Three Kids and a Bucket

Jonah got dirty playing outside, so Hubband told him to go wash up in the bucket of soapy water behind the house.

This was not quite what he meant.

It looked like so much fun that Cate and Sam tried to get in on it.

Theme Thursday -- Help

Honestly, I think the Theme Thursday people can read my mind.  (Or, my blog.)  More than once they have picked a theme, the perfect post for which I have posted only the week before.  And this week they have done it again!

For this week's theme, HELP, I refer you to Sometimes, It Takes a Village, Idiot, from just last week -- a mere two posts ago.

And, please go HERE to read others' take on the theme.

Read the Label

Are you a label reader?  One of those people who reads the fine print on everything you buy?  Well, I am.  I don't read nutrition labels, as such.  I mean, I know I should care how much sodium is in my saltines or how much fat is in my Ben and Jerry's, but, alas, I do not.

I read labels because the are hysterical.  Really.  Come, let me show you.


This is a box of drinking straws.  The bendy kind.  The regular, straight kind are usually too long for small children to use well.  And they make it easier for grown ups to drink in bed.  You know, when you are just too lazy to sit up.  Bendy straws.  Or, as the packaging calls them,

straws
flexible

But, don't stop there.  These are not just any "straws flexible."  These are Drink delights.  Ooooh.  Ahhhh.

To illustrate:  This is a drink...

But, this is a drink delight...

Again, with feeling.  Oooooh.  Ahhhh.

Moving on.

This is the label on the side of a take-and-bake pizza box.

If you can't read that, let me help you.  It says, "Inspired by the rich culinary traditions of Italy, our pizzas feature upscale ingredients and bold flavors.  Whole milk mozzarella and smoked provolone accent the meaty stars of this rustic, ready to bake pie: sausage, Canadian bacon, spicy pepperoni, and savory beef.  A blend of Asiago, Parmesan, and Romano cheeses finish this authentic regional dish."  

Are you kidding me?  I bought this "authentic regional dish" at Target right around the corner from the feminine hygiene products.

And last but not least...

Socks for the boys.

But these aren't just any socks.

These come in a "resealable bag."  So that they don't loose their new sock freshness, I guess.

What I want to know is who write this stuff and where do I apply?

Sometimes, It Takes a Village, Idiot!

"God helps those who help themselves."  This is not scripture.  This is Benjamin Franklin in Poor Richard's Almanac.  The stories in the Bible tend to prove the exact opposite.  God does not help those who help themselves, but rather, He helps those who humble themselves enough to call on Him for help.  At the same time, however, one must be open to the form in which the help arrives.

According a traditional African proverb, and a book by former First Lady and current Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, "It takes a village to raise a child."  In the traditional context, this may be true.  In the context of Ms. Clinton, I suspect it takes a village to raise a child, and by a village, she means a government.  And if this can also further the increasingly popular idea that fathers are nothing more than a luxury or a redundancy, then great!

I, for one, have kept to the once traditional, and now so quaint it is comical, idea that it takes a mother and a father to raise a child.  I have had to re-think this a bit.

I have been going through quite a trying time, as I have written.  First, I was pregnant, then sick and voiceless, now going through the longest miscarriage in the history of woman-kind.  All while trying to be a mother to three young children and a wife to a husband who spends ten hours a day, seven days a week (literally!) in the library.  Forget being a housewife.  There is not enough energy left for the house.

A few weeks ago, at the very end of myself, I prayed for help.  And, I got it, in the form of my father-in-law, Grandpa Scott, swooping in and caring for us for a few days.  Since then, as some things have improved, others have gotten worse.  It seems that almost daily now, something knocks me back down onto my knees, where there is nothing to do but pray.  Until finally, FINALLY, I got it.

I can not do this by myself.

And, thanks to the Lord and His provision, I don't have to.

Let me be clear.  I have always had help.  My wonderful husband helps.  My self-less mother helps.  My generous sister helps.  I have often worn this help thin, because I thought they were all I had.

I was wrong.

In the last several weeks, my usual help has not been available.  I have had to call on, and been called by, women from the corners of my life, and now find myself wondering why they were relegated to the corners.

Patty.  Earth Mother Patty.  She told me that for the last two years, the Lord had put it on her heart to reach out to me and build a deeper friendship.  But, every time she talked to me, I gave the impression that I had my act together and was busy with other things.  Ha!  I suppose if you count wearing my robe until noon and eating chocolate for breakfast, in the bathroom no less, so I don't have to share with the children, having my act together, then yeah, I was busy.

In the last six weeks, Patty has come by my house for tea, bringing with her the most beautiful bouquet of peonies and honeysuckle.  Do you know the joy fresh flowers can bring to a room or a stressed out mom?  A few weeks later, she invited me to lunch.  And, after that, she and her sister Jane, met me at the park so that my kids could have a nice morning out, when I had no voice to call them and no strength to chase them.  She hugs me when she sees me.  It makes me a bit weepy just to think about it.  Yes, Patty.  I need a friend.

Abby, the best babysitter in the world, has come by on the most minimal of notice, even making a point of squeezing in three hours of babysitting between her real life activities on a Saturday afternoon.  And her mother, Brandi, always drops her off and picks her up.

My Aunt Jo took the kids and me in for several hours when Hubband needed to use the one computer in our small house to study.  Without kids around.

My friend Jennifer, who has a nursing baby and a potty training toddler, was more than hospitable when I called her at eight o'clock on a random Tuesday morning and asked her if I could be there in an hour, because I just could not stand to be cooped up at home one more second.  She even fed the kids and me lunch.

My sister-in-law Heather, also sainted, and with a servant's heart, has come by several times to babysit, in a pinch, for doctor's appointments.  And, she brought Starbucks.

My sister came by and watched my kids for a few hours, and then, deciding that I was iron deficient, took me out for a steak dinner.

Claudia, from church, called, out of the blue, during a rare lull in the day when I could talk, and on a day I needed someone to talk to. 

Rebecca came by with two of her four boys, to play with my two boys, while Catherine slept, and I went off to the doctor, yet again.  And she still found time to do my dishes.

Penny, from church, brought me a gift, a very feminine scented lotion, as comfort for my loss.

Janie gave me a free hour with a masseuse, which she herself had earned through a day-care barter system.

Gina, my pastor's wife, and Bethany, her fifteen-year-old daughter, came to watch the kids, again on a moment's notice, again while I went to the doctor.  They even came sooner than I needed them to, to care for me.  It was not a problem, Gina, mother of five, informed me.  She only had one kid at home that week (two are away at college, even though it is summer, and two more were away at camp) and her husband was out of town for two days.  They came back the next day too, because I needed someone.

What Gina didn't tell me was that she had been invited to join her husband for the short trip.  He would be working part of the day, but they could have had some time alone, a nice get-away.  She declined, convinced that she was not mean to go.  She felt the Lord was leading her to stay home for some reason.  I turned out the be that reason.

You must understand, I have never called Gina for anything in my life, big or small.  But, when I woke up last Monday morning, feeling like I was in labor, knowing Hubband could not stay with me, Gina's was the first name the Lord called to my mind.   And what she did for me those two days was huge. 

Then this week, as I was finally recovering, Hubband's mother came for a visit.  She helped with the house and the kids, while I caught up on a few neglected duties, like the laundry, the marketing, and my blog.

The service of all of these other women, was His provision, a gift from God, an answer to a sincere prayer from a place of brokenness.  There is no other explanation.  I am humbled by the awesomeness of this.
 
Yes, it takes a mother and a father to raise a child.  And, yes, it may also takes a village.  Though I don't think we need a village to raise our children for us, we sometimes need a village to be there for us, so that we can raise our children.  This is a distinction, not without a difference.  Ultimately though, it takes God to raise a child.  And I pray that I never forget it.

More Recent Memories of the Fourth of July

We made s'mores for the Fourth of July this year.  Earlier in the week, when Samuel saw me bring home the ingredients, he was very eager to partake.  I had to put him off with, "No, no, honey.  Those are for the Fourth of July."  After that, he started calling the graham crackers "fourth" and the marshmallows "July."  And the s'mores?  Those he calls "Fourth of July," of course.  I think they may be called "Forth of July" in our house for years to come.

Jonah loved his backyard sparklers, and then sat atop the swing set, nestled in his daddy's lap to watch the various big time fire works shows in the area. 

A little girl's first sparkler.  He face was pure joy.

Memories of the Fifth of July

Twenty-five years ago today, I got my driver's license.

I went down to the Department of Motor Vehicles with my mother, and a four month old baby named Nicholas, whom I was given charge of for the summer.  I know the driving examiner thought the baby was mine.  Perhaps he took pity on me, because he passed me, even though I almost backed up onto someone's lawn.

And, what was that mother thinking, honestly.  I had no business having full-time care of a newborn.  But he survived, as best as I recall.

My first solo trip was from my Aunt Jo's house to the Kentucky Fried Chicken to buy lunch for everyone. 

Later that day, I drove myself to stay the night with my friend Lorraine, at her brother's house, where she was  babysitting her niece and nephew.  

I saw my first Victoria's Secret catalog.  They were coming to her brother's house, addressed to the previous resident, but he was keeping them.  We giggled at this.  They seem so tame now.

We watched a documentary called Koyaanisqatsi.  It was different, and I am not sure I got the point.  I was sixteen.  Or, maybe I got the point and have since forgotten it.

We stayed up until the middle of the morning watching a seventeen-year-old  named Boris Becker win the semi-final round of Wimbledon.  I developed a mad crush on that big German.

This was a big day for me.

The photo is a still from Koyaanisqatsi.

Memories of the Fourth of July

Hot days, warm nights.

  

Family everywhere.

Hot dogs, hamburgers, potato salad.

Grandpa always made homemade ice cream, in two flavors: strawberry and vanilla.  

Or, Grandma always made ice cream in two flavors, and Grandpa plugged in the electrical powered ice cream maker and got all the credit.  

Depends who you believe.

The ice cream was good and best eaten that same day, so we did our best.

Swimming all day, into the night, lungs taking on a little bit of water, wet cousins.

Fireworks in the back yard, some legal, some not.

Long day, late night, finally dark, finally quiet, cool sheets, damp hair, sound sleep.

Thank you God, for all the blessings that come with being an American.

Happy Fourth of July!!!!!