Dad

I started this yesterday and thanks to firefox, I have to rewrite it. And now I don't have the juju vibes going. Oh well. Sentiment isn't my forte anyway.

I used to think I was the neglected middle child who never got any attention from my parents. I still think that sometimes, a little, and they both know it's true. But I'm different from my siblings. I'm introverted and they just aren't. I'm quiet and reflective and anylitical and they are just less so. So when they were relating with my parents, they talked and did stuff and went places and got really engaged in what they did.
I didn't have as much to say.
I was thinking about Dad and the things he used to do with us when we were kids, so many things he did with all of us together. Like bike rides and walks at the park and playing baseball and soccer and fishing and reading Hardy Boys to us at night. I love those things. I love those memories.
When I knew I was loved the most, though, were those times I had a few minutes with just his attention. He'd sit and play checkers with me (and probably let me win) just so I'd know how to play. He also played thousands of rounds of Hang Man, which I think might be the most tedious game to play with a little elementary schooler who can't spell. Once in a while we'd go out to ride bikes just the two of us, and I wish now that I'd done it more. Toward middle school I stopped wanting to go and ride bike because I preferred to have time alone. Maybe he understood that. I still wish I'd gone with him though.
When we moved to town, I left my bike behind by accident, so one night he took me out in his truck back to the old farm to try and find the bike I'd left. I don't think we found it, but we stopped at the gas station and he bought me some gum. I don't know why it seemed so important at that time, but it was.
He took me shoe shopping once, and he let me get the expensive ones because I liked them. And I'd been fighting with my mom about them for a long time.
He was always letting us use (and lose) his tools to make things. Mostly my brother was the project lead on these activities, but I was always close beside. We made a raft once, and Dad took it down to the river for us and let us try it out. We watched while it floated away and sank in the river. Then we went fishing, and I guess that was the end of that.
He just had so many other ways to spend his time, but he spent it on us kids. On me. And that's why I am the way I am. I think that he helped me be my quiet self by not pushing his way in and trying to make me be like my brothers. Maybe I was overlooked some. But I don't mind. Because there are a lot of kids who never even knew their dad, or who had to worry about abuse or disappointments. My dad didn't break his promises. My dad didn't leave me to fight through things on my own. He loved me and he showed me how to love, and he taught me about God.
And I'l lalways love him, no matter how old we both get.
That's what I'm thinking of on Father's Day. A man who grew up with a less-than-ideal father, who chose to break the pattern and be a good one. A man who knows more than half the people around him but never bothers to point it out. A man who can figure skate, ride a horse, wrangle a cow, quote the Bible, drive a bus, and troubleshoot circuit breakers. He's the Dad who was there. The dad who has time. The dad who didn't leave me with baggage. He's wise and strong and lives faithfully to the God who called him. And I am part of his legacy. What a blessing.

The 60's

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I am on a major 60's kick right now. Entertainment wise. It started when we looked up some old Haley Mills movies on youtube for the girls to watch, and now I'm all crazy for ugly hairdos and people saying "Daddy-o".
I'm watching the Parent Trap tonight. It's really a genius movie. Timeless. Even though Haley Mills might be the most annoying actress ever.
Other favorite sixties movies (not including westerns which are their own category and blog post):

Doctor Doolittle
Davey Crocket (Western but stands on its own. It's freaking awesome).
Swiss Family Robinson
Bye Bye Birdie
The Music Man
Summer Magic (Haley Mills. Ugh.)
Cheaper by the Dozen

For fun while I'm feeding Lois, I've been watching "My Three Sons". And then I remembered another show I liked when TVLand first started called "Family Affair". I recommend both shows. The kids love them, and they're good, wholesome entertainment.
And that is the purpose of this blog post. Maybe I just like the innocence of it or the technicolor, or maybe I'm in love with nice, handsome men in suits like Fred MacMurray and Brian Keith.


Totally random post. What can I say? I'm bored and alone at home, and I haven't slept well in weeks.

Five Years Later

I was in no mood to write this on what should have been Grace's fifth birthday, so I'm going to write it now.  It's been more than five years now. Five years of crying on Mother's Day, five years of watching my three friends' babies the same age grow up. FIve years of missed milestones. Five years of sorrow and joy, five years full of love and regret and wondering and wishing. Five years of freedom. Five yeras of healing.
At first people were so sensitive and thoughtful and I've appreciated the gifts and flowers and cards over the years. I guess five years is the mark when it's time for those to stop coming. I know my friends remember. I don't expect them to grieve like I do.
She would have been five, and I have no idea what kind of kid she would have been. Sweet and mild? Ornery? Would she like dancing and dressing up like her sisters? Or did I miss out on a wild-spirited tom boy who liked to play in the woods? She would have been five and I still wonder, all these years that have gone by, who she was. And I'll always have to wonder, and I'll sit together with my three girls on earth and wish that we had a forth spot at the table for Grace.
When do you fully heal? When does it stop hurting when that wound gets poked? When does it not ache inside on Mother's Day, May 8th? I don't know because I'm not quite there yet. And I don't think I really want to be. People might not understand that, and they might forget that I ever lost a baby. And they might not even know if they met me after that point. It's not important who knows. I know. And for me, that little remorse and pain is all I have of that child. That, and a promise of heaven, where I'll hold her, and she'll be the one who shows me around, and I'll tell her all of the dreams I'd dreamed for her, and she'll say they all came true because she's been with Jesus.
I know I don't have to cry, but I do. On Mother's Day and the other times I miss her like January 29th, the birthday that never was. I cry because it reminds me of her and it makes my heart stay soft.
Five years have passed, and each one has hurt a little less. It will continue to hurt less, but I'll never stop missing her or wondering, and I'll always, always hold her close to my broken-made-whole-again heart.

Obnoxious words in the Ineternet Lexicon

My friend Dave (actually he's my husband's friend but he's so funny I claim his as mine too) recently posted this:

Question: What is the most obnoxious term to enter our lexicon in recent years?
Answer: The Selfie!
Seriously, can you think of one that is more obnoxious?

 

His friends listed a few (the last one is his wife being funny).

-Thundersnow

 

-What about totes; short for totally...since that is apparently too hard to say/type out

 

- i'm going to have to vote for "presh". shudder.

 

-cray-cray

 

- the phrase...."I know, right"...ugh

 

- yolo, and I've even seen it used as a verb. Shudder

 

- Hey, I know - there's this adorbs lil park on the way home from work. Why don't we stop & we could go totes cray cray getting some presh selfies, cuz ya know, yolo, right? oh, nevermind, supposed to thundersnow later. (I now want to shoot myself typing all that)\

Well. I can think of the obnoxious ones. I have lots to say about this. And MORE! There are more abbreviations in "webspeak" than there are in the military, and those aren't even as obnoxious as these actual words invented by who knows what mass of so-called intelligent being? I'm probably going to blame the teenage crowd, but really that should probably be blaming the writers of Nickelodeon and Disney shows, or some phantom entity even more evil and dark than those mentioned. Where do these things come from? Another time. Another time.

When I was in high school, internet really didn't have its own language. People started saying "lol" and "prolly", and of course those were annoying. But maybe someone actually started doing the lol thing because they really did laugh out loud. I do that on occasion and a REALLY funny email or comment.
However, some yahoo had to go and take it to another level. ROTFL. REally? I have literally, actually, rolled on the floor laughing, I think twice in my life. Once was when I was tweleve, so... let's just think about that. 
Would it be so hard to just say, "That's funny!" or "You make me laugh"? Or just enjoy your own laughter?

Then there's "Yolo" which, the online urban dictionary defines as:
Abbreviation for: you only live once The dumbass's excuse for something stupid that they did Also one of the most annoying abbreviations ever....
I concur.  

Really, though, those stupid abbreviations are just the tip of the ice berg. Let's go on. Has anyone noticed these phrases popping up WAY TOO OFTEN on facebook?
"So true"
"Worth passing on"
"I know, right!"
Think about it before you say it. Seriously. Was that picture with the victorian era woman complaining about her refrigerator running, or that picture of the American flag and some pithy statmeent about being a true patriot, or that (shudder) picture of a cat saying something grumpy  REALLY worth passing on? I'm just wondering, and I'm also wondering how very true those things you say "so true" actually are? Or you just think it's funny and you want to send it on but you feel like you have to say something? So true.

Then, there are these horrible abbreviations where we take off the last sylable of the word. What good does that do? Like this?
Presh - Eeww.
Cray Cray - What have you got against the letter z!
Delish - even tastier than the ious? I think not.
Totes - Totally is way too hard to spell. Way.
I've got one word for all of this. Obnox. (And my clever brain made that one up all on my own!)

And then there are the old school ones that have been just as annoying all along (now longer). Peeps. Did anyone ever actually call their peers or friends "People"? Besides Michelle on Full House, or maybe Jesus. Or some foreign dictator/monarch. And now, it's "friends" on facebook and followers on twitter. Maybe I should start calling them my "freeps" and see how that flies.

Well. Such is the world we live in. And it is entertaining when you think about it. We're all collectively losing our vocabulary, and our intelligence with every minute we spend on the webs. Reminds me of this:

Memorial Day

My sister sent me this cartoon:

Which inspired this poem (about my grandpa, of course). Not one of my best. It's hard to put those things in words which are really only shadows of thoughts.

One Man, One Soldier

He walks with courage

Though now with a cane, but once it was a gun

Now his steps are slow, but once he marched into war

Never seeing the man he would become

Maybe not understanding all he fought for.

He shuffles slowly down the hall

But once he ran full force onto the beaches of France

Screaming out over the mortars and cannon blasts.

Now that voice that carried commands

has become harder to hear. His eyes, once bright and soulful

now wear wisdom, wrinkled and woeful.

Now his steps are slower and he’s always being passed

by all the generations behind him

moving too fast

All those people who will never understand

the honor he deserves,

the indelible mark his actions made on the pages of time

in the stories they have never heard.

His tall frame now withers, hunching from age

And though that tired body has worked itself sore

The marks made that day have remained

The memories of war

The purple heart on a shelf in his closet

The friends who he lost there on the shore

The family he came home to

                He remembers what he fought for

He used to fight hard and long, but now he’s tired

And he already found his hill to die on

The man who stormed the beaches

Who limps with shrapnel in his side

Now walks with careful steps, leaning on his grandchildren

                who have always known his sacrifice

                Who listen to his tales of war and find

That ordinary men become heroes

 and courage shows itself in many ways

--sometimes in war stories and flashes of light

Sometimes in farming and strife

Sometimes in the faithful way you live your life.

This man, the soldier could teach them all that.

When they look into his eyes and listen

To one man’s journey in history, to one man’s scars

Teaching about bravery

Making his children who they are.

Fires and Fights and the Northern Lights

We're planning our vacation in July, and it's got me remembering all of the amazing times I've been with my cousins in life, and how there's some magical hold about those neglected homelands in the prairies where my dad and his family grew up. I don't know if it's the grandparents, or just the landscape, or some perfect combination of memories and hope and love. ANd there's absolutely no way to put it into words. I've been wishing for a long time that I could write a song, but there's just no good way to describe it all.

 Summer Sweetness

We climbed the wind-swept hills

Pushing aside the wild wheat and sunflowers

And we’d come home covered in cockleburs and dirt

Full of sweat and smiles, with tales of glory from the fields

And those abandoned sheds we’d explore

We ran across the prairie like wild animals

Chasing away the grasshoppers with our steps

Between the flour mill, the grain bins and tractors

Snooping in the barn, throwing rocks at old windows

Singing songs about our glory days

Of rusty trucks and barbed wire fences

Of gravel and guns and games that we played

Amidst those farming remnants, we discovered

Pieces of our parents’ childhood

The fence posts broken down, the root cellar and clothesline, the millstones and

old machines on the hill, monuments of business called farming

once crucial tools

Now weary from their years of wear

The saddle, the wagon wheels that first brought them west

The plow, the dried-up pump, the buildings falling down

What secrets untold will die with them, blown away in the prairie wind?

What stories did we miss out on

While we played, too busy to listen, running too fast to slow down

And yet here the stories stay, waiting for another day

Written down in postcards and letters, in photographs and stories

Told through the eyes of these children of the dust, who repeat and wait and remember

They listen to the humming tractors

Or catch the scent of alfalfa on a dry day riding with the windows down

And maybe a wishful feeling washes over them

Like it does over me

Remembering those sweet days of hayloft forts and gopher hunts

The barbeques and fireworks and quiet nights by the fire,

Sleeping under the stars, watching the meteor showers

The walks down the long driveway

The mystical sunsets ablaze in the sky

And laughing together late into the night

The fires and fights, and the northern lights

The vision of it all—badlands, buttes, barbed wire, and all that they represent

This rugged, wilderness wrestling against progress, ancient meeting an old sort of new

The dust, the rust, the trucks,

Those tilted fence posts holding the heartland together

Summers and winters,

the wind and the wheat

Two Gardening Books

We met Joey O at the chiropractor's office, and he seemed like a really great guy. He was cheerful and outgoing and full of life, and apparently (I later learned) is an acrobatic golfer/motivational speaker. Explained the golf club he had with him. He talked with my kids and then he gave them a book of his called "The Dream Seed". Joey's book is about a little boy named Joey whose mother told him he could do anything he wanted to if he believed in himself. He planted a little "dream seed" that grew and grew into his life ambitions, and eventually led him to live out the life he'd always wanted. The book us full of statements like "Use your intelligence intelligently" and "be honest with yourself and with others and your Dream SEed will grow" and "Listen to your inner voice. Then do the actions it tells you." These inspirational nuggets are pretty much the point of the book, as I can see it. The basic "if you believe in yourself you'll do great things." It's endorsed by former presidents Bush and Ford, and Bob Hope.
That same day, we also received a parting gift from JJ's Bible study teacher called "My Heart, God's Garden". The book from the Bible study teacher was printed off on her computer with little clipart pictures of kids in the garden. It tells about how knowing God makes our heart able to grow good things that he wants for us. It teaches about prayer and growing closer to God. Every page has two or three Bible verses on it. It's low-budget and well-intended. And what I know about Miss Jeanie is that she gives my JJ a hug every week when we see her and tells her that she loves her and God loves her.
I keep looking at these two books, both written with children in mind, both with the inspiration of helping children acheive their best in life. Both hoping to set them off toward greatness from their early age. And I find there's some prfound statement made when I compare them. The Dream Seed is all about YOU and what YOU can do. You grow your own seed by your positive thoughts and good actions.
God's Garden is about what God does in you. It shows how knowing God can guide you through life. And it reminds you about His word's impact on those tiny seeds in your heart.
One of these books is not going to stay in my home. While it's nice, and made with the best intentions, and there is truth in it, I worry about the message of trusting yourself to achieve your greatest desires. I worry that my kids would some how believe that they are responsible for the outcome of their dreams, and that if they work hard enough, they'll achieve them. It sounds so good and so right, but it rings hallow when those dreams don't happen. Then it puts the burden on you. YOU weren't sparkly enough, ambitious enough, hopeful enough. YOU didn't do it "right".
Not that they can't have dreams, or do everything they can to accomplish their desires, or work hard, or believe in what they're doing. Those aren't bad things. It's just that they aren't the only thing.
I rather would have them "delight in the Lord" to receive "the desires of their heart" (PSalm 37:4). To know that He is the one who writes our dreams, and when we submit to Him and follow Him, then whatever happens, whether it's the way we want or not, we know His plans are not thwarted and He has our best intentions at heart. (Romans 8:28, Job 42:40) While Joey O is saying "I always believe in Me! Even during a challenge, I always believe in my Dream Seed! I know the truth about me! I am successful and happy every day". Miss Jeanie's book says, "These seeds of faith, He will grow. His promises, He will keep. Though I am little, all this I know. For the Bible tells me so."
I'm not saying that dreams of being an acrobatic golfer, or a singer or dancer or whatever are bad. I'm not saying people shouldn't do all they can to get to where they want to be in life. But I do think it's dangerous to put too much trust in those plans, and in yourself. When disappointment happens, you don't have much to lean back on except "try, try again". I'm not sure how well I could articulate the difference between humanistic goal-reaching and faith-driven pursuits. All I know is, "the heart is deceitful, above all things (Jeremiah 17:9)", but the "on paths of righteousness there is life" (Proverbs 12:28).

The Lesson of Mary Poppins

I've always loved Disney's Mary Poppins. It was one of the first movies I actually watched when I was a kid. I remember my dad brought it home from the movie rental store one night along with Robin Hood. We had friends over, so we were having a night of fun. I was disappointed that it was a real people movie, but quickly changed my mind. Jane and Micheal had my attention right away. And then the mystical, magical wondrous Mary Poppins appears and changes everyone's life. I used to think it was because of her crazy antics, of who she was, but actually, she just changed them by teaching them to notice.
Last year I introduced my kids to the nanny extraordinaire movie. Watched it with my brother-in-law who hadn't seen it before, either. It was really entertaining. There are many parts that are hilarious to watch as an adult. Like how Mary Poppins makes a really funny face when she drinks her rum punch "medicine".
But what I realized watching this movie again, and listening to the sound track bonuses, is that this movie is about noticing the insginificant.
It's about a family with parents who are so asborbed in their own social standing and careers that they don't notice their children. They're too busy to see a little boy and girl who just want some time and attention. That's why the culminating moment, when the kids want to give money to feed the birds, is so poignant . The beggar woman sits on the cathedral steps every day,noticing the birds who want to be fed. She is overlooked by the general population. But Mary Poppins notices them. And she notices the kids and their needs. And all together, she teaches a set of self-centered parents that their children--that the world around them--is noteworthy, that there are things you should be noticing. The insignificant things that don't seem to matter, really DO matter.Like the people who clean their chimneys, and the lonely shut-in man who loves to laugh, and the people who draw pictures on the street. And birds.
I want to teach my kids to notice, too. So much of our lives and the culture around us teaches us to worry about ourselves and our needs and how to please themselves. We forget to notice the little things, like cold kids walking home in the rain, like flowers blooming and butterflies, and the poor people who need our help. The least of these. We'll always take time to feed the birds and fly kites, because it's those little things that build into a larger thing, the second greatest commandment about loving our neighbors and putting others first.

Help

I tried to push my stroller and get my two younger kids out the door that was trying to shut against me. You saw it and held the door for me. Thank you.
I just wanted to make it through the store and back to the car while the baby screamed loudly. You smiled sympathetically instead of judgmentally. Thank you.
I felt overwhelmed at the grocery store on the rainy day, trying to figure out how to get three kids into the car with the least amount of wetness involved. You offered to carry my bags. Thank you.
I hadn't had a break from home in two weeks because the baby needs me all the time and I felt guilty whenever I left. I'd already had to say no to three other social events. You told me it was OK to bring the baby along on this one. And you held her for me while she cried. Thank you.
You saved your advice for your own daughter instead of telling me that I was doing something wrong. Thanks.
You told me that my kids were behaving well, even though they'd just lost my coupon book and had been arguing with each other for days on end.
You noticed me with that overwhelmed look in my eyes, and you didn't just walk away, but you stayed and had an intelligent adult conversation with me.
You did what you could to help, reminding me that some day, I'll be in your shoes and wish for those days back.
Your smile reminded me that these babies are treasures.
You encouraged me when I felt tired and drained. You pulled my hand while I was sinking in despair.
Thank you, kind strangers.

Book Review

Today is "Finish the Book Day" in our house. WE finished 1A math book, read aloud Stewart Little, and I'm nearly done with The Hobbit. I also finished a library book from one of my favorite authors, Richard Peck. You may know him from the Newberry Award-winning book "A Day No Pigs Would Die". THe book I read today was called "The Teacher's Funeral", and like usual, Richard Peck delivered a great yarn.

He does a good job using local dialects and capturing the rural turn-of-the-century Indiana life in a charming way. I really enjoyed the story, told from the perspective of a 15-year-old farm kid set on escaping another year of school. It's a good read, as are all of Richard Peck's books that I've read. The other titles of his I've read this year are:
On the Wings of Heroes (my personal favorite)
A Year Down Yonder
A Long Way from Chicago

If you want some light-hearted, easy reading to pass your time, check it out.