Top Ten 2012

Oh.wow.  I am 40 years old.  40 years, 1 month and 21 days old, to be exact.  And I realize I haven't posted since last year.  So, in my "first blog of the year" tradition, here is my Top Ten list:

Top Ten Reasons I Know I'm 40:

10.  I started receiving AARP applications in the mail.

9.  Getting enough fiber is high on my list of priorities.

8.  I love using the term "willy nilly".

7.  I save those plastic bread bags - you know, just in case.

6.  "Elated' is an understatement to describe how I feel each time my new issue of "Better Homes & Gardens" arrives.

5.  I wrote "butter" three times on the same grocery list.

4.  I also wrote "wheat flour" three times on the same grocery list.  On two different occasions.

3.  I started to re-use tea bags.

2.  When I reach down to pick something up, my body makes sounds which I don't mean it to.

1.   I don't look for grey hairs anymore.  They come and find me.

Christmas Traditions

Like most other homes that celebrate Christmas, I grew up with many holiday traditions. We didn't have lots of money or give or receive lots of presents when we were little, but my parents still managed to create memories that I will always cherish.

On Christmas Eve I would always be awakened by the sound of a running vacuum. Always. That would be my dad preparing 12 hours in advance for the yearly party we would host on the evening of December 24. Once mostly awake, I'd be directed to the Pledge and a rag since it was my duty to clean all the side tables, the coffee table, and pretty much anything with a flat surface so that our house would be dust-free for the party. Sadly, it wasn't till I was older that I realized my mother, who was born on Christmas Eve, would spend her entire birthday in the kitchen preparing the meals for our celebration with 40+ guests. We stopped the December 24th party when she got sick and never resumed it after she passed away, but I think it takes a humble mom to create a festive atmosphere for family and friends on a day that should have been spent celebrating her.

But my mom's humility was counteracted by my dad's antics when it came time to sing Christmas carols. All our party guests would cram into our little living room, which necessitated an open front door for fresh air's sake. The printed list of songs and lyrics would go around, and my dad's show would begin. You see, he felt that caroling time needed an emcee and, as the host of the party, he was the natural choice. I suppose singing these Christmas songs would have been pleasant if they were sung normally, but not so with my father. Things pretty much got out of hand when my mom received a "12 Days of Christmas" bell collection one year. Those bells became props for the song and groups of people (assigned by my dad) would take turns singing their "day" and ringing their bell. But no one could really sing days 4,3, or 2 on their own because my dad would always chime in. Always. Whereas normal people would sing it like this:

"4 calling birds, 3 French hens, 2 Turtledoves..."

my father would sing it like this:

"4 calling cards, 3 French toast, 2 turtlenecks..."

Now imagine those words being sung with a heavy Filipino accent. Now imagine a roar of laughter from the crowd. Now imagine that same show year after year. Yep, that's my dad.

So it's probably been at least 17 years since my family's last Christmas Eve party. I must admit that I miss all the food, the joyous gathering of family and friends, and my dad's unique way of singing carols. Maybe I'll consider starting similar traditions for my own family. I'll have to make due without my mom's bell collection or my dad's accent, but I do have a vacuum and lots of Pledge. And that's how great Christmas memories begin.

[See World Vision's "12 Blogs of Christmas"]

Recess

I admit that my kids don't get out as often as they should. As a mother of 4 boys, that means subjecting myself to a bunch of crazed kids bouncing off the walls and screaming as if each was separated from the other by a mile-long chasm.

So I finally decided to change up recess (actually, I decided to GIVE them recess, THEN I changed it up) and go old school. Nope, I didn't play an "80s mix tape". Instead, I grabbed some chalk, an all-purpose rubber ball, and took my two oldest boys outside.

They stood in wonder as I drew a really big square on the driveway and divided it into 4 equal squares. They looked at me as if I was some kind of alien when I declared "Let's play!" It only took a few times with the ball whizzing past for them to understand what they had to do to win - actually, to NOT LOSE against their mother. And despite an unmanned square, we had enough stamina to play for an entire hour.

It was 60 minutes of attacking, defending, and strategizing. It was also 3600 seconds of gloating, pouting, screaming and laughing. I was taken back to the kind of playground fun I had 30 years ago (ahem, yes 30 years). But this time, instead of being intimidated by my opponents, I was relishing each and every move. This game, which required no controllers, no batteries, and no screen, was proving to be a really enjoyable time for all of us. Even Jonah expressed his surprise when he said, "They actually invented this fun game BEFORE you were young??"

Now I don't recall being this sore after playing four square. But I suppose it's worth it, seeing as I've still got my "square skillz" and, now, two very special people to play with. Perhaps in the days to come we'll spend recess playing more of the old school stuff like handball or Chinese jump rope. Or, if I'm really sore, maybe recess will simply involve popping in that 80s mix tape and listening to songs - together.

Passing the Buck

Me: *big sigh*
Jonah: Yes, mom. We KNOW you have lots of stuff to keep you busy around here.
Me: Well, YOUR brothers aren't napping so it will make for a very interesting evening.
Jonah: Yes, for YOU and YOUR husband.

As if my *sigh* was a big long list of complaints.

As if it's Jonah's fault that Jack and Jed are playing in their rooms instead of sleeping.

As if Justin and I are in charge of taking care of everyone. Oh, wait...

The Truth and Nothing But The Truth

"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."  John 8:32

So my husband and I are trying our darndest (by the grace of God) to teach our boys about telling the truth - always.  We've studied about what it means to lie, praised them for being truthful and disciplined them for being untruthful.  When you combine a spirit of truthfulness with the inherited trait of candor, this is what you get:

"I know why you eat fast, Mom.  It's because your mouth is big."

Not entirely untrue.  Having 4 sons leaves me a few milliseconds to stuff my face with whatever to appease my hunger so, yes, I eat quickly.  13 years ago I had 8 more teeth than I do now because I had braces put on so apparently I can fit a lot in there.  And I tend to blurt things out before thinking so... fine.  I wonder what would have been said had they known my mouth was even bigger before braces.

"Mom, I like it better when Dad is home with us because he doesn't scold us as much and he says 'yes' to most of our requests."

This I can't deny.  In fact, I often encourage more "daddy time" to spare my kids of my wrath and give them more opportunities to get what they want.  Did I mention that "daddy time" would also give me the opportunity to go to Target or get some coffee by myself or hide in the bathroom so I could hear myself think?  But this is really about what's best for the children...

So, yes, I know sometimes the truth hurts.  But how can I feel slighted if my boys are just exercising obedience from the lessons they're learning?  I can't and I don't - especially when they also speak truthful words like "I love you, Mom."

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

The last time I went on a real-life road trip was back in the late 70s. My dad, mom, and brothers drove our yellow Ford wagon and made a round trip to Kansas from California to visit my aunts and their families. Back then, there were no car seats, no DVD players, and definitely no air conditioning - at least in our car. The only entertainment we had was each other, and the novelty in that lasted about a millisecond. I hated having to wake up in the middle of the night so my dad could "beat traffic", hated that the radio was always set to "oldies", and hated the feel of green vinyl seats in the middle of summer driving through the desert. Why, then, would I ever make a similar trip with my husband and kids? Simply because some things don't change.

14 days - We left on a Sunday and returned two weeks later. While the DVD player and iPads (true gifts from God) entertained the kids most of the time, we were still physically together 24 hours a day. Technically, they slept in a separate room at Papa's house and my brother's house, but the frequency with which we had to check on them might as well count as being with them all the time. Have you ever been with someone nonstop? For two weeks? I'm talking all.the.time. "Spending time with the kids" has a whole new meaning now. So does "migraine".

3850 miles - That's a whole lot of driving. But it's also a whole lot of scenery to experience. The boys were amazed at the tiny dust storms along the roads in Arizona. We were in awe at the red mesas of New Mexico. Texas was like driving through one big grey storm cloud. Oklahoma was green with trees and brown with dormant pastures, spotted with the browns and blacks of horses and cows. Kansas was, well, flat Kansas. But seeing it all in person was more amazing and memorable than looking at pictures on Wikipedia.

6 states - How the culture differs outside of California! We heard more "ma'ms" and "sirs" and not so many "dudes", and really got a kick out of the "y'alls". The speed limit is still 55mph in some places. "Traffic" consisted of slowing to 30mph and the major highways had only three lanes on each side. And what the heck is "pop"? It's called a SODA! But the best culture shock of all? Two words: frozen custard.

So with 3850 miles and 6 states under our belt, we're pretty confident we can do it again. We've started looking at the calendar for upcoming holidays and considering friends we can visit. With so much to see and so much more family time to be enjoyed, my next road trip blog will probably be titled "How I Spent My Weekend".

Have Mercy!

"Through the LORD's mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:22-23

When I was younger (a lot younger!) I used to play that game "Mercy" with my brothers. It's the game where two players face each other and grab their opponent's opposite hands and interlock fingers. Each opponent attempts to bend the other's hands back and inflict pain by straining the ligaments and tendons in the wrist. When a player can't stand the pain or overpower the opponent, the player cries out "Mercy!" As the youngest sibling with three older brothers, who do you think always lost??

Now I rarely play that game now, but my cries for mercy still exist. Merriam-Webster defines mercy as "compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender or to one subject of one's power". Are we not all offenders in the eyes of the Lord? Do we not fall short according to His commands? Don't my four sons send me over the edge? Yet by His mercy He withholds the punishment I deserve for my less-than-perfect antics (Romans 6:23).

Many times this whole "mercy" thing has brought me to tears. Playing the game with my brothers often led to straining and cracking joints followed by tears of pain. But just a few days ago the tears I shed were a result of God's mercy upon someone else. A friend who had been in my daily prayers for a few years opened his heart to Christ. The Lord spared my friend and waited for him to accept Him. God's mercy exuded in His longsuffering and once again I was reminded why His faithfulness is as great as Jeremiah claimed it to be in the book of Lamentations.

So while mercy is not anything we deserve, but definitely desire, know that the Lord is much more compassionate than my older brothers, and He is more than willing to bestow His compassion upon us if we just ask. And we won't even have to get our wrists bent way back to receive it.