered from the situation and to ask friends to pray and fast, asking for the same.

This past weekend was Old Fashioned at our church at there was something new...circus clowns. The theme was "under the big top"" and Pastor Olsen reminded us to have the heart and innocence of a child. It was a magical," delightful day, a true escape from the ugliness of work and family drama.

Earlier this summer J suffered a football injury at camp. He was literally blind sided and the hit nearly broke his knee. The injury took him out of his summer job.

Looking back now, that injury separated him from a potentially toxic environment.

God knows. He knows what we need. May I be open to His surprises.

iPad 2/ACU

I'm taking a course, the first in a series that will lead to a Certificate in Digital Leadersip, at Abilene Christian University.

In the words of the McDonald's Commercial, "I'm lovin' it."

Every student receives a free Ipad2. Just like my first and subsequent Mac computers, this little guy and I quickly became close friends.

Tonight we dropped the kids off at Vacation Bible School and we went to Tim Horton's for soup and sandwich.

Then, since the local TH didn't offer free wifi, we went to another joint for ice-cream and a signal.

We parked outside of the library to see if we could hop on their network, just for fun.

Patience

I've been doing a crummy job of practicing patience lately.

The children laugh and yell in the back seat of the car and I can't seem to stay focused on the road. I ask/beg them to be quiet. They don't. I lose it.

My brother hired an independent assessor to look at the cottage. We are waiting for it to be completed so that we can know if he will sell. Once the decision is made we can move forward with the purchase of a new house (they accepted our purchase offer this week, yay!!!!).

I want the cottage sale to happen NOW. I'm tired of the stress of not meeting deadlines for the purchase of our house. W (age 6) came to me bawling last night, "I dooon't waaaant to sell the cotttttage." I don't either. There are many reasons that make it so...we have to.

Can we please just get it over with?

Yesterday I waited on a couple I've looked down upon for several years (yes, I know). I met them when they were both college students...he, married and in his 40's and she, in her late teens and mentally challenged. He left his family to live with her.

Because of a system error her new phone wouldn't activate. 3 hours later...

I behaved poorly. I whined. I said things I shouldn't have. I offered to give her a ride home after he left her and went to work.

This caused a scene with my new Manager who now thinks I have very poor judgement.

I can do better.


Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

“Patience serves as a protection against wrongs as clothes do against cold. For if you put on more clothes as the cold increases, it will have no power to hurt you. So in like manner you must grow in patience when you meet with great wrongs, and they will then be powerless to vex your mind.”
- Leonardo da Vinci, painter, engineer, musician, and scientist (1452-1519)

“Have patience! In time, even grass becomes milk.”
- Charan Singh, mystic (1916-1990)

God's way of answering the Christian's prayer for more patience, experience, hope, and love often is to put him into the furnace of affliction.
- Richard Cecil

“Patience is also a form of action.”
- Auguste Rodin, sculptor (1840-1917)

Images and Memories

I take a lot of pictures ("too many," say some).

There are two primary reasons.

1. I'm often fatigued and pulled in several directions by children, work, students...my own thoughts...LIFE. When I take pictures I have the impression that I can, in a small way, capture a moment that I know I'm not fully experiencing.

2. As an HSP, certain situations feel overwhelming. My brain is flooded by smells, colors, emotions, facial expressions, etc. Pictures are more manageable "chunks" that I can digest.

Lately I've been thinking about situations that can't be fit inside a "Kodak Moment."

The other night our cousins from Delaware met us at the local drive-in theater. The entire experience was new to J, our youngest. In the dark he was drawn to the screen..."It's soooo big!"

The sky looked big too. And full of bright stars. The smaller cousins munched happily on popcorn and pizza while they whacked at bugs with electrified swatters that K & S brought back from their vacation on the Island of St. John. The trees around us were filled with flashing lightening bugs.

It was a beautiful, magical moment with a scope (and lighting) impossible to capture with my camera.

I was so grateful for the invitation to the movies. Our oldest son's best friend, a high school freshman, had passed away that morning after a long, arduous battle with leukemia and ideopathic lung disease.

Today the entire football team walked from school to the funeral home dressed in their purple and white jerseys. Before they left the locker room they made a movie for Nick's family, taking turns sharing memories of their teammate and saying "good-bye" one by one.

I couldn't go into the calling hours myself. I had a sense that I would feel overwhelmed by strong emotions from others in the room. I want to remember Nick in his "restored" body, handsome, athletic, smiling.

Long Lost

We're taking a trip this weekend to attend a family reunion of sorts. My great-aunt Margie will celebrate her 90th birthday and her children and grandchildren will travel in from around the country.

I love to visit with this side of my family. I am very grateful for their warmth and kindness.

Sitting next to my great-uncle feels just like sitting next to my own grandfather, his brother. I don't know exactly why...could it be the height of his shoulder or the similar bone structure? The Pittsburgh dialect and the tone of his voice?

A long time ago my mother remarried. My "new father" asked this side of the family not to spoil me anymore.

He was doing what he thought best at the time, I'm sure.

I'm really in need of some spoiling right now. I can't wait to hold Aunt Margie's hand, listen to the sounds of my cousin's voices, and if I'm really lucky, there will be pierogies too.

Bittersweet

We went to the cottage on Saturday. The little neighbor boy immediately ran outside to play with the other children. They, in turn, invaded his tree house, doused him with water balloons and scarfed up his toy tractors.

He is far more reticent and well behaved than my gang.

His mother came out later to talk to me about the sale of the cottage. They are hoping to buy it.

"It's bittersweet, she said, because H was so very excited to see you all today." She kept herself from saying, "and you won't be coming anymore."

"Those boys are back!" he'd exclaimed, happily (H and J are only a month apart in age).

Consider it all joy.

Ohhhhhh, it's so hard. I find myself with far more bitter thoughts than sweet ones as I mow, weed, and drive.

I can't focus.

My phone seems to be ringing off the hook. There's another buyer interested. My brother texts to find out the status of things. I need to clean out the cottage shed, including kayaks left there by friends. Carpenter ants are eating up the wood in the bathroom there. A laundry list of things to do and an even longer grocery list.

Garbage bags, ant poison, polyurethane for the walls, wood glue for the broken bed.

It would even seem that someone is using the cottage without permission. We found items strewn about, the faucet taken apart, tools left out on the counter top.

Joy.

On Selling the Cottage Part 1

Within twelve hours of making the difficult decision to sell the cottage, we had a buyer. Someone who, like me, grew up in cottage country and understands the rarity of a site on the market, is ready to snatch it up.

These cottages pass down from generation to generation. It's nearly impossible to "break in" to a line, something like trying to purchase season tickets at Yankee stadium.

I always thought I'd be passing our cottage down to the boys. They assumed that too, and the oldest, who best understands this "new" reality, is disappointed and angry.

All the way around, emotions are running high.

As for me, I'm trying to keep in mind, "this world is not our home."

Our inheritance is in Christ.

New favorite song (an old hymn!), "Oh Glorious Day" (here performed by Casting Crowns)

A Perfect Fit

While I'm a firm believer that "this earth is not our home.," we've struggled for quite awhile with the fact that we've outgrown both our property and our house.

The farmer behind us refuses to allow us to use or buy more land for the sheep.

All four of our boys live in one room.

Most of our things reside in Rubbermaid containers. We battle for quiet, peace, and space.

Along came the opportunity to tour a beautiful old farm house a few miles away.

15 acres, geothermal heating and cooling, two BIG barns and many, many windows and porches

We took 6 children with us to tour the property with the real estate agent. Out of the car they burst into a game of hide-n-seek. The house has many "little brother torture chambers" like a closed off staircase and a dry well.

It has a LAUNDRY ROOM! Beautiful old shade trees. A room for every boy and even a room for guests.

It's a perfect fit. It's also pretty expensive.

Knees bent, hands folded.

Outcast

In Sunday's sermon our pastor read from the Gospel of Mark. We read about the disciple Matthew and his profession as a "publican" (tax collector, social outcast) prior to being called by Jesus to "Come and follow me."

The message focused on the uniqueness of each of us and the ways that God uses what the world sees as a weakness as a strength for his good. I really enjoyed the sermon and I'd been meditating on it.

Fast forward several days and I found myself in a tizzy over "The Ladies Tea" at a local Bed & Breakfast. I'd invited our pastor's wife (our babysitter) and she only recently said that she was unable to attend.

My sister Sara, thankfully, will be there. She is thrilled to see inside of the mansion. Beautiful antiques and expensive works of art. I've been inside and it is beautiful. Ironically, perhaps, I prefer to remember the house as it was during its dark days when I visited my with family there.

My girlfriend Bonnie will be there. She's excited about dressing up and wearing a hat. Every time she talks about fancy hats and clothes I sink deeper into a panic. Dressing up is definitely not my strength.

The situation was complicated by the fact that some of the guests on the lists are people with whom I'm currently "estranged." (Essentially, I've been requested to stay away from them. Caught between a rock and a hard place because I'm required to attend this event for other reasons.)

And then yesterday in the store I waited on a very disagreeable customer. I'd never met her before. She was loud and rude and confused over tablets and mobile broadband pricing. After much conversation I learned that she is the daughter of a local farmer, who had been jailed after growing our county's most legendary marijuana seize. He, now 95, lies in recovery after surgery and infection. Her husband is back in Florida, also under hospice care. She is the sole guardian for her mentally handicapped brother in Mass.

I invited her to tea at the mansion (right down the road from her childhood home).

This woman's friend, Mrs. Starkweather, was going to the tea (so she promptly dug into her purse for her cell phone in order to leave a lengthy voicemail message with her about meeting a nice young woman who happened to be the great-granddaugther of so and so...and that she was also going!)

There happens to be an available ticket. Her meal is already paid for.

And I was feeling like the outcast. ("So what?!")


From Kerrie Roberts, Outcast

The Cared and Feeding of Young Men

Now that our youngest is 4 and 1/2 and can steadily reach glasses in the cupboard and the water faucet independently, we have moved across the border to a new phase of parenting.

We have four young men in the house. Granted, each one requires a very different regimen one from the other. Two are on teen vitamins, for example. One still chews gummy vitamins and takes flouride. And the fourth licks the sour powder off of the gummy vites and leaves them on his plate.

1. The eldest, J. "To take care" of him means giving him money and leaving him alone to do his thing. Take Thursday of this week. He left for school at 7 a.m. After school he pulled his drum line out for extra marching band practice and then arranged for his own band to use the a school room for an hour-long jam session. They wrote three songs.

After that he hiked to Subway ($) and then hopped a bus to the Auditorium Theater in Rochester to cheer on a classmate in the Stars of Tomorrow competition ($). I picked him up at 11:00 p.m. from a dark, deserted parking lot.

16 plus hours away from home.

2. 13-year-old N. We took his poodle to the groomer's yesterday. Little did I know the process would take HOURS so while we waited we went out to breakfast, treated ourselves to carmelattes, and completed the family's grocery shopping. We poked through buttons in an antique store. We picked out some pleasant smelling cologne.

It was a rare pleasure to spend time alone with him. We talked about modesty, media, cell phones, his girlfriend (good friend) and more. Later in the day he STAYED with us when we went to the local amusement park (in the pouring rain).

This morning I dropped him off at his girlfriend's house - and I won't see him again until tomorrow afternoon (he will rendezvous with a friend, go camping, and more in the interim).

3. 6-year-old W. Since he and his younger brother didn't go to the Amusement Park last year, the whole show is new and exciting. He is old enough to ride some BIG rides (although he still suffers from panic attacks. Yesterday he rode the corn popper alone and cried. But wanted to go again when the ride was over). He has learned to read so he is now aware of prices and menus. He was thrilled to get his "first credit card" (a season pass).

4. J., 4 and 1/2. The dog just bit him. I really need to find a new home for that poodle.

Business as usual

The store where I work is being renovated and we are expected to maintain "business as usual" during the project. Carpet layers glue and cut under our feet. Sign hangers work on ladders over our heads.

The store smells horrible from the fumes emitted by liquid cement, un-encapsulated epoxy and sawed metal. Our eyes and throats burn and we feel nauseated and dizzy.

We've alerted our Supervisors and I have written several notes to HR. Yesterday I asked if "Health & Safety" had given their blessing to the situation. Is it really safe for us to be there?

It's hard not to feel angry and resentful. There is no "relaxation" for our sales quotas or store goals. At night, I'm exhausted.

I feel robbed of time with my family. Last night I threw away another pair of gas permeable contacts.

Why are we, as a culture, so unwilling to take a break from "business as usual?"

Even in our relationships we sometimes choose to retreat in times of discord rather than "rock the boat." In my experience, further ugliness grows when what was needed was a "clearing of the air."

I'm all about clean air.

Seeking Wisdom

I'm reading a book about the Christian's approach to the internet by Tim Challies called The Next Story. Last night's chapter described how, ironically, a Google Search for the terms wisdom and truth brings up Wikipedia as one of the top two or three references.

With thousands of authors and truth that changes hourly, Wikipedia is hardly reliable.

Where do I seek wisdom? Where should I seek wisdom? I'm inclined toward Proverbs...Psalms...memorizing Scripture.

Sometimes I go to my Grandmothers, both of them mature Christian women. I appreciate and welcome their perspective.

I've realized that my sister might have a different perspective on a situation. I've asked for her insight. She can hold me accountable and speak truth to my ears.

Is it gossip to share one's heart in confidence? Is it gossip to bring a perceived darkness out into the light?

Sometimes I do vent out of anger or desperation.

Is it wrong to for ask for help?

God gave us families and churches to be "the body" - to bring various strengths to each job. He didn't intend for us to have to go it alone.

I'm going to have to look this one up. And not on Wikipedia.

The overcrowded garden

I am something of a plant collector. In the Spring, I pack a hand trowel and scissors in my vehicle so that I can snip off and dig up small pieces of plants and put them in my gardens.

I treasure the lilac bushes that I dug up as shoots from along the driveway of an old, decaying house (pictured...aren't they amazing??!!). I look forward to seeing my Poets Daffodils bloom every Spring, after finding them abandoned under brush along the road.

Similarly, I treasure the cuttings and divisions given to me by friends and family. I have a rhodey from The Pillars, sedum from a trailer my mother bought and sold, and fern peonies from my grandparents' flower bed. Somehow, I remember the origin of each plant....she who can't remember what she wore yesterday.

I usually put these cuttings and divisions away into the ground in whatever free space I can find in one of my gardens. This year, I noticed, my gardens had become very, very cluttered and overgrown. Oregano mint from my Amish friend Gracia has overtaken the bed by the barn. Great Grandma Myrtia's rose bush has taken over the circle garden in back.

Today I began to thin and relocate some plants. The goal is to make room for some bushes and plants with better "bones" and evergreens that might show in the winter.

I found myself struggling. Every time I pulled a plant I wondered how and where it would fit in somewhere else. All the beds are overgrown.

The overcrowded garden is a metaphor for my life. Sometimes I have to thin out even activities that are in and of themselves "lovely."

Last summer I worked three jobs. One in case I lost the other. One because the town couldn't find a sub. I also took renters at the cottage to help with expenses. I'd leave work at 10:00 p.m. and then head to the lake, cleaning up or preparing for guests into the wee hours of the morning.

My husband and the boys helped. They painted the picnic table and benches, weeded, cleaned up the beach, vacuumed, and more.

I missed just "sitting" by the water. I missed my family. By August, I was exhausted.

In January we made the decision to sacrifice rental income for a season.

The decision hasn't been "popular," although some former renters have been wonderfully understanding. Today, Mother's Day, I heard from two of them who said, "it's OK." "We understand."

The plants in my garden grow and flower when there is ample space and nutrition. The beds look better with plants that have "substance" and deep roots.

I'm hopeful that our decision to keep things "quiet" at the Lake will eventually provide for "room to grow."

Game's Up...Phew!

Mr. WestBerryMom recently cleaned off the shelves in the boys' room to make a place for them to put their clothes and underwear. From the shelves he pulled our collection of board games, some sewing supplies, and boxes of buttons.

The boys instantly became interested in the games. They opened Monopoly and played for several nights. Cranium Cadoo and all of its little pieces were strewn across the living room.

It's sad, but I HATE games. I don't enjoy cards, puzzles, or hide and seek.

I considered elementary school gym class and recess to be the highest forms of torture because of jump rope and tag.

Baby and bridal showers...all good, except for...yep...the games.

Over the past year I'd noticed someone close to me seemed to be playing some sort of mind game. Avoiding a topic and then avoiding me all together. Our relationship, even though we kept to the topics that were "safe" for the other person, became strained.

The other "player" created elaborate strategies. She "pretended" to be willing to talk but failed to show for meetings due to illness and schedule conflicts.

She never came out and said "I just don't want to meet." Until yesterday.

And today I am walking on air. Skipping to my lu.

The game is over.

=======

I stumbled across this list...The Top Ten Games We Secretly Hate

Twists and Turns

Today I'm thinking about life's twists and turns. During the past year, in particular, I've marveled at unexpected, dramatic world events. Events like the earthquakes and tsunami in Japan that changed the course of life for the entire country with a ripple effect all the way to my small town and my little family.

The Japanese woman I help care for lost her entire childhood village. We have been careful to safeguard her from the news, in order to protect her happy memories.

Similarly, I've been touched by instances where people I know have headed in very unexpected directions.

Take the case of Troy Christ, a former classmate who found his mother dead in his childhood home and then set the whole place on fire. Wow. That was unexpected.

I'm amazed to meet the granddaughter of exiled Venezuelan politico Rafael Tudela in one of my classes.

My dear friend Montse is raising her family in Kobe, far from her homeland of Spain because she finds the country aggressive and poor in spirit. She was always an ambassador for Spain and Segovia. I recall bouncing up the steps to the Roman aqueduct and posing for a portrait by a medieval wall during our honeymoon visit to her parents' home.

Where will my children's life paths lead them? How can I prepare them for the twists and turns?

Who will I meet today along my own journey?

I have Julieta Venegas' song "Otra Cosa" on replay today:

intento hacer una historia
que sea real como ninguna antes
contemplandote sere
paciente dejare
que sucedan las cosas
como deben ser
sin apresurarlas


Side note: I have a dream, to some day walk part of El Camino de Santiago. Hand in hand with my dear husband.

Breakdowns

We are into May and the weather continues to be cold and soggy. Days are dark. My customers and coworkers are cranky. Farmers are nervous as the growing season is severely shortened at the front end. I had a HUGE argument with my parents.

It's the end of the semester and I have a high pile of grading to work through. I'm easily annoyed by students' requests to know their grades ahead of the Records Office's due date. Technical difficulties plague my on-line course.

And I'm sick. Sore throat. Achy body.

Like a car with warning lights flashing and smoke pouring from the engine, I see my mind and my body heading for a potential breakdown. Quick fixes like hot coffee, dark beer and rosy perfume aren't helping in the usual way.

"Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burnin' burnin burnin'"

Music helps. Prayer helps. Seeing my youngest boy run naked and dripping wet from the tub to the couch makes me smile.

I called my Uncle and my Grandma today. We talked about mental health and stress and breakdowns.

The "overheated engine" warning light turned off. The "maintenance needed" light has dimmed.

A Child LIves (lived) There (here)

Yesterday I waited on a customer who asked me if I knew any people in the next town over with the same last name as mine. I answered that I was local. I live in the hamlet of West Berry.

He smiled and said that he grew up in West Berry.

He didn't seem much older than me. I didn't know him but I recognized his last name. I asked if he was related to the Humphrey family who had lived across and down the street just a bit. That house, a beautiful, historic Victorian home, had burned to the ground a few years ago.

There's still a horse tie out front to date the property. Farther back, it had been the home of a prominent family, The Bodines.

Indeed. He'd grown up there. HIs father passed away a week after the house burned from other underlying conditions. His younger brothers, now his guardians, now live in a group home.

She was a heavy smoker and drinker. The younger boys were mentally handicapped. I remembered them from the bus and Sunday School - handsome, sweet children. As young adults they found their mother "asleep" and it was only when they showed up at a public event without her did anyone happen to discover that she had died.

Why didn't I know of this older brother? He asked who in my family had a snowmobile. He used to watch it whizz by from his window.

There were never any toys or people outside of the Humphrey home. Bushes grew up over the windows.

Not unlike the home of a neighbor across and down the street now.

This morning I drove by as a child ran out to board the bus. A child lives there? Why don't we know one another? Why don't our children play together? Why don't I hear giggling or squeals from that direction?

I felt a sweet sadness yesterday after meeting and "catching up" with my former neighbor.

The property where the old foundation sits has finally been sold. There will be a new family in West Berry, this one from California.

Report Cards

Yesterday was report card day. It came as quite a surprise to me that N, now 13, sent me a pict message with a photo of his grades. Quite a few of his grades had improved since the last marking period.

W, who is 6, showed improvement in basic writing and reading. J, 15, was angry over one grade in the 70's, while the rest of his grades were at or near 100.

Ironically it was "report card day" for me at work too. As soon as I arrived the store manager pulled me into his office and gave me a lecture about my poor performance. I failed in the categories of smart phones and accessories. I came in dead last in the region with the accessory take rate.

There was no "sandwiching" the ugly between my accomplishments (for example, I also sold more phones last month than anyone else in my store. I never show up drunk or spend the day smoking outside. I've completed every required training. I go out of my way to help customers).

Nope. No sugar coating. Just a stern, "Come on. You've been here four months. You should be doing better."

He handed me my "letter of referral" to sign. It's the first of three steps that ends in termination.

It's been tough for me to work through my anger and indignation over my manager's approach and what I perceive as a flawed numbers system. I struggle to accept a failing grade because I've always tried to get high grades, in everything.

Over the years I've had to learn to be patient with a less than perfect, aging body, a historic home constantly in need of repair, and never enough time for housework.

I told the boys this morning that I'm very proud of them. And I reminded myself, and them, that as people (and God's children) we are so much more than a list of grades.

(It's going to take some repeating..."I am more than my sales numbers. I am more than the balanced score card...")

They Won't/Will Grow Up

PETER PAN:
Are you ready for today's lesson?

ALL:
Yes, Peter!

PETER PAN:
Listen to your teacher. Repeat after me:
I won't grow up,
(I won't grow up)
I don't want to go to school.
(I don't want to go to school)
Just to learn to be a parrot,
(Just to learn to be a parrot)
And recite a silly rule.
(And recite a silly rule)
If growing up means
It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up
Not me!
Not I,
Not me!
Not me!

Our oldest (15) just performed in the musical "Peter Pan." The show was FABULOUS, may I brag?

The musical brilliantly highlights boyhood, childhood fantasy, childhood fears and even common parental fears (like losing our children and finding them lonely and hungry).

It amuses me to no end that my four boys have been running around the house singing, "I won't grow up!" It's one of my favorite songs from the show. I cried from my front-row seat Saturday night and the son sitting next to me commented, "Embarassing...Mom!"

I'm reminded not to be so grumpy about the little pieces of paper all over the living room floor ( J and W have been cutting swords out of cardboard) or their unmade beds. Grumbling over homework and chores. Dangerous tree climbing and rope swinging.

It's all a part of that wonderful phase called boyhood. So quickly I see it passing. My older two already have "real" girlfriends (gasp!)

Here is a snippet from our show.

Reality Check

In my opinion, there's nothing quite like a visit to the county nursing home to give me a swift "reality check" kick in the butt.

I've been feeling frumpy, grumpy and dumpy over the fact that I am surrounded by 20-somethings who swear and whine incessantly. The hot topics of conversation are "Jersey Girls," binge drinking and pregnancy tests. I hate how they dress. I find them lazy and lacking in moral fiber.

I text my husband from the store, "It's a circus here." and "I wish I worked with people my own age."

I have no one at work to talk to. At least about anything interesting (to me).

On Tuesday I visited my grandmother at the county nursing home. Reading her journal, which we keep to help her memory, I learn that she has just been moved to a double room without a view from a private room with a lovely view. She has very little space for her personal belongings. Quite frankly, she has very little personal space at all.

She wheels herself out into the hallway where she sits in the common area by the nurses' station. Another resident sits behind her in the hall, babbling on and on in nonsensical phrases.

My grandmother says, "At first I thought a radio was on somewhere and I was hoping it would be turned down." In case I missed the reference, she smiles and tilts her head toward the babbler.

During my visit we see another resident pacing. Down the hallway. Turn around. Repeat. She doesn't know why he does that.

Some of the residents don't speak at all. For some that do, she's not really sure if they recognize her. But then, she thinks, maybe they do because it seems as if they've saved up questions overnight to ask her the next day.

My great uncle, Grandma's brother-in-law, is in the same nursing home. He spends the day walking laps around the entire building. This time, I've sat in his favorite hallway chair and I try to time my move to another seat by the minutes it might take him to make the return lap.

I don't time it quite right. He sees me in the chair and I call him over, offering to move. He shakes his head and moves on. He suffers from Parkinson's. Every day my great aunt visits her husband and her sister here.

"Do you know," Grandma says," that some people don't get any visitors at all? It's very sad."

Proud Mamas

I took the picture on the left last Thursday at 5:00 a.m. Prior, around 3:30 a.m., Mr. WestBerryMom had discovered a lamb born out in the pasture. It was a cold, wet morning so we carefully scooped up baby and herded mama across our property to the barn and birthing stall.

We raise a rare breed of sheep, Tunis, sometimes called "The Red Heads." I adore them.

I had to sit with mama and baby for a few hours because the ewe pawed at the lamb in an effort to coerce her to nurse. I was afraid she would injure the baby (sheep aren't very smart, I imagine you've heard).

It was a very sweet time. I cuddled with the lamb and put my hand into the deep pile of mama ewe's wool (perhaps it's strange but I love the smell and feel of lanolin).

We exchanged stories about our children.

I have many reasons to be proud of my own "flock" of boys -their relationship with the Lord, their musicianship, their kind hearts and their drive.

I'm grateful that they are strong and healthy, both in body and mind.

Today (and every day) I'm counting my many blessings (look what God has done!)

Feverish (Cabin Fever/Spring Fever)

For 10 out of 12 months last year I was an independent contractor. Now it's tax time and I have extra work to do to find receipts that might provide expenses to offset some of my income. The "dump everything in a drawer" method of accounting that I employed has not proven very effective.

I'm doing the taxes myself, using TurboTax. In addition to the screen time I'm putting in for the taxes, I have a mountain of grading to complete, all on-line. There are study guide questions, drafts of oral presentations, discussion board postings, e-mails, graduate school recommendations for students and more.

Enter little boys. It's still quite cold outside and it's very muddy. The perfect recipe for the 10 minute "go outside clean and dry and return quickly cold and wet" scenario. Mud all over the back room floor, kitchen floor and the TV stand. The TV stand?

Of course, because there is a direct line from outside to the TV (forget passing by the bathroom to wash up). It seems that I have no idea what to do with these boys except drive them outside or let them watch TV. Too much TV.

Enter big boys. We're arguing about cell phone usage after 9:30 p.m. The oldest is playing in the pit band for the Spring musical and this week they will practice until 8 p.m. every night. Extra trips to town. Food to provide for the band. Performances this weekend (if I can fly from work to the Sat. night performance I might catch one).

I'm desperate to finish the taxes and grading.

It seem that I'm too tired to think of craft projects, reading stories or fun outings. Their room is a disaster. This morning I slept right through waking up to get the older boys on the bus. In fact, it would seem that I'm too tired to even plan meals.

It's a fever. A sickness.

I wish for the cure of a kind neighbor with children who would invite the boys over to play. Or an aunt or uncle, or grandparent who would have them over for lunch or an overnight. Quite frankly, I'd probably even leave them with a stranger at this point if he/she could provide an alternative to my "too much screen time mother guilt."

God give me strength.