It’s a Mother’s Day CONTEST!!!!

Come one.  Come all.  Step right up and enter to win a GRAND PRIZE for you or a mother dear to your heart this Mother’s Day.

What would every mother want?  A diamond ring?  No. (Could get lost while playing in the sand at the park!) A new MiniVan!  No. (Take it from my experience, after you hit someone in a minivan, they are not that great any more!)  A dozen roses! No (They wilt in no time, especially if you bought them at Walmart!)

Maybe something to bring joy to her heart.  Something to make her laugh…. and snort… and laugh some more!  Yes, you guessed it!  A Book!  YES!

Yes, a FREE autographed copy of my book Laughing in the Midst of Mothering!  Every mother you know needs a laugh!  This book can be yours (for your mom if you aren’t a mom) by merely entering your name in the comments section of this blog.

You have until May 5th midnight to enter.  On May 6th, after I sleep in, I will randomly draw one name from the list and announce the winner here on MSJ.  I will blast the name for all to see.  The winner will have 24 hours to contact me with an address for where to ship the book.  If person #1 doesn’t contact me, I will draw another name on May 7th.  :o)

Hello, My Name is Linda

Yes, this is another blog relating the to car accident that I unwillingly participated in 3 1/2 weeks ago.  A deep fog has permeated my brain for three weeks leaving me wondering what my childrens’ names are, grasping for common words like “ride” and “sit”, and feeling vulnerable and alone.  Yes, it is drugs.  Yes, I’ve written about this before when I was on narcotics for tooth pain.  I had forgotten the lonely drug induced blanket that wraps itself around your neck for days on end.  Finally, when I was thinking homeschooling was pretty well done for the year (with two more months to go) I went to visit my doctor.  Sorry, pupils.

Typically I am an in-control woman.  Administration is one of my gifts, as well as teaching, organizing and being sarcastic.  But I could do none of those while the blanket hugged me like a scratchy wool scarf.  Sitting on the tissue papered table at the physician’s office, I tried to explain in my not-usually-wobbly-voice that I am on an involuntary emotional roller coaster because of the drugs.  My voice never wobbles.  But it wobbled woefully.  “I need to gain control of my life again,” I feebly explained.  “Is there a pain medication that conquers pain but doesn’t leave people in this fog?”  And there is.  Thank God!  It’s in a 3-day patch that transdermally inputs the drug into your system at a consistently controlled rate.  No more roller coastering for me, baby.

I am now addicted to a little 3/4″ x 1″ plastic patch.  And I’m okay with that.  I was missing me.  I’m partially back.  Doing simple tasks like showering or making waffles are still followed up with a two hour nap.  But I’m okay with that too.  I know my limits.  It’s two outings per day… only twice or three times per week.  More than that and I break out in a sweat.

Hope returned yesterday when I broke out the botany text book and decided school would be underway once again.  It will be more self-guided than teacher-ruled, as is my persuasion.  Flowers and pollination will be devoured by my little busy bees for the next few weeks.  I even found an activity requiring powdered donuts to demonstrate cross-pollination.  Homeschooling rocks…. or blooms in this case.

Discoveries from the Chersterfield

My husband actually called the couch a chesterfield this week and he hasn’t even been watching Downton Abbey.  I believe it was a Canadian flashback for him.  I remember my Canadian grandparents using that term for the sofa, but not my husband!

Meanwhile, back on the chesterfield, I have made several life altering discoveries.

1.  Healing takes time.  Time allows you to think and write and read, all activities that tend to get brushed to the sidelines during a busy schedule.  I have missed writing.  I need to carve out some time to express myself with written words.  It brings me joy…. and I like joy.  It’s one of my favorite things, but not exactly in a brown paper package tied up with string. (Name that movie song.)

2.  My daughter and my niece hand picked lovely yellow and purple wildflowers, placed them in jars and brought them to my coffee table that holds everything I could possibly use while on the couch.  I have spent long moments watching little bugs crawl all over the sunny blooms.  A bit of wildlife right here in the living room.

3.  Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. (Name that artist.)  My front yard blooms are in their glory mode and I have spent time each day sunning myself next to their colorful display: royal blue lobelia, cadmium snap dragons and pansies, hot pink, pale pink, variegated and snow white Sweet Williams, four shades of purples in pansies, violets and violas, and a salmon pink geranium that has yet to open its glowy blooms for my pleasure.  Vitamin D is a glorious bonus.  My nature journal is calling to me to capture the array of colors.

4.  I am the sole individual who wipes out the microwave.  Sad but true.  Come on over and have a looksie at a week’s worth of blown up food bits.

5.  Ringo the wiener dog eats orange foamy earplugs.  Disgusting.

6.  I truly am a night owl.  Even on narcotics, my best hours are from 11:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m.  However, this was aided by a total of six hours of napping today.

I pray you are blessed with a full night of restful sleep while I am uninterrupted on the chesterfield.

President’s Day 2013

On any holiday that is not Christmas and Easter, my homeschooling students ask if they get the day off.  We do take off each of their birthdays, and MINE, obviously!  But Valentine’s Day is not a day off.  Neither is Groundhog’s Day nor the first day of any season….nor the equinox of the moon… nor any eclipse.  Nor the first day the NHL starts again after a strike.  However, President’s Day was granted as a day off IF the kids could recite the entire list of the presidents of the United States.  Didn’t even have to be in order.

We have a handy dandy Presidents of the United States place mat that re-arrived on the table during breakfast this morning, being that it IS President’s Day.  (Remember when we used to get off Lincoln AND Washington’s birthdays?)  None of my pupils have given their recitation of the country’s leaders as of yet… 2:48 p.m.

My 9-year-old was fascinated with all the “funny looking” men.  She asked how many of them I knew personally.  Um… none.  Then she asked if I was alive with George Washington.  Um… no.  “So how many have you been alive for?”  Good question. I took a gander at the place mat.  Nine.  I have been alive for nine presidents.

How many presidents have you been alive for?

 

RECESS!

Today we were having a bonafide homeschool debate between the evolutionists and the creationists.  Sadly, the creationists needed a bit more evidence and hard facts to substantiate their beliefs.  Despite a few deficiencies in preparation, there was deep discussion and questioning to be had.  We are studying the Grand Canyon and I was absolutely appalled at how the THEORY of evolution is presented as fact on so many websites….. primarily run by the government.  Sadly true.

Anyway, at the end of the debate the kids asked what activity we were doing next and I replied, “RECESS!”  A cheer rose up from seven of our eight pupils…. and then one little Colombian questioned, “What’s recess?”  Uproarious laughter followed.  Too funny, the things we take for granted in our knowledge of “real” school.  I’m all about this fake schooling because I am learning SO MUCH!

Several years ago, my son, who didn’t read until he was NINE years old, asked what school they would go to if anything ever happened to me.  I teared up thinking that my bright boy who was years ahead in math and science would have been labeled and most likely put in special education had he attended school.  Knowing how wiggly he is, I told him, “You wouldn’t like school, honey.  You have to sit in a desk ALL day long!”  His clear blue eyes widened and he whispered in awe, “You get a DESK?!?”  Nope, he had never seen the inside of a classroom before!

Long live homeschooling!  Poobah Poobah!

The Coming Conundrum

This photo showed up today on facebook… and I shared it on my wall, like 29,368 other people did. Being an adoptive mama, I have mixed feelings about this on several levels.

For this beautiful 22-year-old woman I pray that she gets a glimpse of her birth-parents for no other reason than looking in the face of someone she is related to by blood.  That connection cannot be replaced, other than by having her own children. It would also be a treasure for her to learn of family history, possible siblings and birth grandparents, aunts and uncles.  In a peaches-and-cream-everything-always-turns-up-roses life this could be the start of a beautiful family expanding experience.  But I don’t know one single family where life has turned up roses and there aren’t real life sad situations to deal with.

However, there are the birthparents and their current lives to consider.  What if they never told ANYONE about the daughter they had when they were in the middle of high school?  What if the birth-father doesn’t even know!? There are many reasons for choosing an adoptive plan for a child and many more reasons for requesting it be a closed adoption.  I understand closure is desired by some who are adopted, but through this possible re-connecting are two separate lives who have moved on from the 22-year-old monumental decision they made to give life, love her to pieces, and make a better plan for her life than they could provide.  If found, they have the choice to embrace their long-lost daughter, or protect those around them and hurt their “secret” daughter again.

Because of our Colombian princess’s situation in her homeland, we do have quite a bit of information about her birth-parents.  Most likely, we could find them with a bit of sleuthing, thanks to the healthcare system in Colombia.  However, Colombian law holds all adoption records as confidential for 30 years.  THIRTY YEARS!  Good grief!  So it is unlikely that our girl will have anyone looking for her. It will be up to us.  Colombian law states that “every adopted person has the right to know about his/her origin and the character of its family links.  The parents (of an adopted minor) will decide on the moment and conditions in which it will not cause the minor harm to know such information.”  THAT is the conundrum.  No matter the circumstances of an adoption plan being made, there is the possibility of a real sense of abandonment for the child, and when has abandonment ever not caused harm?

I still believe in, support and love adoption with my whole being.  Yet someday we will face the heartfelt question, “Can we try to find my birth-parents?”  One day at a time.  One day at a time.

DRE-E-E-E-EAM, dream dream dre-eam

When you grow up, you assume your life is the normal life of all the other kids in the world.  When you get older, you realize just how non-normal your growing up actually was, well, compared to all the other non-normal lives you learn about as time goes on.  Confused yet?

All that to say, I grew up thinking everyone dreams in color.  I do.  Of course I’m not the weird one, am I?  Thanks to the internet, I have discovered that more than 80% of people dream in color.  Not so weird after all, thankyouverymuch.  Yet another fact caused me to pause and consider my abnormalness once again…. 95-99% of people forget their dreams. What?  Almost every night I have vivid dreams and can tell the tales of them the next day.  My children take great pleasure in asking me what I dreamt last night and then rolling on the floor holding their sides due to laughter induced dream tales.  Some dreams have stuck with me for years… for 24 years, in one case… like it was yesterday.  Some are so real that I write them down to ponder later.

While we were away at Christmas I had this great dream (that my children loved) about my husband wanting to redo the greenhouse (that we don’t have) on the back of the house (that we don’t live in).  He was all inspired and wanted to show me his plans, but he insisted the best view was from the neighbor’s back driveway.  The only glitch was that he was naked and I wasn’t walking outside with him.  I’m the modest one in the family, for goodness sakes alive, even in my dreams.  So he talked me into driving over to the neighbor’s back driveway in our station wagon with tasteful “wood” paneling on the sides.  He drove me over there and proceeded to do a 13 point turn in the little driveway until the car was facing our greenhouse (sideways on the driveway.)  But the inevitable happened and he backed up too far and we went down into the ditch and got stuck.  I told him I would climb out the window and go call AAA but he yelled, “You cannot call Triple A, I’m naked!”  And that was the end.  I did not find deep meaning in that dream.  I pray we never own that house or car!  But it WAS funny!

Sixteen years ago, after watching Father of the Bride 2, my husband decided we should move from Spruce Grove, Alberta to Phoenix, Arizona to be near my parents.  I whole heartily agreed.  We put the house on the market and prayed for a quick sale, it was winter after all. Then I had a dream about a lady coming to buy our house. I awoke quite relieved and explained in detail what she looked like to my husband. For ten long months, our house sat on the market and many people came to see it.  Every time I opened the front door, if it wasn’t the lady in my dream, I was disappointed.  Phoenix was calling my name, after all.  Finally one day she came.  I recognized her.  And she did buy our house.  Truly, I think God gave me the picture of her as a sign of hope that there was someone coming.  It gave me a measure of assurance.

Do you remember your dreams?

True Confessions of a Mother

When my children were 7, 4 and 2-years-old (back when I only had three kids!) I read a book that stated, “A seven-year-old is capable of running a household.”  It shocked me.  But I bit into it…. with my jaws wide open… similar to my first bite of a Krispy Kreme donut.  That night, as I laid in bed with my eyes wide open, I dreamed of training my 7-year-old to take over all the menial tasks that I dreaded as a mother and keeper of the home.  I envisioned my next two offspring also reaching the ripe old age of seven…. and helping their older sister do EVERYTHING!  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, this was the answer I needed … my ticket to sanity… the train bound for the hot bubbly bath surrounded by candles …. and TIME to read a good book without interruptions.

The chore chart was born that night and materialized the next day.  It worked like a gem.  I taught each kid a single chore, one at a time, year by year, that they could master at my cleaning expectations.  Oh, would my future daughters-in-law sing praises to my name!

You may be asking yourself what I would do with all my new-found free time…. well, I’m a homeschool mom.  BAM!  (Homeschool mom = no free time.)

Reflecting back, after 12 long years in the saddle (and 9 to go, but who’s counting?), I have come to see the harm the chore chart did to my children.  Yes, it’s true.  And I am admitting it here for all the world to read.  (Well, that is…. the 80% of those in the world over the age 15 who are literate… according to a 2002 statistic.)  (Homeschool moms are experts at finding statistics to prove their point.)

As the teen years encompassed our home, I realized that my sweet chillin’s wouldn’t lift a finger for any chore that did not have their name next to it on that particular day. “WHAAAAT?  Is that how we brought you up???  To be selfish and petty?”  Made my blood boil.  (That only happens at 212 degrees F…. and I was THERE, baby!)

Discussions revolving around teens and the spirit of helping, a willingness to serve, desiring to be like Jesus, etc. etc. etc. were had by yours truly and many others in my life.  Since then, we have regrouped and are trying something new and improved… it’s called being nice.  Being thankful.  Not feeling entitled.  An announcement was made at the dinner table not long ago…. it went something like this:  “We are a family.  We help each other.  We serve each other.  If someone cared enough to plan your meals, go grocery shopping, cook for you and set the table….. then you need to stick around until the whole kitchen is cleaned up and the food is put away.”  BAM!  It has worked beautifully for three nights now.  I will keep you posted on the success of trying to teach my children to be helpful without their name written on a chart.  Pray for me.

Now, those who have great faith in my chore chart abilities, do not fear.  Only the kitchen tasks have been removed.  Their names are still next to chores that include wiping toilets, vacuuming, dusting, cleaning windows, collecting trash, etc. etc. etc.  Some things just need routine.  Ok, I just need routine…. and a long bubbly bath surrounded by candles.

Oh Canada!

There will be several more episodes to Kings Canyon Camping, but at the moment, there will be a halt in the story telling.  I fly out in the morning to my second homeland, Canada.  Yes, I’m a dual citizen, not because I married a Canadian, but because my mother is Canadian.  Voila!  Dual rights, baby.

As much as I would love to sit here and type out the camping shower fiasco, or the back-of-the-bus barfing game, or the roadkill bingo, I am in the midst of packing and planning.  If I have had the pleasure of speaking when you are in the audience, you know, as well as I do, that a good time was had by all.  To say that I love speaking is an understatement… it is what gives me purpose and life and liberty and justice for all. Amen.

However, (enter somewhat sinister music playing in the background) I have been challenged lately by our good Lord about many excesses and life’s circumstances in the cushy ol’ US of A.  It has broken down some barriers in my heart.  I used to half-proudly say that mercy and grace don’t show up on my “gifts” list.  But I have had glimpses of both in the last two years.  Orphans break my heart.  Hence, our quest to open our home to one darling Colombian.  Widows and widowers are starting to find a soft place in my heart.  Homeless people… displaced people… people simply having a rough go of it… and refugees.. and children who live on the streets.  There are so many needs surrounding us that it could be quite overwhelming.  But God gives us all the same amount of time…. 24 hours a day… to reach out to those in our circle of influence… and those who live just outside our comfortable circle.

So, all that to say, my speaking this coming Monday night in the Great White North will not be the fat-n-happy laughing times of old.  It has me a bit nervous.  I’m used to being liked.  This may go down … um… not pretty.  Pray for the women’s hearts to be opened to God’s will for their lives.  And pray, please, that I will say exactly what I’m supposed to say to bring awareness to some cushy lives, to make the cozy nests prickly, to awaken some dreams of good will, to stir some hearts toward the hurting, and quite possibly to open a mother’s eyes to her child who is on the other side of the world waiting for a mama.

It’s been at least five years since I’ve been in Zellers, The Real Canadian Superstore, Tim Horton’s or a Canadian Tire.  :o)  Should be a rockin’ good time, eh!

Kings Canyon Camping Episode 3: GENERAL GRANT HIKE

GENERAL GRANT HIKE.   Day #3 brought sunny skies and temperatures in the 40s!  Whooo HOoooooOOOOooo!

During our stay at Kings Canyon there was a prescribed burn going on so the mornings and evenings were quite smokey…. which made for great sun ray pictures!

We took advantage of the clear weather and did the hike to the General Grant Tree which was a 1/2 mile from our campground.  This was our first glimpse of one of the BIG trees.  General Grant is the third largest tree in the world.  It started growing before the Egyptians built the pyramids.  Yes, it’s true.  Along the trail there were several fallen trees expanding our minds as to the enormity of these specimens.  In the middle of the trail the 7-year-old girl that was with us randomly announces to no one in particular, “This is a great place to shuffle” and proceeds to do the shuffle right there on the pine straw.  Priceless.

No, there will be no photo essay of General Grant…. my camera batteries died on this hike.  Bummer, dude.  But we did sit on the hill above Gen. Grant and broke out our nature journals and drew the immense fire scar on the tree’s back side.  While we sat there drawing, coloring and munching on beef jerky, groups of tourists came by from France.  We spoke with a few of them, but their English was about as good as our French.  About 90% of the people we met during our week stay were from France.  We still don’t know why….

Deer were plentiful in our campground and all around the parks.  These timid animals were not afraid of people or cars.  Sad.  Our girls were playing on the jumbo fallen log in the meadow behind our camp when a group of four deer came near.  The girls froze and whispered to each other as they watched the gentle animals graze.  Eventually one of the teenage boys yelled and the deer took off.  Nora had never seen deer run before.  She came scooting over to the camp and proclaimed, “Mom, they don’t run. They bounce!“  So cute!

Please stay tuned for the upcoming episodes of Kings Canyon Camping.