"Hey, Bert!"

If anyone ever asked me how I know God exists, I would answer with a list of all the wonderful blessings in my life: Jesus, a faithful husband, awesome sons... and eyebrow threading. I believe that God created eyebrow threading just for me and that all this time other people get to benefit from it.

If you knew me any time before 1991 you knew that I had eyebrows that gave Bert from Sesame Street a run for his money. And it didn't help that I grew up with three older brothers who offered no aesthetic advice to me whatsoever. So it wasn't until I was almost 20 years old that I finally started plucking my eyebrows, which shed a new light (literally, since my hairy eye awnings were trimmed) on the way I thought I should look. To this day I am still in awe that Justin chose to date me during my pre-plucking days.

But it wasn't until very recently that I discovered this miracle from heaven that is eyebrow threading. My first visit was only a few months ago to a place recommended by a friend whose sense of style I trust - plus the place only charged $4.99! I thought I had been doing a decent job with the tweezers myself all these years, but the large amount of time the threader spent on my face made me think otherwise. She broke the thread at least 4 times. She also used scissors (I didn't know eyebrows needed to be CUT, too - maybe just mine?) and I have a feeling she would have used the electric clippers if she had them. Then I think she raked my face to finish the job, and had to sweep the floor when she was done.

But I must admit that the result was amazing. My eyebrows had shape! They were sleek! They were clean and organized! They didn't make me look like I was surprised all the time! They gave my face a whole new look, and at $4.99 +$1 tip I can afford to go back again and again!

So now I can keep counting my blessings... one eyebrow hair at a time.

For the Love of Chocolate

Yes, I know Valentine's Day was over a week ago, so I figured I should delay no longer in sharing about one of my greatest loves: See's Candy dark nougats. I received 1/2 lb. of these babies from my husband on Valentine's Day. I had to restrain myself from devouring the entire box that first night, and I'm glad I didn't immediately eat the whole thing for the following reasons:

-The next few days with my kids made me want to drink myself silly and hide in a corner never to be found. But seeing as I don't drink and whisking myself away to a remote location would be considered child abandonment, I drowned my frustrations in prayer and a few pieces of dark nougats. When Justin came home, he'd check the chocolate box to gauge how bad my day had been. Things got better with around 4 pieces left.
-Following those trying days, I noticed my face start to break out. Stress related? Possibly. Chocolate related? Definitely. Oh, my boys have stressed me to the outer limits before. But Valentine's Day comes once a year and, with the arrival of my favorite candy, so do pimples like the ones I had. Just when I thought my problems had been solved by the mass consumption of what I consider heaven in chocolate form, I began to resemble my 7th grade school picture. I don't even want to THINK about what my face would have looked like if I had eaten all of it that first or second day.

So I am pleasantly surprised that I still have two pieces of dark nougats left one week after Valentine's Day. They are tokens of how much my husband loves me, and a reflection of how my vanity has motivated my restraint. And, as long as they last, they will be reminders that it is better to be zit-faced than to leave my children at the curb. Ah, the things I do for love.

The Morning Dance

Like many of you, I look forward to my morning cup of coffee. Unlike many of you, I have four sons who also have their morning needs so, more often than not, I don't get to enjoy my coffee freshly made, nice and hot. I have a mental schedule of everything I need to do for them in the morning and somewhere at the end I have "eat breakfast" listed for myself. If I told you this schedule your eyes would probably pop out of your head, and if I told you what has to happen daily I'm sure your head would explode.

Well, today is momentous because not only did I get to that "eat breakfast" part for myself, it worked out like a beautifully rehearsed sequence of events. First, I heated up the water for my coffee (I use a French press). Then, while the water got hot, I washed out the press (I have a bad habit of not washing it after I use it) and scooped into it the coffee grounds. I sliced my bread and put it into the toaster oven. I turned on the stove to heat my pan. The water boiled so I poured it into the press and set the timer for exactly 4 minutes. I scrambled my eggs (whites only) and put it into the pan. I poured milk into my coffee mug and put it in the microwave to heat (1 minute 15 secs to be exact). I cooked the eggs till they were done and turned off the oven. "Ding!" went the microwave to indicate the milk was heated. I put two teaspoons of sugar into my mug of hot milk. "Ding!" went the timer, so I poured the pressed coffee into my mug. "Ding!" went the toaster oven and out came my toast. It all came together, my exquisitely choreographed meal of the morning.

Now with one son on the potty, another running laps up and down the hallway, another reading the numbers 1-100 at the top of his lungs and another asking questions related to equivalent decimal numbers, the morning dance is gradually turning into noontime freestyle. But I certainly relished my 7 minutes of order and trust that I will get through the afternoon's mental list with the help of another cup of coffee - even if it is lukewarm.

Mr. Potato Head

[*WARNING: The following blog entry contains detailed descriptions of bowel movements and bowel movement products and may not be appropriate for those with weak constitutions.]

I am having the darndest time potty training Jed - I started in August and he's only mastered peeing in the toilet, and even that is only when he's reminded to go or I catch him dancing around trying to hold it. Everyone knows children learn by example so I tried that whole "oh read this book and use the baby doll and the baby doll potty and show how the baby goes and doesn't need a diaper anymore and he'll learn by the end of 24 hours" thing. Um, NOT! That was one of the most tiring days of my life! But, I do agree with him "learning by example," so I have let Jed watch his older brothers poop in the potty. And, yes, I let him watch me go, too (sorry if that's tmi), but that hasn't been working, either.

So, enter Mr. Potato Head. No, no, I'm not talking about what almost comes out of Jed every time I sit him on the potty. No, Mr. Potato Head has become Mr. Incentive. Jed got MPH as a gift at Christmas, and seeing how excited he was to play with it, I (being the cool mom I am) put it way out of his reach on top of the fridge and told him he couldn't have it until he pooped in the potty. So, weeks went by, until finally it happened. I don't know who screamed louder in excitement between Jed and me when Jed let out a big one in the toilet, but MPH got to come out of his box and Jed had a grand time playing with him. But, since we all know good things don't last forever, MPH has had to retake his spot on top of the fridge when Jed decides to let the poop out in his underwear and all over Lightning McQueen. There are even days when Jed hasn't gone and I want to say to him "Look at Mr. Potato Head! I want YOU to make something that looks like THIS come out of your body and drop into the toilet!" But I don't. I get REALLY close, but I don't.

Today was a good day. Jed went poop in the toilet this morning. MPH has been out and about all day and I really pray he gets to stay out of his box and off the top of the fridge tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. And for weeks after that. Because, friends, I still have to potty train Jack, and Mrs. Potato Head wants to come down off the fridge, too.

Top Ten 2011

Top Ten Reasons I Will Start Blogging Again:

10. Twitter only allows up to 140 characters per tweet which is SO not enough.

9. This is the 3rd year in a row I've vowed to "start blogging again" so why break tradition?

8. I can now turn my back on my kids long enough to type at least two sentences.

7. I love to write almost as much as I love to talk, but since I'm with 4 boys aged 9 and under most of the day, I have better conversations with my keyboard.

6. How many husbands do YOU know who want to stay up all night listening to their wives vent?

5. I'm one of the few who doesn't play "Angry Birds".

4. I need to shamelessly plug my new side business: greaterlovecrochet.com

3. My sons have lame baby books (if any at all) so I reason that they can come back to this blog to see what they were like as babies.

2. Typing makes me look AND feel productive.

1. The whole world should know how hard it is for me to potty train my children.

The Waiting Game (a fictional account by Josephine)

Waiting is a difficult thing for me, but apparently not for many people that I follow in line at the grocery store. They must not know about that little gadget that sits right in front of them as they wait for the checker to scan their groceries. As soon as their first item is scanned, theoretically they could swipe their ATM card or even their credit card (which is faster since they don't have to enter a p.i.n.) and payment is done. Fin. Ende. Or they could pay cash and the only wait would be to receive their change, which often speeds down that silver slide and makes that cool *clanging* sound. Theoretically.

But since we don't live in a "theoretical" world I end up behind that lady who waits until the very last item is scanned to begin looking for her checkbook, which ends up being at the most far reaches of her purse. I get to watch her scrounge around her bottomless pit of a handbag in search of a pen, which she discovers has run out of ink. Upon borrowing a pen and filling out the check, complete with the month written out in its entirety, she must flip through her Rolodex-like check register to record this present transaction before passing the check to the clerk. As I shift my weight to my other leg (since the previous one had gone numb from supporting me in the same position for so long), the checker reminds her that she needs to show her identification when paying with a check. Back to the cavernous abyss of a purse she goes, rummaging for her wallet and attempting to quell the groans of shoppers in line behind her with comments like "I know it's in here somewhere!" (to which I think "It'd better be!"), and it finally emerges. The wallet is thick with old receipts and countless picture windows housing old Glamour Shots, and the theme to Leonard Nimoy's "In Search Of" comes to my mind as I stop counting how many times she pulls out the wrong card. Eventually she presents her driver's license to the checker and I move forward to take my spot (credit card out and in hand, mind you) in front of that payment device, only to have my plans of progression thwarted by the fact that she forgot to sign her check. Writing so slowly as if she's being graded on her penmanship, she finally completes her signature, and is on her way.

So after my first item is passed over the glass I swipe my card and watch my groceries take their place in their own little waiting area until the bagger puts them away. However, I see that the barbeque sauce scans a higher price than what the tag said on the shelves. I notify the checker, who proceeds to ask the bagger to go and double check the price. I am told that this would take a moment, and I say "OK." After all, we're talking about saving a few cents here. And the people behind me in line? Ah, they can wait.

Circles

I watched Jedidiah coloring the other day. He grabbed a crayon and went round and round with it, creating a masterpiece of circles. It's such a simple shape - after all, it's one of the first things most children learn to draw - and a familiar one. Circular clocks count our time. We eat off of circular plates. Round wheels on our cars get us to where we need to go. Even round tables are places where friends gather for fellowship or discussion.

I once diagrammed my friendships (I know it sounds impersonal but bear with me) and it turned out to be a series of concentric circles (fellow Target shoppers know exactly what this looks like). One thing that hasn't changed is the fact that the Lord Jesus Christ is at my center: "And He looked about in a circle at those who sat about Him, and said, 'Here are My mother and My brothers! For whoever does the will of God is My brother and My sister and mother.'" (Mark 3:34-35) And, of course, Justin has secured his spot just outside of where Jesus has staked His claim.

Many people have been in my inner and outer circles. This is certainly not to say that by "many" I have voted myself Most Popular. Nor does it imply that my inner circle is an exclusive group noteworthy of its own page in the national "Who's Who". Rather, the Lord knows that I am a social person and as such has blessed me with meeting and knowing people who teach me more about Him. I have friends who are constant reminders that I need to seek God in every and all things. I have friends who are examples to me of God's faithfulness and righteousness. I have friends with whom the Lord has called me to share His Truth. These friends may move between the inner and outer circles of my diagram but, nonetheless, they are present in my life and up to this point no one has disappeared (at least none that I am aware of).

The people in these circles should not consider it an honor. Instead, I humbly request their patience with my impatience, their laughter in my sorrow, their beauty from my ashes and their joy with my joy. And by the grace of God I will cling tightly to my crayon and continue to draw round and round with it, creating my masterpiece of circles.