I Have a Confession. . .

I have a confession to make:  I haven't been to church in months.  Really, months.  Since Rain's wedding in July.  That's a very long time.

Why?

Lots of reasons, I think.  None of them good, none of them important enough to keep me from worshipping in fellowship with other believers.  I think.

Maybe it's just enough trouble within my heart and just enough difficulty getting there. I still haven't re-established a healthy communication with God; still not praying/talking with Him regularly; still not "in the Word" as we Christians like to say. . . I used to devour His Word.  Literally eat it up. 

I miss that.

I miss talking with Him and hearing from Him.

So, why am I resisting?  No clue.

I haven't stopped believing.  I know He's real.  I know He is good. I've walked with Him for twenty years. . .

Every Sunday, the kids ask if we're going to church. 

We don't go. 

It's always been difficult to go to church.  Well, not always.  Mostly since we moved to Colorado Springs, that's when the "difficult" started.  At that time, it was just me and Kelsey and Kris.  A young, firey white girl with two little bi-racial children (who were adorable!).  For years, I discounted the polite looks, the quiet exclusion from conversations, the sense that somehow my little family just didn't fit in. 

I found myself switching churches.  I'd never thought I'd be one of those.  After all, we have trouble relating in our families, why would a family of believers be any different?  But somehow, it was.  Somehow, my heart just couldn't take not mattering.  I was in Bible studies, in choirs, led children's worship with my trusty guitar, went on ladies retreats, joined small groups, led small groups. . .and still failed to make strong connections with anyone.

I was a single mother, going to the denomination's Bible College, working full time and taking classes full time, and still "ministering" in the church . . . and I never felt so alone.

It certainly didn't help when I bought a huge house out in the country and filled it up with handicapped children.  My enthusiasim and passion and belief carried us far - especially in making all the parts of the house and care for the children work - but even then, I couldn't truly connect to the Body.  When I approached the Pastor about someone from the fellowship helping with my special needs children in a Sunday school class (both for the children and for me, so I could attend services and not be sitting on the pavement outside holding an unruly child on my lap listening to the service over a speaker); his response was that if I felt there was a need, probably God was calling me to that.

Naively, I thought well, okay, and started a Special Needs Children's Sunday School class.  So, not only did I get to care for my kids 24/7 at home, I got to take care of them and other kids on Sundays, too.  And, I now had the extra job of finding helpers for the class.  Wow.

But, I don't want to go into all this here.  I mention it to say that I'm pretty sure that a huge part of why I am not going to church today is that, while I've found a Pastor I respect, and going to his church completely satisfies my heart - I am still very aware that my special child (now only Kameron), is a little different (well, alot) and doesn't fit into any nice age group of Sunday School children.  With his mental and physical delays, he's better suited for a first or second-graders class than his chronological fourth grade one.

In short, he takes more effort.  And, even in our large church with all it's many many ministries, there doesn't seem to be anyone who wants to take on this little child, even for a few hours on Sunday.  And it breaks my heart - again.

He benefits so much from God's Word and from the music - he memorizes scripture like crazy, and he's the first one to ask if he can pray for you if you have a problem.

But, he is different.  He is in a wheelchair and talks funny and is in diapers. He can have inappropriate behaviors (like throwing the playdough around and laughing like a lunatic).  He isn't an easy child, I know this.

But doesn't he matter to God?  Of course he does.

Shouldn't he matter to a body of believers? Of course he should.

He is the least of these; one of those Jesus spent time with while here.  Kameron matters greatly.

I have to say that I hate writing this.  I feel like I'm being horribly disloyal and expecting too much and that the problem must be mine, not anyone else's.  Like if I really want to go to church with my handicapped son, I should go - full speed ahead and damn the consequences.

But the zeal and fervor that kept me plowing ahead like that for so many, many years is pretty much gone, now.  I am tired.  I am tired of fighting to be included - heck, not even included, just to get in the door (there's no handicapped access to the children's ministry).  I'm tired of cheerfully smiling at the pretty young couples with their beautiful children who all quietly step back a few paces and try not to look like they're checking us out.  I get it all the time out in public, twenty years of it.

It hurts too much to see it in church, too.

And so, another Sunday is spent at home.  And I hurt.  I hurt for Kameron, I hurt for Kobi and for me.

At some level, I hurt for those missing out on getting to know Kameron, too.  He is a very special little boy.  He deserves that love and acceptance.  But, I'm just too tired to fight for it right now.

One of the comments I get a lot when people find out that I'm a single mom to high needs kids is, "I don't know how you do it". It's right up there with people saying how special I am and what a big heart, etc. etc.

Not to denigrate those of you who have actually said these things (I do appreciate compliments!), but believe me, I'm human. I'm NO saint.

I have days, like this very day, where I want to pull my hair out. When Kameron - for the fifty millionth time - bothers the dog (enough that the dog is about to bite the hell out of him), and is cackling with laughter over the increasing growls, and I am not near him (perhaps on the toilet, perhaps in the laundry room), and I am saying (over and over, louder and louder), "Kameron, leave Ricky alone. Kameron, leave Ricky alone. KAMERON, leave Ricky ALONE. KAMERONLEAVERICKYALONE".

And am ignored. Until I come storming out of where ever I was, get all up in his face which scares him more than Ricky's growling and snapping, and he says, "okay, mom."

And then we start it all over again in about five or ten minutes. However long it takes me to get started on some other chore in some other area of the house and for Ricky to leave my side and meander back to Kameron.

Kam thinks it's hilarious.

We do "time out", we do "three strikes", we do IAMABOUTTOKILLYOU, nothing ever, ever, ever works. And if I ignore the resulting clamor, I've found it increases. Kobi will start jumping on furniture, Klaryssia will start telling Kameron to leave Ricky alone (she, the Queen of animal pestering), and will tell Kobi to stop jumping on furniture (while she laughs along). . .

The very persistence and stubbornness that makes these "special" kids survive in spite of all odds, is the very persistence and stubbornness that makes them HUGE pains in my hiney (and by hiney, I'm assuming you know what I really mean).

So, next time you think I'm up for sainthood - think again. I lose my cool regularly.

That's the hardest part of being a single mom. No breaks. In fact, any of you who know of single moms (sorry, dads, can't speak for you, never been a dad), you would be doing her an IMMENSE favor if you would take their kids for a few hours every once and awhile. Throw them in the car with you and your kids for a run to DQ or the dollar menu @ Micky D's. Or just drop over and have coffee with her. Bring her a latte; boss her kids around for her. Help her get some of the stress out.

She will probably kiss your feet.

I know I would.

Love, peeps. Thanks for listening!

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.. .

Kris wasn't into it, Klaryssia's picking a wedgie, and the nurse was hiding behind Kameron . Kobi is critiquing Kameron's costume. Have you looked at yours, son?

In case you haven't noticed, Halloween is just around the corner. I'm not a big Halloweenie person, but for years I've tried to recognize that it matters to my kids. At least to some degree.

Back in Colorado, we lived so far out that it wasn't remotely practical to go around the neighborhood and trick-or-treat - we lived on 12 acres and most of the neighbors did, too. You'd be driving from house to house, and that's no fun. Well, not for the driver,
anyway.

So back there, we'd do the planned event things, like trick-or-treat the mall, or the elementary school, that kind of thing. One year, out in Black Forest near our house, a retreat center had their grounds set up for it. That was fun, because the forest made it spooky, and it was a beautiful place. Unfortunately, in Colorado Springs, it usually snows on Halloween, so it was freaking cold, but hey - they got to dress up and they got some candy, right?

Even Gma got in the spirit...Kobi, however, looks like he wishes he were somewhere else.

Kelsey has a few dental issues, but we love her anyway.

I was showing my claws -- rawwwrr, hisssss!!

We lost a few years of Halloween, but last year we were back
Kameron loves loves loves school buses, and his awesome driver, Miss Judy, came up with this beyond fabulous costume for him:




We only went around our little cul-de-sac, but the kids had a great time -







So, what are we this year? No clue. I was thinking toss a sheet over Kam's chair, call him a ghost and call it good, but that may be a little unimaginative of me. Maybe a Fire Truck driver?? Stay tuned. . .

Had to Share...

Going down Memory Lane to stir up memories for my memoir (how many forms of Memory can one sentence hold?), and wanted to share these with you guys. Ha! See, I am a natural red head =)

The Gorilla in The Room

I've been "writing" again. I say "writing" with those annoying little quotes because what I am actually doing every morning (EVERY morning) at the crack of o-dark-thirty is this: BlackBerry Curve (the snazzy red one) alarm tone chimes (I really like the chime sounds - and am I not sooo cool to wake by cell phone rather than an old school, totally annoying alarm clock??), I press snooze a few times (no more than three) then get up, and go pad around the dark kitchen for a few minutes deciding if I want to nuke yesterday's brew or make a small pot o' fresh. Fresh usually wins.

Meanwhile, I try not to step on the small, annoying, yappy dog right at my heels that I swore I would never own - no offense, but I'm a big dog person historically, and this guy does nothing to change my mind about it. In fact, I may switch back to a cat - and I go out to my laundry room office to fire up the PC. Yes, I am not a Mac, I am a PC. No special reason, except lately I've been selling off refrigerators to support my family and the indulgence of an insanely expensive computer didn't seem practical.

Coffee made, dog avoided, PC slowly waking up - fifteen minutes gone.

Log on, go back to kitchen to get that cuppa (w/fat-free half and half - isn't that crazy? How do they make fat-free half and half? Isn't the fat the whole point of half and half??), come back out to laundry room office. Where are my slippers? Spend another five minutes deciding they are lost (those kids!!!!), and open up both the note-taking site I use and the mind-mapping one I've got for this supposed, alleged, much talked about "Memoir" I'm "writing".

I review the previous day's efforts to get my berrings. Throw up a little in my mouth.

"GAH! It's all CRAP! What the HECK am I doing here? What kind of an idiot thinks her life is REMOTELY interesting to ANYONE??? I should go back to bed."

Internal dialogue here. Don't want to wake the precious children.

I shake it off and try to focus.

The problem is that I don't know what to focus on. I think I know what I want to say, then when I start saying it, doubt creeps in on little cat feet. Maybe I'll stick with dogs, after all.

I have a section of life I think I am supposed to talk about. I have stuff mapped out, and think I'm ready to go. Then, when I start writing, it seems so pointless: what am I trying to SAY??? You know, is there a moral to this story? "Kids, don't do drugs", or "Stay in school". I could be a poster child for those causes.

In fact, I have "experimented" with so many things in my life that, to me, it seems a little implausible. I look like - who's that guy, the one who got outed after Oprah loved him? And, I really don't think I need to expose every single little part of my huge, white underbelly. It's kind of a need-to-know thing, isn't it?

Plus, it does seem self indulgent. Why does my story have any more worth than anyone else's? Because, really, it doesn't. We all are in one big story together. We all have our small stories within the context of that one. So who cares?

I titled this post The Gorilla in The Room because you often read about writers having an internal critic or editor. That little annoying voice that nags you and hounds you and tells you you are full of crap (I mean the other word, but kids read my blog, besides I try really hard not to say it . . . much). My little voice is like monster huge. And I picture him as a King-Kong sized gorilla who would be hanging on my back, but even my back isn't big enough, so he sits in an office chair with his huge, gorilla feet crossed and propped up on the desk next to me. He is constantly grooming himself, even as he zings me with his little comments: "You're right you know," he says as he examines whatever nasty thing he just found in his fur, "it doesn't matter. No one will want to read it anyway. Why are you wasting your time? You should go back to that mystery series. Don't you have it all plotted out? 'Course, that's all a bag of poo, too..."

As he pops the invisible nit into his huge, nasty mouth.

ARGH!!

More time spent trying to shut him the heck up. Focus, Kathy, focus.

What am I trying to say???

Mr. Gorilla chimes in, "Exactly. You have nothing to say".

GAH!

Deep cleansing breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

So you see what I'm up against? I will, however, attempt to persevere. I hate stinky Mr. Gorilla almost as much as I hate Small Yappy Dog - no offense.

Somewhere in this room there's a pony . . . but that's another story, and I need to get back to my real "writing".

Hang on, I haven't checked my Facebook or Twitter yet this morning. . .

No animals were harmed in the writing of this post. Yet.

Okay, so this "bad economy" thing is beginning to irk me.

You hear about it everywhere - it's causing people on my favorite TV shows to lose their TV jobs, commit TV crimes, and act in very uncharacteristic (for their TV character) ways.

I've shared that I've needed to downsize. You know, selling a few things: my cherry red LG steam washer/dryer combo; my stainless steel french door Jennair refrigerator; my king-sized all solid wood four poster canopy bed . . .

But, this is just NOT okay.

I had to leave Therapist Lisa.

See, I am between health insurance plans, and the

one that "let me go" didn't cover her. So her (sorry TL) fairly hefty fee's been coming out of my ever-shrinking pocket. BTW, she is worth every single penny.

First, I tried cutting back. We went from weekly to every other week. It helped, but really I still couldn't afford her. Mostly I just wrote the checks and prayed (literally) that everything would still get paid.

Here's the crazy part: that didn't work so well. But (important "but), it did buy me some time, and I think that was a good thing. I've got a notebook full of her really good, insightful, tailor-made-for-me instructions, and if I'm smart enough to apply them, I think I'll be okay.

Don't get me wrong. I had a choice. I could have tried desperately to find other ways to make more money. At this point in my life, I am thankfully, still pretty employable. But (another important "but"), that completely flies in the face of all the advice she's given me. One of the reasons I slid so far down into the emotional/mental health quicksand was because of all the frantic activity and chaos I'd allowed in my life. Extra jobs on extra jobs. No way to find coverage for the kids (shocker - not too many folk are qualified and willing to watch my super-special little brood). No life for me. The payoff in income was never enough to offset the damage to my soul.

I'm pretty sure we have enough to keep the lights on and food on the table. The other things will either continue to wait or not. My experience is that some will, some won't. But God has always been faithful to us. We will be okay.

My sweet little mom and my dad lived through the real Depression. I've heard stories . . .

None of them included the great sacrifice of quitting counseling. Or, maybe having to eat out less and perhaps drop the Netflix subscription.

I am beyond grateful for my motley little family. We have a good thing going on: each other. I am SO proud of all my children, and I really know that our love for each other and God's love for us will safely see us through. However that pans out.

Tons of love to all of you. You don't know how much I appreciate you for listening to my musing (some would say rambling).

Talk to you soon.

The Stunner next to the Airstream
is my mommy, btw. From back in Her Day

Can't Suspend This Disbelief

Okay, so I've confessed here before to several things. I used to LOVE America's Next Top Model . I read People magazine. I watch Hell's Kitchen and the Amazing Race (actively seeking a partner to audition with...anyone??), and I do enjoy Project Runway. So, I do have a bit of a mental junk food habit.

But I think I've reached a limit.

Project Runway has a little spin-off this year: Models of the Runway. It's a 30 minute fun fest showing the girls arguing, being catty, swearing devotion to each other (bffs, right?), and "competing" to be the last girl standing. It's about as compelling as it sounds.

I enjoy seeing the creative process of Project Runway, love seeing the results, actually listen to the judge's critiques, and pull for my fave designers. But, the Models interest me not at all. It's like eavesdropping on a (forgive me, Kelsey) cheerleader sleep-over.

Last night was the kicker. One of the girls was doing her little sound-bite before the elimination. She said something about realizing that she could go home at any moment and said it was, and I quote: "terrifying".

Um, right.

Terrifying?

Terrifying is not the possibility of elimination on a reality show where you've already gotten tons of exposure to the "biggies" in your profession. "Terrifying" is not leaving the lovely comped condo you and your girls have been staying in.

Terrifying is sitting in the hospital while your child is taken into major surgery. Terrifying is trying to find Alzheimer care for your aging parent; the one you promised you'd never "send away." Terrifying is letting go of your husband or wife as they leave you for yet another tour in Afghanistan or Iraq. Terrifying is losing your home because you lost your job and the interest rate just jacked up again and you have no idea how you are going to take care of your family. Terrifying is lying in bed waiting for your teenager to come home, wondering if he's out drinking and driving again and will this be the time he kills someone?

There are many, many things in life that can terrify us. But being paid for being cute, being on a TV show, and getting eliminated are most DEFINITELY not some of them.

Get real. Entertainment is supposed to encourage us into a "willful suspension of disbelief." Not make us want to freakin' hurl.

But Today

Sometimes, I am Nazi Mom.
A shrew-like meanie who scares small children
and belongs in a fairy tale, tempting children into her oven using treats.

But Today, I will hug more and yell less.
I will listen to my children more, and avoid them less.
I will be their biggest fan.

Sometimes, I eat too much, sit too much, drink too much wine
and stay up too late watching TV.

But Today, I will be kind to myself. I will not snack.
I will move more, drink less, and put myself to bed
by 11:00.

Sometimes, my brain shifts into overdrive. It gets stuck
in un-winnable one-sided arguments and worthless what-ifs, with
thoughts swirling around like water in a toilet bowl that never finishes flushing.

But Today, I refuse to contribute to my own misery. I will remember
that I am the Captain of my own mind. I will not take anything personally or
make assumptions about anything. I will keep a quiet heart.

Sometimes, I feel overly responsible for other people's feelings. I try to anticipate
how my actions and choices will affect them, and I act
based on that, rather than simply live my life.

But Today, I will allow God to take care of the world.
If He needs me, He knows where I am. I will live in His freedom.
I will live my story. Mine.

Sometimes I go nuts thinking about all the things I want to do
and be and try. I get overwhelmed and end up frozen,
not doing anything at all.

But Today, I will be intentional about my life. I will think
about what my priorities are,
what I really love, what feeds my soul,
and purpose to take baby steps in at least two areas - today.

Sometimes, I feel oppressed and tormented. I feel weary and shell-shocked
and can't believe I have to take another step.

But Today, I will remember that we have an enemy who hates us
beyond all reason and wants to destroy our lives. Today, I will refuse
to give him influence over my heart.

Sometimes, I question God's motives. I wonder,
"If God is so good, why does this happen?" or, "If God REALLY loved me,
He'd (fill in the blank)."

But Today, I will trust Him. I will trust His goodness. I will trust His love for me,
His good intentions toward me, His plans. I will not behave like an infant in my faith, whining about what I can't have or be or do. I will be an adult, today.

Just for Today . . . I will believe.

As always, I love you guys, and thank you for reading.

It's Not About Me

My nineteen-year-old daughter, Kelsey made me cry the other day.

It wasn't out of frustration or anger (though that's happened a couple of times), it wasn't over some sad story she'd come across, or empathetic tears brought on by some major life issue she was dealing with. These were surprise tears, and she was crying, too.

Kelsey and I don't tend to be big criers. Tears are usually a last result, and often the by-product of someone else's pain (Kameron comes immediately to mind), or frustration (you know, how you get so darned p.o.'d that you start to cry?). I do cry more at movies, although she can't claim that she doesn't do that anymore, because now she does from time-to-time.

Since she started going to Northwest University last year she's been crying a lot more. They have all those God things going on all the time like Chapel services and stuff. The Chapel services often have guest speakers. Local pastors like Mark Driscoll and Judah Smith come, former NU students like Natalie Grant (singer), and people who've traveled the world doing mission-type things (getting their hands "dirty" all the way up to their hearts for Christ's sake), as well as current students from time to time.

These services touch her deeply. Beneath her witty, tough-girl exterior beats the heart of a servant. Kelsey's always loved our "special" kids. In fact, she's told me for years that she wants to adopt a Down's Syndrome baby. Future husband, beware.

So, back to how she made me cry.

Apparently they had a guy speak at Chapel on loving others, Jesus-style. You know, in a First Corinthians Thirteen unconditional love everyone truly and from your heart kind of way.

He talked about how easy it is to love those that love us: "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven . . . For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? " (Matthew 5: 43-47) and about how the Christian Church has the unfortunate reputation of picking and choosing who to love, like His Church is some sort of private club.

But Jesus was all about finding the people who had no future - "the things that are not" - the prostitutes, the lepers, the ugly folk and the despised. Those are the ones He loved specially. He came to seek and save the lost, not those who think they're found. The Chapel Speaker Guy said it was about loving "all in" because that's the way Jesus is.

This is the place where, in the front seat of our car at Burgermaster, telling me this story over the sound of arguing kids in the back, Kelsey started to lose it, which of course, made me start to lose it. She said, "And I thought, 'That's my mom. That's what so special about her. That's how she loves the kids, that's why my friends and Kris's friends all love her. Because she loves everybody that way'".

You know, that was so not where I thought she was going with that story.

There was more to the conversation, of course. I know I don't love everyone the way Jesus does, and I told her that. It hurts me that I can't be pure love, that I let all kinds of stuff interfere. I'm not the friend I want to be. I'm not the daughter I want to be. I'm not the responsible adult I want to be. I can make lists of all the things I'm not.

But you know, I think that's why God loves me. That's why He loves you. All those broken, imperfect places we have are what He wants us to give to Him. He doesn't want us to try to get all cleaned up before we approach Him:

While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew's house, many tax collectors and "sinners" came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and 'sinners'?"

On hearing this, Jesus said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. . . for I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners."
Matthew 9: 10 - 13

It's not about being fit for the "Club". It's about knowing how messed up we are and needing Him to take our torn up, bloody, world-weary hearts and gently hold them in His immensely capable hands, forgiving our mistakes and helping us let go of all the hurt we've received.

Maybe that's what Kelsey sees in me. Not super-mom or super-Christian (definitely not), but super-sinner saved by great grace. Luke 7:47 says that one who has been forgiven much loves much (my loose translation). And I have been forgiven much.

He really is the answer. Him, not Christians. Him, not the Church. Him, not even me.

I love you guys - thanks for reading.

How Am I Like Her? Let Me Count The Ways. . .

Another confession from Crazytown


I am a reformed mother-hater.

When I was sixteen (how many good things start with that phrase?) I was in full-fledged rebellion. Actually, rebellion sounds too tame for what I was in. I was in my own terrorist cell. Yep, a suburban domestic terrorist. My only target was my mom. Mainly because she was there.

Dad saw me every other weekend, mostly. My older brother had begun his illustrious career in really dumb illegal activities (he's the guy who shows his ID to a bank teller before robbing her), and was probably incarcerated, and I'm pretty certain I'd alienated most of my friends by this time. It's hard to remember because I lost a lot of brain cells back then, and any surviving cells are starting to petrify.

Ah, but I was in the process of making some really super new friends. Like the twenty-five year old guy from Texas who lived in his car. And smelled like he lived in his car. And there were the totally awesome folks who worked with me at the Renaissance Faire in Novato. Some of them were near my age, some were creepy old guys, and everyone was loaded on something. My mom still doesn't know the nasty junk that happened on those weekends. Heck, I don't know most of it. I believe I mentioned my lack of brain matter. . .

During this "phase", I was one hundred percent convinced that my mom was the stupidest, meanest, most out-of-touch woman on the face of the planet. I cussed her out, I never told the truth when a lie would do, I took off for several extended weekends without calling or letting her know where I was, or if I was even alive, and I skipped most of my sophomore and junior years at high school, finally "escaping" early under an early form of the GED. There's more, but I'm sure you get the drift.

I listened to nothing mom had to say. Not one thing.

Meanwhile, she was freshly divorced from an eighteen year marriage, working two jobs, dealing with my aforementioned brother. . .

Yeah, I was a real peach.

As I've shared in previous posts, I carried this major attitude toward her for years. In fact, I carried it until I was twenty-eight, had an epiphany and God started helping me face myself. Mom became a human, and I started understanding her and her pain - I was able to finally stop acting out of mine.

In any event. One of the perks of our redeemed relationship is all the fun ways I'm now acting like her.

For instance, I find myself admiring white objects: white cars, white drapes, white towels, white trim on walls . . . pretty much anything that is crisp and clean-looking. The first time I noticed this about myself, frankly, I was a bit appalled. I mean, white things are boring. Am I right?

But truly, when you see a fresh load of whites just out of the dryer, or a freshly washed white car, they are SO attractive. Maybe it's the cleanness of them. Maybe when you spend years cleaning up after yourself and other people, anything that looks that good makes your heart go pitty-pat.

Another way I'm becoming my mom is investigating things before I buy them. Back in the day, mom and dad subscribed to Consumer Reports. I thought they were total losers with no sense of adventure or style.

Having wasted untold thousands on purchases better left un-purchased, I am now a firm advocate of www.consumerreports.org, Amazon's ratings, and any other site I can find that provides feedback from people who've bought and used the item I'm considering. Ditto on price comparisons. Often, I'll research something, then go to Craigslist.org or Ebay or Overstock.com to get the best price on it.

But today was a special day in my transformation. I've resisted - for twenty two years as a parent - mending things for my kids. Lame, but true. Well, I did sew on Kris's badges during his short stint in the Cub Scouts.

As for anything else, not so much. Not even replacing buttons. After all, I never can find the needles and thread; forget about finding the missing button or that little spare pack they usually give you.

But the times, they are a-changin'. My daughter Klaryssia lost the button on some brand-new shorts a few weeks back, and I just refused to ditch them. Wearing them without the button wasn't an option, either, because it created a really nice poof and gap right under her belly button. Klaryssia has a hard enough time keeping her shirts over her belly and her pants up. Obviously, I needed to jump in and find a button to sew on. I'll spare you the details of the button search, remembering to buy yet another spool of thread and pack of needles ('cause of course I had no idea where the last set went), and then struggling to thread the darned thing AND sew it on in a helpful way (so that she could actually button the shorts).

I'm happy to report, mission accomplished.

This success led me to set aside one of the boy's button up shirts the other day when I saw it was missing one. Well, to be honest, I probably would have let it slide, but the button missing was the second one down from the chin. You can't just let that one go. It leaves a weird gap.

At this point, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to have some sort of place to put these clothes that await mending. Further, to have a designated spot for the mending tools AND a place just for all those buttons I expect to collect.

But where?

With this thought in the back of my head today, I set out on some errands. Somewhere along the way, I remembered my mom's old button tin. She had two different tins, actually. One was for all the buttons, one was for her mending supplies: pins, thread, needles, etc.

This seemed like the perfect solution, but alas, I had no tins! Ah Ha! I bet our local Goodwill would have some, if anyone would!

Sure enough, the Goodwill store had not one, not two, but THREE shelves full of old cookie tins and cans from liquor gift packs, and heart-shaped chocolate tins. Jackpot!

I found two that I like, a tall cylinder that housed cookies - this will be my button tin; and a flatish rectangular one that says it's from Harrods and has all these English lords and ladies on it. This will be my sewing supply kit.

Now I'm not going to go all crazy and suggest that I will be launching into a whole new era of hemmed and mended garments, but I am definitely going to be able to find a button, needle and thread next time I need them.

And that's pretty sweet. Good job, mom. Good job. Once again, I realize that you were on top of things. And once again, I'm sorry it's taken me all this time to figure it out.

What I Did on My Summer "Vacation"

Well people, the long summer has ended and the children are scampering back to school. Maybe not scampering, but they are getting on the bus and going. One way or the other.

And now:

LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!!!!!!!

But, really. . . its time to buckle down and get all those waiting projects going, and um, start that ahh . . .

NOPE: What's that time? What is the time? Tick-tick-tock, it's party o'clock!...

What DID we do on our summer vacation? 'Cause, really, that's the question here. People with children don't have summer vacation, per se. They have children. They have activity plans. They have camps and trips to movies, and maybe summer school - if they're lucky. They have lots of mental exercise trying to keep their kiddos occupado, out of trouble, and out of their hair.

We also spend a lot of time on the train to Crazytown.

If you have teens, you probably have even more stress. What is little Susie doing at the mall? Is she really at the mall? Is she texting while driving that car you bought her? Worse. . . is she "sexting"? And what the heck is that, anyway? Do they still have Raves??

It boggles the mind and feeds the worry machine.

For those of us "lucky" enough to stay at home with our little dears, there are other concerns: Will I survive the next three months? Will the children? Do I care if the children survive? It would certainly cut down on the back-to-school expenses. . .

But really, for our little krew, this was a pretty decent summer. We had Miss Kelsey home from college for most of it, and you all know I loved that. It will probably be her last one home. She's planning on getting an apartment with one of her roomies next summer. Thankfully, she will be pretty close by, but still. . .ah, but that's next year. Why borrow stress that's almost a whole twelve months away? I have plenty of worry for today.

Besides, I think I might (key word: might)be adjusting to this having adult children thing. As most of you know, my baby boy got married (see multiple posts on this one), and, although I cried copious amounts, I did not perish. And, I am actually very happy for them both. Really. REALLY.

Kelsey went on a road trip from Washington to California with some of her roommates, and I didn't freak out when she neglected to call me - well, I think she checked in twice - I survived it. 'Course, she got a speeding ticket, and she wouldn't have if she'd listened to my voice echoing in her brain to slow down and drive safely. But, they all made it home intact. And a good time was had by all.

I made a decision (again) to downsize and clean up and get organized. Am I alone in this? We Americans are insane consumers. We pay for places to keep our junk. We treasure it, as if we'll miss out on some essential part of life if we toss those pans we bought at Wal-Mart fifteen years ago. George Carlin did a bit on this phenomenon (disclaimer: it's a little raw, after all, it is George Carlin).

In light of this decision, I asked two of Kris's BFFs and groomsmen to come out and assist. Wes and Dustin had some free time and came out for a few weeks. It was terrific fun and they helped me get some big ticket stuff done - moving furniture out, rearranging rooms and appliances, some minor repairs, AND they mowed the lawn for me - WOOT!!

In exchange, I gave them some tours of Seattle at her finest, a few beers, introduced them to some of our AWESOME food, and they got to run down to Oregon and visit with the Newlyweds for a few days.

Oh, by the way, they are terrific cooks and made many meals for the kids and me - another big WOOT! I could totally get used to having someone cook for me. Foot rubs would be nice, too.

We had Elesha visit several times, a few friends drop by, Kobi had two weeks at Drama Camp (go figure), Kameron got to ride a really cool adapted bike at therapy, we all managed to tolerate Klaryssia's non-stop talk about being a senior this year at high school . . . did too much DQ, baked in the unusually hot Seattle summer, BBQ'd a couple of times, and generally had some good times.

And then, the capstone of summer: the first day of school!

The kids survived, despite their valiant efforts to make me hurt them with their tactics of arguing, fighting, whining, grumping, and general loudness.

And so did I.

Now: LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!!

Oh, one more thing I did on my Summer Vacation: I re-discovered Craigslist. The world's biggest garage sale. Now, I can sell my stuff. And buy more stuff.

Uh oh.

Letting Go - Parte Due

I'm spending the day getting my fridge ready for the person who bought it from me on Craig's List. It's not just any fridge, mind you. It's a french door, stainless steel, 20 cubic foot, Jenn-Air refrigerator extraordinaire.


See what I mean?

We're talking electronic control panel with easy-to-read LEDs of the freezer and fridge temps, an open door alarm, low temp alarm, vacation setting (whatever that is) , inside door purified water, ice maker, easily adjustable shelves, and best of all, enough room for all of the food we eat, and it keeps it all at the temperature it should.

I've had it three years. It's the only big thing I have left from the last house I owned - the one I lost two years ago to foreclosure.

I had a GORGEOUS LG steam washer/dryer pair in Cherry Red at that house, too. Ladies, tell me these aren't sexy. . .


I swear, when I finally got those - after a few years of waiting and wanting - I plopped down in a chair in the laundry area just to watch the washer go. It has these beautiful purple and yellow and green lights around the knobs, and has a special LED readout, and is sooooo quiet. . .

These were the first things to go when I was trying to first save the house, then scrape enough money together to move to a rental. A couple drove down from Canada to pick them up. Like the fridge, my loss is someones gain. And I'm glad about that.

Maybe it seems like these are silly things to grieve over, and yes, I semi-realize that. But, you have to realize that I've been raising children for twenty-two years now (dang, that's like FOREVER), and in that time, I've done A LOT of laundry, and made do with some really nasty fridges. These appliances represented an easier load for me. And a funner one, too! In many ways, they made me feel more normal, more like a "real" person. More mainstream. And hey, loss is loss, right?

Actually, I thought I was over it, but finding the pictures to put in this post kind of stirred up those old feelings. Like running across old wedding pictures years after a divorce, or a love letter you neglected to burn after a bad break up.

Yes, people, I loved and adored my appliances. Don't make me tell you about selling my old saddle. The one I moved three times even though I haven't had a horse in about seven years.

BUT (and this is an important but), I'm finally coming around to being very grateful that I have these nice things to sell when I need to. The washer and dryer brought in enough extra money to make sure we could move to a new home when we were losing the one we had. The saddle and some camera lenses helped, too.

This fridge isn't bringing much money, but it's providing some respite from the squeeze left over from my steadily reducing income over these last eight months, and we have another one that was already here to use. Thank you, Landlady Tosha!

We are also moving again - downsizing, simplifying, cutting back on expenses even more. I've decided that my three kids at home need more of me than they currently get. And I don't mean time, necessarily, because I need time, too. By more of me, I mean more of my presence mentally, more thoughtful mommying. They deserve that. We've all been distracted by so much these last five or six years: Kameron's illness and surgeries, moving three (now four!) times, working different part time and full time jobs,starting college for Kelsey and Elesha, Kris and Kami's wedding, all the big kids moving out. . . while trying to maintain a cohesive, loving, family unit.

Wears me out just thinking about it, and we all lived through it!

So, the big plan is to move over the next two months, spending some real time going through all the stuff we've been carting around since we left Colorado, and downsizing. The less stuff I need to take care of, the better. Hopefully, some of it can go on Craig's List. I might even bite the bullet and have a garage sale. I hate garage sales.

That way, maybe I'll have the mental and emotional space to care for and about the things that really matter. Like my God, my family, myself, my church, and my friends.

Stay tuned.

I love.

Multiple Apologies!

Hey everyone! I just want to pop on and apologize for being so slow to blog lately. Of course, there was the Wedding break, but usually I post every other day, and obviously, that hasn't happened lately!

I am writing TODAY - thanks for your patience. More will be revealed in my post...maybe.

What a Beautiful Day

I can't express how terrific Kris and Kami's wedding was. God just covered all the proceedings with grace.

First of all, the weather. Colorado Springs is known for its crazy weather. In the Summer, a typical day is hot (mid to high 80s), with break around noon - 3pm for a massive thunderstorm (spectacular killer lightning), followed by more hot.

All the days preceding the day of the rehearsal were like this. In fact, the great rains helped green up everything. Truly, Colorado Springs is fabulous when it is green. The concern for the wedding was that several important things were scheduled for outdoors. The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, first of all, and then the actual wedding. It would be kind of a serious drag if it rained on either of those events.

But, even though the day before the rehearsal followed the typical pattern, rehearsal day itself went without an angry cloud showing over Pikes Peak.



The Gazebo

The Boyz

The Gurlz, Pastor Mike, the Groom

The Ringbearer - very official

and well, you know:

The day got pretty warm - maybe low 80s - but it wasn't too hot, and the rehearsal dinner went so well. I was concerned, because my new daughter-in-law has a HUGE extended family. There were like thirty million of them here for the wedding. Our family is more modest in size. We had nine. Total, including the groom. Five of those were me and my other children. Three grandparents. No cousins, aunts, uncles, great-grandparents. . .

It was kind of nice meeting all these other people. Strange, but nice. We definitely had a different look going on, most of Kami's fam is from the Iowa and Nebraska region. And, let's say it, they are a little on the pale side. But they welcomed our motley krew with much grace.

So the weather was terrific, and we had more food than even all the families and groomsmen could eat. That was good, too, since the groomsmen were staying with us at Miss Patty's unofficial B&B. Lots of leftovers to go around.

The Day dawned beautifully. . .

Kami scheduled it for 11am, before it got hot, and there was a gentle breeze blowing.

The gazebo on Aspen Lake in Fox Run Park had space for all the immediate family members, guests sat on big stone steps on the east side of the structure, and Pastor Mike was plugged into an amp so everyone could hear.






The boyz were lookin' sharp:









Although, the bride was definitely looking better!






My baby wasn't lookin' too bad, either!










And the gurlz cleaned up pretty well!














Kelly (Kami's mom) and I started crying almost immediately, and actually held hands through a lot of it. The bride was beautiful, the groom (who hadn't seen the dress or his bride before the ceremony), was absolutely beaming the entire day.

Pastor Mike kept the service short, but with wonderful words of encouragement and exhortation from Philippians 2:3-8, emphasizing verses 3 and 4:

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.

He reminded Kris and Kami that they had to keep God first, and each other next - before any other relationships. Guess that includes moms. Sigh.

Then, the parents (Jim and Kelly, Kami's mom and dad, and me) went up for a parental blessing and prayer.

Kris and Kami exchanged vows and rings. Everyone was crying - except Kris and Pastor Mike, I think.

I couldn't have imagined a better day. For any of us.

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.

- Genesis 2:24

You know, as hard as it's been for me to let him go, I don't think I've ever been prouder. He has grown up to be a very special man, with a tender yet strong heart, and, considering how often I prayed for him and worried about how to raise a son on my own, I have to look at what God has done and thank Him. Profusely.

We made it this far, now it's up to Kris and Kami to carry on their branch of our fledgling family tree, by God's grace and for His glory.

To Boldy Go Where No Man Has Gone Before

If you follow my blog at all, you probably know that I have a 22 year-old son - impossible to believe that someone so young-spirited as I would have such an old son, yet it's true. I might have mentioned that he is getting married. As of this posting, the big event is in EIGHT days in Black Forest, Colorado. We lived there for twelve years while he was growing up, and that's where he met the lovely Princess, Kami:

You can see the attraction, no?

You know, they say men marry women who are a lot like their moms. Wouldn't you agree that Kami and I could be twins?

Of course, you would.

I looked even more like her when I was in my late teens - early twenties. Well, except for the perfect hair. I think I was sporting the "natural" look then. . .that's code for never cut it, hop out of the shower, fluff up your hair and let it air dry. Which sounds a lot like what I do now. Hummmmm.

Kami spent much of her life playing softball. In fact, she had a softball scholarship to the same JuCo my son was attending on a basketball scholarship. See, more common ground. Well, but I never completed any sports, unless you count smoking behind the backstop on the baseball field as a sport. Or seeing how many classes you could skip and still get a decent GPA. I bet I'd have gone to State on that.

She was raised by two awesome parents who are still together and has two younger sisters who are adorable and nice, and has a huge extended family. Let's see. I am adopted and my adoptive parents divorced when I was eleven. I lived with my mom, who never remarried, and my only sibling is an older brother who lives somewhere in the mountains of Northern California and I haven't seen or heard from in something like ten years. Kris's dad and I divorced when he was three, and I haven't remarried. We have eight family members coming to the wedding, nine if you count the groom, and six of those are my children and me.

Okay, so maybe we aren't so similar. But is that a bad thing? She's adorable, and sweet, and kind-hearted, and let's face it: Pretty darned cute.

Kris loves her, and I know he intends to stick with her until "death do them part". That's just how he's wired. Yay for him, and for her.

I can choose to look at the brokenness he's come from and feel inadequate to guide him through the inevitable struggles any marriage goes through (because he's a pioneer in our family in this staying married thing), or I can look at how great his heart is, how real I know he is, and how he really is resting in God's hands - nothing I can do will change that for them.

He is kind of the Lewis or Clark of our motley Krew. I couldn't have picked a better trail blazer if I'd ordered him from Amazon.com.

All my love, blessings, and prayers are with you both.
-- Mom

Little Andrew Update:

Got this in the mail from his therapist last week - we all wrote back. I think he kinda captured me.

Thanking God for a sympathetic therapist!

We Currently Have an Opening. . .

I'm afraid my nineteen year-old daughter, Kelsey, has lost it.

We leave in nine days for Colorado to attend my son's WEDDING (I can not believe it), and she's arranging things. In fact, I think she wants to set up the whole trip. She worries about me, you know, is constantly making sure I remember things. Things like buying toilet paper, or locking the doors at night, reminding me not to text when I drive - stuff like that.

I believe she is convinced that I'm getting dangerously close to the old lady side of the hill. And, she's probably right. I do forget a lot of things, but at this stage in my life I kind of feel entitled to. After all, at a certain age, don't we have enough brownie points stored up to coast a bit?

My mom, who is in her eighties, glories in her "crabby old woman" status. I understand that. I think I should be able to embrace my forgetfulness.

At any rate, part of her organizing for the trip is arranging a pet sitter. For her fish.

His name is Schwart. Or, Schwarty, if you prefer. It's apparently pronounced "Shh vart". Unfortunately, his (or her, who really knows with fish?) name rhymes with "fart", to the utter glee of my younger children. We spent a few weeks on this chuckle.

Klaryssia still doesn't get it right. I told her to just call him/her Kelsey's fish.

So, Kelsey loves this little fishy. Her college roomate Lindsey won him/her in a rousing game of Bob for the Fish during the Halloween festivities at school. Apparently Kelsey begged. Lindsey said she had a bad track record with fish (if you know what I mean), and Kelsey promised she would be the official Caregiver to Schwart.

She takes this obligation very very seriously.

So seriously, in fact, that while we are gone, not just anyone will be allowed to take care of him/her. She is interviewing her friends, asking probing questions like: "Have you ever had a fish? If you had a fish, were you, in fact, the primary caregiver? If you were the primary caregiver, has said fish died on your watch?"

One friend, when text-messaged the above queries, responded: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA"

And I quote.

So far, she's asked four friends. One, we see above. One asked if it counted that she goes fishing. Kelsey asked what she uses for bait: feeder fish. No go.

The only likely candidate so far, BFF Al, who cared for a salt-water tank of thirteen fish for FOUR years, has classes beginning soon, so they aren't sure his schedule will be flexible enough to fit Schwarty in.

Darn.

Anyone in the Southish Seattle area willing and qualified? I'm pretty sure Kelsey won't be traveling to the wedding if we can't get this resolved, and she's in it.

You know how it is, a girl and her fish.

Steppin Out at Seward Park - Parte Due

Manager Kimi was sick last week so we haven't walked since last Saturday, I think. It was the day before Father's day...so a little more than a week. Today, we were back!

I won't lie, it was hard getting out of bed and pulling on the warm ups. Had trouble finding my socks - it is difficult to see without my glasses, but I like to ease into morning - finally got the assorted clothing assembled and on, then realized I was almost out of gas. No problem, isn't that what the lawnmower gas is for? Am I right??


I got to Manager Kimi's house maybe ten minutes behind schedule, which seemed to be a reasonable amount of lateness, and off we went.

It was an amazingly beautiful morning at Seward Park. The sky was a clear, serene blue; Mount Rainier was out (she's a bit shy and is often hiding behind a veil of clouds); Lake Washington was softly nudging the shoreline; and the early morning walking temperature was a perfect 60-ish degrees, with an ever-so-gentle breeze.

Heaven.

We saw a few of our regulars: there's a group of women we see fairly often, sometimes with four ladies, sometimes with three, but always with this one older, skinny white lady who does most of the talking, and one black mid-size lady who jogs along with the other women who are walking. It's a very slow jog.

Two of our older gentlemen - we'll call them Walter and Roger - were sitting on one of the countless benches scattered along the shoreline chatting. There are several groups of older people who walk at the Park, all different ethnicities, all different shapes and sizes. It's fun to imagine who they are and what their history might be. . .most of them were probably children during World War II.

We missed Rasta Runner, but kind of expected that, because he's an early runner and we were fifteen minutes later than usual.

We watched people and their dogs. There are adventurous dogs (the ones that will swim halfway across the lake to retrieve a stick), and the not-so-adventurous dogs (the ones that sit on the bank and watch the other dog retrieve the stick). There are itty-bitty dogs that can barely keep up with their owner walking, and BIG dogs that drag their owner as she runs to keep up.

Often, there are parents with their kids on the trail. Today, we saw a dad with his two sons. One of the boys was probably around eight or nine and on a wave board (per Manager Kimi), the other little guy was maybe three and on his little Spider Man trike. He looked like a future football player, kind of a mini-Warren Sapp. Their dad was trailing a bit behind them, trying to keep up.
Another dad was convincing his pre-teen daughter that yes, those tall closet-looking things by the side of the path were, in fact, the bathrooms. Not sure how that panned out.

One interesting factoid that I keep forgetting to mention is that, while MK is a Crow Whisperer, she is NOT a fan of Canadian Geese. I think it dates back to some incident in her childhood. . . geese can be meanies.

There were many geese at the Park today.

We saw a blue heron, possibly two, or possibly the same one twice. They are crazy-cool looking birds.

We saw and heard an angry squirrel chastising and chasing another squirrel out of his tree. Loudly.

Another really awesome thing we saw today was three eagles. They were initially all together flying over the Lake - looking for fish, I suppose. As we walked, they flew over us and perched in some really tall pines nearby. Then they started to talk. You can't call what eagles do singing, I think. I can't describe the sound, but it is very distinctive and memorable. I imagine that all the birds listen when eagles talk. . .
Even after a one-week layoff, Manager Kimi and I completed our two-lap, five mile journey. That sounds impressive, at least for those of us that are athletically-challenged, but it's even more impressive when you consider how much time we spend looking around us and keeping a commentary going rather than concentrating on "exercising".

I can't wait until Wednesday. Who knows what we'll see then!




How about you? Do you have a favorite outdoor spot where you live? What's it like? How often do you get there?