My Brother-in-law

My brother-in-law lost vision in one eye about a decade ago due to a torn retina.  This weekend, the retina in the other eye tore, as well.  He called 911 when he woke up seeing not  much more than spots.  The treating doctor didn’t take the situation very seriously, diagnosing blood and suggesting it would clear up and his vision would return to normal in a few days.  Thankfully he pushed to be taken more seriously and they discovered there was a tear on the worst part of the retina that one would ‘want’ a tear. 

They performed a laser surgery to correct the tear and now are waiting to see if his vision is restored.   But my brother-in-law received the news that even if this surgery brought back his vision, which isn’t likely, that his retina is too fragile and it is just a matter of time before it tears again and he is blinded permanently.

Please join me in prayer for my brother-in-law and the entire family.  I know that ‘just a matter of time’ isn’t a moratorium on hope.  God can do anything.

One more week

I have seven more days with an eight year old living in my house!  She was due yesterday, but decided to wait another week before meeting the world.  Those seven days, eight years ago, were…oh, what one word can be used to describe a weeks’ worth of an overdue baby, 5 extra people, 3 extra dogs and an insatiable craving for pumpkin pie?  I don’t know.

Now that it is long over, it is an elegant memory.  My little sister was living up here with her two oldest children less than a mile away.  My older sister was visiting to be here for my daughter’s arrival with her two children.  My moms were here with their three dogs.  My girl was born on a Friday morning, but I contracted on Tuesday night (which brought all the visitors), Wednesday night and Thursday night.  Crazy baby was quite peaceful from about midnight until 6 pm.  Then we’d go into rough back labor.  Then she’d stop again!

Praise the Lord for my intuitive midwife!  She got me through and we had a darling, perfect, nine pound, four ounce baby in a pool where we normally keep the dining room table. That was magic.  It was calm, quiet, comfortably dark.  I was walked to my bed after she was born and loved on by family (and doula and midwife) while I knew that my baby was receiving even more TLC than I was. 

Here we are, drifting further and further from that enchanting time of expectation and potential.  She is a young lady now.  Sweet, smart, pretty, funny, and never one to turn down a wrestling match.  She loves tea parties and making ugly faces.  She struggles through learning disabilities, but begs to do ‘rock star spelling.’  She loves her brother and riding her bike.  She loves her puppy and her daddy.  She is growing to become my life-long friend.

Man, am I blessed to overflowing!

My, oh my!

My daughter has gorgeous hair.  It is long and blond and shiny.  She exemplifies the notion that long hair can be to a woman’s glory.  But she’s been asking me to cut it recently.  Well, she’s been asking me to cut it for months.  I keep putting her off, telling her that you can always cut hair, but making it long isn’t so easy.

I kept thinking she would change her mind.  But she didn’t, so I cut it—like two inches.  That didn’t really cut it for her, pardon the expression.  So the very next day I cut it again, maybe four inches.  I didn’t exactly give her what she wanted, but six inches is noticeable and people made complimentary comments about her ‘short’ hair that fell well below her shoulder blades.  I thought the matter was settled.

Nope.  So, last night I finally acquiesced.  She got her first real haircut.  It was rather traumatic for her father and I.  And we handled it poorly.  My husband introduced himself to her, claiming to not recognize this new girl before him, which upset her.  Then I had her bent over to fluff up her coif and Brother walked in and exclaimed her name.  My eyes were on my daughter, so I can’t even say if my son was upset or admiring her, but from upside down came by little girl’s voice, ‘You guys are making feel bad for cutting it.’  She lifted her head to reveal red-rimmed eyes.

Oh, the guilt!  It was time for us to suck up losing our long-haired beauty and accept with open arms this quickly-growing young lady.  We all traipsed back to the big mirror and told her how stunning she is.  Poor thing was just feeling encouraged when our puppy shrank from her.  No pretending this time; our daughter was not recognized.  The fought-off tears won.

We again rallied around, got Bailey-pup to know our gal is still our gal and finally all is well.  Oh, why is letting them grow so very hard??

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her hair is so thick that I have a cut layer, a to-be cut layer (seen above) and a ponied layer to be cut after the second layer! 

 

How do you spell chew?

We started our spelling with –ew words.  I let the kids know that we would be playing with this family for a while.  Our first word was chew.  I say the word, use it in a sentence and say the word again.  The next step is my kids taking turns spelling the word aloud.  It usually goes something like this.

It is an –ew word with ch at the beginning.  Simple, right?

Imagine my surprise when my daughter gets up to spell—she does it like a rock star, which I allow because it is better than the tears we used to battle before discovering said rock star—and she shouts/sings, “It’s a WE word with oou and the eeeennnnnd!!!”

Sometimes I am just rendered speechless.  Weoou spells chew?  Who knew?

It’s Personal

Some things we can do as a group.  It is really nice to belong to something larger than ourselves: family, neighborhood, community, church…  I like not sharing the full load, having others’ ideas to inspire me and maybe find a little false solace in drawing comparisons that cast me, in my twisted mind’s eye in a better light

With other things, for better or worse, we are on our own.  Personal accountability can be denied for only so long.  The truth is, at some point, we must answer for our decisions on our own.  There is no one else to blame, no excuses to be made, the distractions will melt away.  All that will be left is you.  Me. 

This is a simple enough concept, but life takes on a hectic pace and it is easy to forget.  Days and weeks slip away from us before we even recognize what happened. 

If I have a hard time with keeping my eyes on the truth, how do I teach my children to see through this temporary world into eternity?  I long to hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  But all I hear ringing in my ears is, ‘you are such a screw-up!’  Then there is the seemingly inevitable and vicious circle: try hard, fail, self-loathing for failure until forfeiture into more failure, which leads to more self-loathing.  After a while, it is as though I am just somersaulting through life; I feel like I will land before the Throne bruised, dizzy and completely wasted.  Which, of course, is another assurance of how completely I stink.

I need to let go the past, of course.  The resentments against others and the guilt of my own failings.  But—and this is a more subtle, but just as sinister trap—I need to let go the future.  No plans, no promises, no dreams or resolutions.  Today.  Today is all I have.  Today I will give to the Lord.  I will rejoice and be glad for this day.  I will make the most of this day by calling on His name, loving those in my life, and taking care of my responsibilities.

Because no matter how many excuses seem valid, or how many others ‘did it, too,’ this is personal.  I will be alone facing my Creator.  With ashes blowing through my hair, I want to bow down before him to hear those coveted words.

I should be Ashamed, I know

I was combing my daughter’s locks before I would let her go bike riding.  She is so eager to get out there because only yesterday did she discover that she is finally big enough to ride her big bike.  Up until now, she has been riding her brother’s smaller bike (she’s also wearing his old shoes, but that is a story for another time).

I was fighting through the tangles when my husband came in the room.  She announced so proudly that she can ride Thunder now!!  I smiled at him over her head as I watched him process what she was saying.  She elaborated, “My big bike!  I can ride my big bike, Thunder now!" 

My husband is a great dad so he gave her thumbs up and praising words, but I could see distraction in his eyes as he still pondered the name of the bike.  I thought he just thought it strange that she would name her bike at all.  I do.  He asked her why she named the bike thunder.  She answered because the bike is blue and fast.  Since thunder is in the sky, which is blue and is fast (ok…) it made sense to choose that as a name.

My husband said, “Did you know when I was your age I had a bike I named thunder?”  Ah…so that explains his odd expression.  How neat.  Then he said as he wandered into the kitchen, '”must be in the genes.”

My daughter, so pretty and sweet, adventurous and loving, called after him, “But I’m not wearing jeans!”

My “Q.P.”

My husband and daughter were snuggling/wrestling on the couch together while bantering back and forth.  My husband called her a pajama princess.  She wasn’t thrilled to be in her pajamas, though I hadn’t the foggiest notion what her objection might be.  He said she is a P.P. and he loved her.  She smiled and the resentment over wearing pjs to bed melted.

She snuggled up under his chin and called him H.D: Handsome Daddy.  So sweet.  Then H.D: Hairy daddy.  Equally honest, at any rate.  He called her S.P.: Sweet Princess.  Then Q.P.: Cute Princess….  I’m sorry?  Beg pardon?  Q.P.  Cute Princess.

OK.  So sometimes we don’t represent homeschooling so well.