Frauditioning

for the truly lovely auditioners Miranda, Clare, Chloe, and Cara

Chlaranda C., oh she wanted to be
the very best girl in the very best play.
She sang and she danced, she smiled and pranced
to prepare to audition today.

The day now was here, and twas perfectly clear
how delightful she'd be when she sang for the crowd.
They'd clap and shout out, beaming smiles about
proclaiming her talent out loud.

When she walked in the door, she began to feel poor
as she saw girls of all shapes and sizes.
The tall and the cute will be given the boot
when her singing the judge hypnotizes.

She laughed and she smiled, and thought to herself,
"Chlaranda, my girl, I know you will be
the very best girl in the very best play!
The judge over there will love none but me!".

Her moment, it came, but not as she thought.
Her hands were all shaky, her belly all quaky.
The judge, like a hawk, noticed each wretched squawk.
They all thought their eardrums would breaky.

The poor silly girl, with a smile and twirl
kept dreaming what part she would be.
Her hopes crashed down, right down to the ground,
when she was given the part of--the tree.

Chlaranda C., she's going to be
the very best tree in the very best play.
No singing, no talking, not even walking
Just rooted, over there--out of the way.

Just Because It Was Cute...

Allie just ran in here and said to me,

 "Mommy wook!  My wegs are getting weally wong!"

Just too cute.

My Scott

This pregnancy has brought about many things.  A house remodel--hooray!  A rethinking of priorities, and in some ways a downsizing of away-from-home responsibilities.  One of the most meaningful to me, though has been the subtle changes I've seen in my special boy.

God knew what He was doing giving this little man all these sisters.

The fatigue and difficulty of pregnancy with many little ones in the house has made him more gently protective of me.  He's gone the extra step holding doors, making me coffee in the morning, walking by me and holding my hand to keep me company.  It's been such a special thing to this mother.  I cherish the time with him, and although what he does, he does in a quiet way, it speaks volumes about him and his loving heart.

Pwaying Wegos With Allie

After thirty minutes of pain-staking labor, the creator finished her masterpiece.  Forty pillars of yellow, one-piece bricks encompassed the green lego floor below.  She had added a kitchen at the last minute, complete with white cocktail umbrella over the stern gray sink.  It was time for the lego ladies to make their entrance.   The three friends traipsed the span of the trunk below with short hops one at a time.  Then they began their riveting conversation skills.

Friend #1:  "Hi.  How do I wook today?"

Friend #2:  "You wook 'tastic!  How do I wook today?"

Friend #3:  "You wook so boo-ful.  I'm boo-ful, too."

Friend #1:  "I wike your boo-ful bwack hair."

Friend #3: "Thanks!  I wike your boo-ful yewoah hair, too."

Friend #2:  "I have dis pwetty bwack shirt on today.  Do you wike it, too?"

Friend #1: "Oh yes, it is so pwetty.  NOW GET TO WORK!!!!!"  (Apparently Friend #1 is the Mom.)

They all hopped in sync to the cocktail umbrella kitchen where they continued talking about all manner of 'dewicious' things to eat for a full ten minutes thereafter.  However, I regret to say that someone's cooking was not appreciated as it should be.  A few minutes ago the friends had a huge altercation, whereupon someone smashed the boo-ful kitchen to bits.

It just goes to show that beauty is only skin deep; cooking ability, however, is a power that lasts and binds friendships together.

A Contrast

I was struck this morning by a verse in Psalm 31.  It's a real contrast of the world's solution to hurts and problems and the Lord's solution.

Verse 6 says: "I have hated them that regard lying vanities: but I trust in the Lord."

When hardship comes, when our feelings are hurt, the norm seems to be to air our feelings and get some sympathy--especially on social media.  It's not wrong to be transparent and honest about our feelings, but all too often, we're looking for the 'lying vanities' of nice people to soothe our pains away.  People will tell us everything will be okay, people will tell us nice things about ourselves, but that's not the best solution.

As for me, I'd rather trust in the Lord and bare myself to Him, for as verse 7 goes on to say, He knows my soul in adversity.  No one understands me and my troubles like the Lord.

I also want to be the kind of person that doesn't feel obligated to practice social niceities, but has genuine love and counsel for those who are hurting.

It's been a great reminder to be real, and take my troubles to the Lord!

Seeing the Big Picture

I am slowly making my way through Philip Yancey's book, Where Is God When It Hurts.  This is a real mulling-over book, because much as we would all like it, there are no easy answers about pain and its role in the lives of so many we know.  Pain is not always a consequence for wrongdoing or some great cosmic joke, and many times we don't know the reason for it or the many reasons are complex.  A trite, holy answer will almost never suffice.

Our response to the difficulties in our lives seem to really determine our success in managing them.  In the midst of pain and problems, it's often hard to see His purpose.  I found this quote to be a real encouragement to be patient and wait to see how He will use hardship:

"The symphony he is composing includes minor chords, disonance, and tiresome fugal passages.  But those of us who follow his conducting through early movements will, with renewed strength, someday burst into song."

God does love us immensely, but His purposes are not the same as ours.  Yancey earlier in the book made the point that we often view God as a sort of benevolent grandfather rather than a heavenly father.  Seeing my parents and in-laws as grandparents, and being a parent myself, that was a very vivid illustration for me.  We often feel sorry that God isn't giving us more and more good things and pleasure, but He knows us like no other.  He'd rather give us the best things--whether it be through good times or bad--than let us settle for the comforts of ease all the time.

After A Rough Winter...

Just about everyone I know has had a brutal winter, and it's been the same here in Cincinnati.  This morning's springly snowfall reminded me of Cara's reaction to the heavier snowfall and subzero temperatures we experienced on the first few days of spring.

She woke up as normal, peeked out the curtains of our living room, saw the snow, rolled her eyes, sighed in a magnificently dramatic fashion and said,

"Ugh!  If this is spring, I'm ready for summer!"

What a perfect description of everyone's feelings.  When she's right, she's right.

What a Girl Really Wants

It's been a pretty long day here.  We skidaddled fairly early in order to take our ITBS practice tests with a friend, only to return to the school day we had missed.  Before I knew what happened, it was late afternoon and the big kids were off to do more interesting things.  It caught my attention to hear Allie talking rather excitedly from the next room over.

With Scott and Cara playing outside and Meg snoozing in her boudoir, I peered into the living room to investigate what exactly Allie was doing.  She sat perched on top of the couch, curtains pulled around each side of her chubbiness, gesturing and pointing during her chat.  I watched a little, amused by her conversation with her unknown friend.

"Den we can go outside and pway together.  It will be so much fun today!" she said from the drapery.

I interrupted, "I'm glad you want to play, Allie.  We will have a fun day today, won't we?".

She turned to look at me with a grave expression.  Apparently I was not the friend she had in mind for this thrilling afternoon.  She told me kindly that she wasn't talking to me, then settled back into her perch to continue.

A big sigh, "Daddy, you're my best fwiend.  When you get home soon, den we can go pway some more, okay?".  She then told him about all she did today before climbing down to amuse herself.

All a girl really wants on a sunny afternoon is her best friend, her daddy, home to share the day with her.

Word of the Week

I confess, I was feverishly seeking out a word of the week with a more autumnal meaning, but apparently there are very few synonyms for autumn.  You have fall, harvest, equinox...and not much else.  Oh well, so much for an inspiring vocabulary this fall.  I guess we'll have to adapt our weekly word to fit into our harvestly mold.  This week's word is:

dapple: n. a spot or mottled marking, usually occurring in clusters.

One can also use the verb form of the word, meaning 'to mark or become marked with spots.'  If any of us ever contract the chicken pox, I'll make sure to use the verb form.

On to today's sentences.

The air was dappled with color as the nippy wind blew up through the large, leafy tree.   (This has been happening all week.  We've enjoyed watching the leaves fly through the air during school time every day!)

Cynthia woke, stretched, then stared in horror as she spotted the fresh dapple of acne, prominently adorning her nose.  (Alas, poor Cynthia will spend the next hour of her existence trying to camoflauge the dapple, which will only irritate both her skin and her siblings, who also need the bathroom.  Thank goodness we're not at that stage of parenting yet!)

Add your dappled sentence to the mix!

Word of the Week: It has returned

Well, it may be more realistic of me to create a word of the month section, but I'll give a weekly post a go.  While recently rereading some of my previous postings, I remembered how incredibly fun it was to do the word of the week, as well as how useful it was.  In fact, it was just the other day that Andy asked me to elaborate on the word schadenfreude.

The word of this week is 

crepuscule:  [kri-PUHS-kyool] n. twilight, dusk.

Gaze with me through the crepuscule at Mount Vesuvius.  This painting is by Abraham Pether.  It's called, A View Of Mount Vesuvius Erupting.  It would have gotten your attention more if crepuscule were included in the title, but after all, Pether was a painter, not a grammarian.

This strikes me as a very fitting addition for this autumnal week.  Besides, who isn't excited by a word that has a guttural burst of <<PUHS!>> in its midsection?

Okay, enough with the abdominal puns.  I promise to move on.

There actually is another pronunciation, but it isn't nearly as fun.  Perhaps the other pronunciation would sound a little less scabby, but nevertheless...

Here we go for the sentences.  Have I mentioned that my kids look forward to my sentences with each new spelling list?  That's why I can no longer deprive my loyal audience.  Stop laughing, both of you.

She peered into the crepuscule, hoping to see the silhouette of her beloved's car humming into the drive.   (Yes, many days this is quite true, and on a particularly harsh day at home with the children could possibly involve a slight twitch and strange look about the eyes.)

The crepuscule greeted them briskly, as they closed the door on the poor teenage babysitter's silent screams.  (This one doesn't usually happen actually.  The screams are usually excited child screams whenever we leave.  Little do they know, we are more excited than they are.)

Baby in the Baseline

(A story for my Scott, to commemorate the many evenings at the ballpark with the little girls in tow!)

It was early in the evening's game, and I was all covered up, from head to toe with my catcher's pads.  I creaked along to home plate, where I bent over, ready to catch the first ball headed my way. I could hear my sisters nearby, giggling and singing to Mom.

Strike one.

I threw the ball back to the pitcher and knelt down again in the dust.

Strike two.

The ball nearly hit me this time.  I adjusted my mask and got ready for the next pitch.

Crack!  My mask flew off and I shielded my eyes against the sun.  Phew!  It was only a foul ball.  I grinned over to third base where my good friend Austin was ready to defend...and I saw something I never thought I'd see when I came to the field tonight.  There was a baby--my baby sister--crawling quickly to third base!

The pitcher threw the ball too high but I hardly noticed, because I was watching my baby crawl past Austin's waiting glove and crouched legs.

"Ma ma!  Ma ma! Ma maaaa!"  she squealed.

I was so scared that someone would run over her I began to move forward and landed squarely in the path of the batter's bat.  Onto my helmet it clunked, knocking me right off my feet.  I saw the warmly glowing sun seep between the cage of my mask and felt the dust settle on my face and teeth.  The coach was shouting to me, "Are you okay?".

"Yes."  I answered, as I stood up.  Then I remembered what had frightened me enough to walk straight into the batter--my sister!  Where was she?

I could hear her groaning from somewhere on the field, "MMMMmmmmmm.   Ga.  Ga.  Ga.   MMMmmmmm...".  I jumped up and squinted at Austin on third.  No baby.  He looked back at me, shaking his head, wondering why I kept staring at him.  I tried to mouth, baby.  BA-BY!

"I'm not a baby, Scott!"  he grumbled to himself.  He kicked third base before he turned his attention back to the batter.

I felt terrible.  I hadn't meant to call my friend a baby, but where had baby Megan gone?  The groaning of before I couldn't hear any more over the noise of the cheering.  The pitcher threw another high ball.

"Where is she?"  I whispered to myself as I threw the ball back to the pitcher.  Then I spotted her again.  She had crawled over second base,  hit it two times with her chubby hand, then continued crawling toward first.

The pitcher threw a fast ball straight into the strike zone.  Just as the batter hit the ball, baby Megan tagged up on first base, laughing and blowing spit bubbles the whole time.  She sat down on first base and began to clap as the ball rolled toward her.  Bryson, who was guarding first base slammed his cleat down on the base just as Megan crawled off.  She was really crawling now.

I took of my catcher's mask and called to her, "Come here.  Come here, little Meggie."  The first base coach thought I was crazy, talking to him like that!  What he didn't know was that my little sister was crawling at top speed, heading home.

The batter was tagged out at first, thank goodness, and just before the next batter came up to the plate, Meggie planted her dust-stained knees on home plate and grabbed my legs.  She stood up and said, "Da Da Da!".  Then she screamed in happiness.  I picked her up, and the crowd cheered for the mini base runner..  Meggie began to clap for herself again and say all kinds of things I didn't understand, and the umpire yelled, "She's safe!".

Meggie liked to slap her hand on my pads, and she smiled and opened her mouth to give my nose a big, wet smooch,  "aahhh-MWAH!".  Coach came up to me and ruffled my hair.

He said with a smile, "That's the first time I've EVER seen a runner give the catcher a kiss on the nose!".

I had never seen that before either, and I hoped that I never would again!

A Glimpse of the Man

Our lives are currently overrun with batting helmets, baseball schedules and even a catcher's mask on occasion.  It's been a bit busy, but very enjoyable, especially for the little old man, who of course spends most of his off-school hours practicing, practicing the batting and catching skills he so wants.  I know this is a real shift to boyhood, this fascination with sports, but recently I caught a glimpse of the man inside.

It was totally unrelated to his baseball fantasies, in fact.

For the last year and a half, he has been begging to try pushing our very heavy, bagged push mower around our somewhat substantial yard.  I've resisted.  He's 'helped' push in the past, and it usually makes the already difficult task even more cumbersome.  This year I gave in a bit and let go of the mower handle.

I watched as his tanned, resolute arms struggled and exerted.  He broke a sweat and tried with all the muscles in his lean little form, and he pushed the mower.  No matter how mother henly I clucked next to him, wanting to save him from this sharp corner or that little slope, the determined boy finished the front lawn by himself.  I was shocked and promptly rewarded him with a Pepsi from Daddy's forbidden stash.

The next mowing I figured he'd remember how hard it was and shy away from any involvement.  I was very mistaken.  As I laced my mowing shoes, he got ready and even beat me outside, pulling out the mower to get started even faster.  I asked my little guy why he was so excited to work, of all things.  His reply brought tears to my eyes.

He wants to mow to get strong enough to mow the whole lawn every time, so I wouldn't have to work so hard; so I could spend some time doing something enjoyable.

And that's what it means to be a real man.  Thoughtfulness.  Self-sacrifice.  Doing something hard to spare the ones you love.

Some day I'll hand him over to a lucky young lady, and I'll remember this day.  I'll remind him of what it means to be a real man.

A Quote On Happiness

I am casually reading through Philip Yancey's book Where Is God When It Hurts?, an exploration of pain and its purpose.  Here is a quite a truism which I ran across this morning:

     "If I spend my life searching for happiness through drugs, comfort, and luxury, it will elude me.  'Happiness recedes from those who pursue her.'  Happiness will come upon me unexpectedly as a by-product, a surprising bonus for something I have invested myself in.  And, most likely, that investment will include pain.  It is hard to imagine pleasure without it."  (Chapter 4)

Although he is specifically speaking of physical pain, the quote is quite applicable for any type of pain.  We all go through difficult times, some of us live in pain of a physical or emotional nature constantly, but it is a comfort to know that the hard times sharpen our senses to the real joys and rewards of life.  God's consolation for the valley is the sharp contrast of the mountain top.

To Kick Off The Season...

I was in Michigan recently because, contrary to popular belief, mother-in-laws can be cherished friends.  In the early morning, I took a drive past a local high school.  The tick-tacking of a drum cadence caught my attention.  The tenor drums ponged and pinged, and the bass drums thunked as I drove by. (That brought back fall memories to me.  Every fall my high school marching band would terrorize the neighborhoods surrounding the school with their early morning practices.  Nothing like whistles and drums for a great wake-up call.)
     
I waited at a light and turned to see a herd of young men in full game gear stretching and sprinting, readying themselves for practice on the dewy field.  A cool morning breeze floated through my car and I thought of my hubby, and the scores of careers that he had seen start on these Michigan football fields. 

It is practically fall, the season of cool breezes and football and leaves.  Let's hunker down and prep the fire place for the months to come.

Contraband

It's been less than a week since we've been done with school.

We've worked hard to accomplish this goal, and to be free to enjoy summer in all its splendor.

How then can it be possible that my little old man asks me for school work to do every day?  I've explained to him how exciting it is to have no school work, and he seems thrilled every time.  And yet...around the house I consistently find papers he has privately assigned himself.  His stashes are littered with penmanship practice, arithmetic problems and reading books.

A love of learning is a beautiful thing.  It's just kind of humorous that he hides his interest so stealthily, honing his skills in secret.  Perhaps he doesn't want to burst my bubble, but I'm on to him nonetheless.

Scott's Interview

This was officially a preschool interview, but it'll count!  Here is Scott's take on my queries.

What do you want to be when you grow up?
I want to be--hmm--something special.  A sailor.  They look out for treasure and sailboats.  That's cool.

How old will you be when you are grown up?
Maybe when I'm 49.

If you could do anything you wanted for the whole day, what would you do?
I would look for treasure--I mean I won't look for it, I'll sail a boat.  Remember how you turn the boat?  Like use things to turn like this way.

Then I'll do painting, like paint a house or yard or slide or playground or cup.

What do you love most about your family?
Mommy and Daddy and Cara and Allie.  I love you in my heart.

Scott's Favorite Recipe:
I like toast.  You put it in the thing that pops it up and it will pop it up for you and then you put butter on it and then you can eat it.  And cereal.  You get it out and pour cereal in there and pour some milk in there and then you take a spoon and eat it.

Kindergarten Traditions

Scott manfully colored and figured his way through kindergarten, officially finishing yesterday.  Cara has yet to finish up first grade.  As I am slowly trying to wrap my mind around all the grading and sorting coming my way, I somehow ran across something from last year that I meant to include on the blog.  It's a kindergarten tradition of sorts...the interview.

I asked the kids the following questions and recorded their profound replies for posterity last year as Cara finished up her first school year.

Kindergarten Interview with Cara:

What do you want to be when you grow up?
I want to be a teacher, 'cause it's fun to teach and teachers are really smart and have a nice brain.

How old will you be when you are grown up?
I want to be 10.

If you could do anything you wanted for the whole day, what would you do?
Science.  I really forget, but I know science is a healthy thing, so science.  Mmm-hmmm.

What do you love most about your family?
'Cause they love me.  'Cause you've been kind to me and Daddy been going to work for me and our whole family.

Tell me how to make your favorite recipe.
It's homemade noodles.  It's really easy.  Like put the noodles in a pan or something like that and kind of put some food in on it and stuff and give it a little mix and stuff.  It's the best meal that I like.  Eat it with chicken and stuff like that.


Stay tuned for Scott's interview tomorrow!

Marriage: An Object Lesson

Well, the other day I had a "Eureka!" moment while doing laundry of all things.  I went into that creepy, crawly, overly-crammed room we call the laundry room and began switching the load from the washer to the dryer when I noticed another chore to take care of.  I can't be the only one with this chronic problem.  My washer is filthy.  It could majorly use some TLC on the inside and out.  Shockingly enough I noticed that what used to be the space between my washer and dryer is now pretty much nonexistent, due to them shimmying around multiple times a day, I assume.  To make matters worse, they are so close that they've started collecting quite a pile of dust between them, right where there used to be edges.  It's almost as if the edges don't exist any more, or perhaps that's more of a mental thing for me.  Naturally, I left the mess for another time.  (In all fairness, I did need to dash back out to the dining room to continue school.  )

Now that I've completely grossed you out as to the state of my laundering equiptment, let me get to the point.  Seeing those machines all cozy and unlovely reminded me of marriage, or perhaps what marriage should be.  There's no doubt that a washer and dryer have very distinct functions, I mean, one washes and the other dries the clothes, right? But their purpose and goal is so much the same that although what they do is different, you almost forget to think of them independently.

My day to day activities vary widely from my husband's, but they are just as important.  We are working toward the same goal of raising a godly family and helping to build up His church.  We are interconnected, he and I.  What he does would be without meaning without what I do.  I wouldn't have the ability financially to do what I do if he didn't do what he does to provide and shelter us.

I find through the years, we have gotten more alike in some ways, but what we are doesn't change so much in the essentials.  I mean, he'll listen to me discuss hair ribbons for the girls but he wouldn't be caught dead thinking about them during his lunch break at work.  There's also a vice versa ditto here with college football, I might add.

When we get married we begin life together.  Through the years working together, we grow closer (and sometimes a little less attractive), but we work on toward the same goals through ups and downs until one without the other is hardly even useful.  Our identities become wrapped up in each other, different as we are.

That's a good thing.  That's getting through the dirty work of life together.  That's real love...having a purpose...together.

More Words of Wisdom...

(http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/12453_394106454029751_1787159943_n.jpg)

I could have sworn this was a Jane Austen quote...

Draw Your Own Conclusions...

This is a true story.  A few days ago, Scott and I were chatting in the kitchen.  The girls were all asleep, and we had just walked the dog together.  It's kind of a rarity in our household to have one on one time, so I was enjoying hearing all about his dream of the previous night and his super funny, three stooges-esque jokes.  As I filled up Oscar's bowl with dog food, Scott paused, then noted, "I don't know how doggies can like to eat that food, Mom".

"Really?  Why is that?" I asked, not yet alarmed.

Brace yourself...

He answered, "It looks and smells really good, but it tastes terrible."

Say it isn't so!

My shocked expression must have communicated my suspicions.  His reddening face and shifty eyes didn't calm them.

I'm not exactly sure why I was surprised, considering some of his previous dietary adventures, but, there you have it.  It just goes to show, the little old man will eat most anything.