Growing with Grace

On our annual retreat to High Country this year, we included an afternoon spent atop Peak 8 in Breckenridge. Elijah took this picture of me and Grace, so I didn't see it until our return home when I began editing pics. When I came across it, my initial reaction was to smile and think, "She's so great. How'd we get so blessed?" Then I looked a bit closer and suddenly realized: our Gracie is growing up. Her once fleshy face has been replaced by sharper angles and deeper dimples, and her legs have sprouted three inches in just one year (she's now exactly one foot shorter than I...yikes!)

But the changes aren't limited to just the physical. Her eyes are more open to the cruelties and injustices of the world. Rainbows are still as pretty as ever - but a bit less mystical now since she can explain refraction of light colliding against water molecules. She's learned that, sometimes, friends don't keep their promises....and others, who live thousands of miles away, never forget her. I guess, all told, she's getting bigger - all the way around.

I noticed in this picture that my daughter looks a lot like me. I've never really thought this was true before now. And I am, also for the first time, acutely aware of how quickly time will fast forward until I revisit this shot and say, "Look how little she was then!"

None of this makes me sad, necessarily; though, I will admit to feeling a bit melancholy over imagining day-to-day life with me wherever and her someplace else. Yet, I'm also overjoyed at the gift of growing with Grace - seeing her re-examine that rainbow, for example, not as a little child, but as a budding scientist. Or watching tears fill her eyes when the treasured friends remember...even if others forget. Or learning from her determination to right the wrongs in her life, just because they're wrong.

In other words, someday she'll be a lady - tried and true. When that times comes, I'll recall this snapshot and remember that growing Grace ... like growing with God ... should mean that - one day - I'll want to look like her. With her character. Her gentleness, drive, and compassion. Her love of art and rainbows and friends galore. Just as with God, embracing growth is embracing change, becoming less like you and more like Him - in whatever ways He provides.

Could there be a greater privilege than to grow children for Him to be about Him...only to one day learn that it was, in fact, you who grew just as much as they? That, somehow, amidst the business of dinners and dance lessons, playdates and piano, cleaning and caravanning, we catch sight of God in a big way - and we're left marveling at how ever-present He really is.

Perhaps that is the greatest gift of growing with Grace.

Ahoy, Pirate's Cove!

Yesterday was a great day. Some time ago, I caught sight of a friend's posting on Facebook about a trip to Pirate's Cove in Littleton, CO. Just a (relatively) short 1-hour drive, I thought this would be a great option for our staycation. As I started the planning process, I began to think it would also be a fun way to spend quality time with our dear family friends, The Zitzmanns. Steve and Michelle are a treasured couple, and 3 of their 5 kids are the same as ours. We have similar approaches to marriage, parenting, budgeting, and...well...plain old having fun. This, I guarantee, is the recipe for a successful family day out.




So, off we went. We scooped up a shady table right in front of the "Lagoon" action.












It wasn't long, though, before we heard the call of the Lazy River. (This lady thought it would be funny to wave as I took the picture.)
Judsen, in particular, heard it bellowing - my shins are burned from spending so much time with legs thrown over an inner-tube floating along with him on my lap. Of course, Daddy had to take a turn as well.

Grace took a shot at the slides: Daddy rode down, too. For whatever reason, it fascinated Grace that Daddy went under the water and she did not. She was quite brave, regardless.

One of the kids' favorites was the giant bucket sitting atop the Lagoon jungle. In consecutive 8-minute cycles, it fills with water until a weight rings the alarm bell. Without fail, kiddos race from all around the park to gather in a clump beneath the bucket. As it slowly tips downward, the chorus of gleeful screaming peak when the tidal wave crashes upon their heads.


All in all, it was a great time spent making memories with friends and family: one of our favorite combinations.

On the way home, we stopped for dinner at Applebee's where the kids dined on free coupons earned from their summer reading program. All in all, a family day trip for less than $100 is just one more way of saying, "Ahhh....I LOVE staycation!"

The Skinny on the Sweet

I like my blog to be as practical as it is, well, not practical. To that end, I'll write about books or music or movies - and now I'm adding recipes. Why? Well, I'm glad you asked because it's a funny story, really.

I was chatting with one of my sisters-in-law this week (yes, the plural is on sisters...not law. Many sisters. Just one law. Free grammar rule) about matters of childbearing. At one point, I commented that two words I'd just uttered would never have been strung together in my sentences of forgotten youth for, as surely as day meets night, my late teens and early 20s would've upchucked at the sound of such foul, dude. So, I wondered aloud to her, what happened? How did my life get here...using &*(^ and *($#)%* side by side?

Then I thought, "Isn't that a good thing?" Why do we try to hang on to what we once were in lieu of basking in the here and now of what we are? I worked hard to become a wife, a mother, a professor, a writer, a servant, and so on. Yet, it seems that, when we're young, we pursue aging with this restless verve...only to find we pass some invisible point of strain and turn back to manically go where we just left. Ugh. To borrow from Ecclesiastes, what reckless folly!

So, I thought, what's my life like? Well, it's school supply shopping and potty training. It's deadlines and dental appointments. It's haircuts and laundry, coffee and friends, dinners and dates. It's rewarding. And fulfilling. And I like it! Now, if I just didn't need to cook anything...but, alas, no life I know is quite that sweet. Speaking of sweet....this one's for you, Jill - sorry I haven't gotten it to you sooner.

Here's a can't-miss, tried-and-true recipe for sweet tea. If you've been to my house, you've had it. And if you haven't? Well, for heaven's sake, give me a call: we've got to get you on the calendar!

Southern Sweet Tea

3 c. boiling water
2/3-3/4 c sugar (to taste preference)
2 family size tea bags of Luzianne tea (yes, it HAS to be Luzianne)
5 c. ice cold water

Boil the water: make sure it's cold from the tap or frig BEFORE you boil it. When it's roiling, pour 3 cups over the two tea bags. Let steep until the water's turned quite dark but DON'T let the water cool. Meanwhile, pour sugar into a pitcher. Drain the tea bags into the water and discard. Pour still warm tea water over the sugar in pitcher. Let rest for a minute and then stir briskly until all sugar is dissolved. Immediately pour 5 c. ice cold water into the pitcher and stir vigorously to mix.

A Friendly Reminder

Friendship is hard. Not a new revelation, no. But true, nevertheless.

There's lots of friends, too. There's the central few (I refer to them as "my core") with whom you journey through life long and hard. There's the "second stringers" with whom you occasionally connect but always value because, well, they're just marvelous and there's nothing we can do about only having 24 hours in any given day. There's also the fringe friends: you may laugh over a margarita now and then or say howdy on a girls night out or run into each other at the gym every other month.

Whatever the friend, this much is true: celebrating them and all the glory of relationship they bring rarely lets you down. Back in May, a group of us scheduled an evening of wine and fondue to mark the birthday of our beloved Bee. In this group, ages span 30 years. We all have different waist sizes and lengths of hair with varying skin tones, eye colors, and heights. One of us had just had a baby - her 5th child and 4th son (Go Zee!) - and no one in this picture has been married less than 10 years. Yet, in the end, we shared far more of the same than the different because love was shared by all; smiles were the the order of the evening; and a great memory was made - one where each of our faces became imprinted in the heart of the other.

Friendship is hard. Not a new revelation, no. But true, nevertheless. And there's lots of kinds of friendship. But friendship like this is the best. It's sharing of the same. Doing of the like. And loving with your best.

Just a friendly reminder.

Freedom

I live in the best country in the world.
I don't think others are less. I don't think others are better.
I don't think mine's perfect, and I'm pretty their's isn't, either.

In fact, we've got a lot in common with the countries of the globe, near and far.
We've got weather and currency.
We're burdened with crime and debt and, yes, we try to keep our crazy citizens as much at bay as the Brits or Belgians or Botswanans.
We've fought in wars and shot for the stars.
We even named a dream after ourselves.
Yes, we've tasted success.
And we've also suffered regret.

But America, to me, is the best country in the world because we've got this flag


that warns "Don't tread on me". These stars and stripes woven in the mere threads of a machine but preserved by the beloved blood of our warriors, stand for what sets us apart...the idea that no other country conceives or lives as ours does - freedom.

It is an adage often relegated to the shelf of colloquially cute that informs, "Freedom don't come free." But, as did many of yours, my grandfather, father, father-in-law, and husband fought for that freedom - our freedom...and that cost them greatly. These days, we celebrate the 4th of July as our Independence Day. We mark it with all-American fare like burgers and dogs and a cold one on a deck overlooking the view from the backyard. And we eat and drink and look at whatever we want, saying whatever comes to mind, without license or censure or fear of retaliation.

Now that's freedom.

So we fire off lights in the sky to recall the bombs and the bullets and the boasting of victories that brought our freedom 'round.



We "ooh" and "aah" and cuddle up beneath the starry sky and walk as living proof that, come what may, our flag still stands whether it's a dessert (like the one above) or an homage to the father, husband, brother, wife, mother, or sister fighting far away.

Thank you, God, for our country.

Thank you for our soldiers who defend it.

Thank you for our freedom.

It's a pretty darn good thing.

New Fave Find: Winifred Gallagher

The perpetually whimsical but unfailingly sharp-minded and astute Ms. Winfred is my new fave writer find. She's hasn't written more books than years I've been alive, no. But, yes, she has superbly composed a relatively small - but exceptionally well-conceived and researched - collection. And she's no novice at rhetoric: before writing books for Harper Collins, she wrote for The New York Times, Rolling Stone, and Atlantic Monthly focusing primarily on large-interest features. Now, if that means nothing to you, read on anyway, 'cuz all that's just another way of saying, "This gal's good."

Why do I think she's so good? In a book-flap tease: The topics about which she writes are the same areas I find my daily brain drifting always asking the same questions of "Why DO we do that?" and "Why DOES that matter to me, anyway?!"

Here's a list of my faves:

The Power of Place: How Our Surrounding Shape Our Thoughts, Emotions, and Actions

Just the Way You Are: How Heredity and Experience Create the Individual

It's In the Bag: What Purses Reveal - and Conceal

House Thinking: A Room-by-Room Look at How We Live

Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life

I started with Rapt simply because it was the gem I found first. In its pages, I discovered my frustration about all the "stuff" I forget has nothing to do with absent-mindedness or brain-power deficit nor could it be repaired with more attentive listening or a healthy dose of Gingko Biloba. Rather, I realized I was forgetting what simply never mattered enough to me in the first place. Now that's great to hear in matters of door-to-door solicitors or annoying remarks in the supermarket line. Not so much with pointless but nevertheless endearing anecdotes from my children or an early-morning request for ironing from my husband. Yeah. That was one of those equally punch-in-the-gut, prick-in-the-heart moments.

But I learned from reading that. I'm changing because of it.

And the purse one? Well, listen. Who knew a sociological explanation of the purse could be so enthralling? I learned mounds about my friend, Bee, for one thing. And found that my preference for messenger style satchels of yarns and earthy cottons slung over the shoulder really might say something about me...just as Bee's penchant for oversized, glossy, brightly-colored and embellished leathers say something about her.

And just when you think you know a girl...

Anyhow, that's what Ms. Winifred writes about. She starts with a question that poked at her in some way...such as "Why did you paint your wall that color?" and "How can you possibly be so smart and so dumb at the same time?"...and finishes with a pretty-darn good telling of the possibilities.

Not too bad for a mother of five, wife of one, and friend to good ideas aplenty.

Why not check her out? (Oh yeah, did I mention I found her at the library?)

Twitter Wit

Listen, I didn't dream it up: it's what they named the book. I found this little gem during a recent trip to the public library. In case I was boring you to death last time we talked, I might mention this is one of my favorite "me dates." When I need an hour or two - just a smidge of a sanity window - I run away to my closest library branch and wheedle away the time hunting the stacks for that gem of a find...such as this one.
Now, I don't tweet but, then again, I don't have to in order to know that tweeting is to Twitter what status updates are to Facebook. Let me also say that I - who only turns on my cell during school hours and has never even sent a text - have no interest whatsoever in permanently residing in this porthole of a world spent documenting my every whisper of thought.

But visiting is nice.
Visiting is fun.
And, in this case, visiting left me laughing so hard my sides actually hurt the next day.

This is an authorized collection of "some of the funniest tweets of all time." But, as its editor hurriedly points out, tweets are about far more than humor. If sarcasm is the grumpy man's wit, then Twitter is the postmodern, culture-saavy, uncensored, and sometimes all-out raw man's wit...conveyed in 140 characters or less! Some have elusive references; others are so accessible as to be boring. Lots and lots are crass (my faves, I gotta' tell 'ya), and just as many are...well...let's say more-than-crass.

But they're all worth noting because they're real: they came from real people noting real, albeit often unusual, quirks of everyday human life. It's a time capsule imprinted forever on the Internet mainframe, really.

Now that, people, is a social experiment worth glimpsing.

Here's a sampling for your reading pleasure (Warning: adult content to follow. Wink)

I stood there wondering, "Why is that Frisbee getting bigger?" Then it hit me. Notactually me.

He said, "Over my dead body!" and I guess I see now that it wasn't polite to ask if I could pencil that in." msteciuk

Even with a cup full of change, the hobo wouldn't front me $.50 to add vanilla to my latte. Hope the bastard has fun finding his cart. buttahface

PSA: "Instant coffee" isn't either. johntunger

A friend msgd me a picture, "africankids.jpg" when I closed the msg, it said: "africankids not saved. Save now?" I have God's cell phone. eersatzmoe

"You will not sucks forever." Thanks, fortune cookie. pheend

Two people are arguing just outside as to the definition of a "glancing blow." Do I really have to do everything? Here. Let me demonstrate. trelvix

Lady. Say "You're welcome a lot" in response to my "thanks a lot" one more time, and we're gonna be in the newspaper tomorrow. beep

I just got a new high score at Dishwasher Tetris! d_g_

I will follow you into the sunset, in hopes you catch on fire and I get to watch. drunkstepfather

My tits look awesome when I pick them up off the floor and put them in a bra. fourformom

I wish someone would invent a smell-yourself device. That's all. AprilSTL

The DVD of my life will include a four-hour montage of me trying to open packs of gum. Rayke

That's ok. I've been meaning to clean that table with a full glass of water for a while. ledge

London city airport. Where form meets function. AND THEY HAVE A FIGHT. stephenfry

The Mom Cycle

Life is about cycles. We start as children not caring too much about being the World Heavyweight Champions of...well...anything but fun - only to later headline the bouts between peer pressure and peer reviews; college or trade; major or minor; marriage or not; kids or none; mortgage or rent; drive or bike; travel or work; win or die trying. Inevitably, we're just dukin' it out until retirement when we can bask in the glows of grandchildren, travel, sippin' tea on porches, and crossing off our life-massed bucket list. By then, of course, we're back where we started: not caring too much about being the World Heavyweight Champions of...well...anything but fun.
Cycles.
And not all bad ones, at that.

Take Mother's Day, for example. Here's a date circled in red on every American calendar whose sole purpose is to make a proclamation - give a shout out, really - to any gal, brod, grand dame, and lady great out there who gives a lot of somethin' we call motherly love. There was a time, of course, when I didn't fall into that category, was in no minivan, playdate, or iphone a mother. I didn't care about library storytimes or how to best fanagle a day-of pediatrician's appointment and, quite frankly, had even less interest in figuring it out. In short? It didn't apply. Then a funny thing happened on the way to my 25th birthday: I became a mother. And you know what? Minivans, playdates, storytimes, and doctor's appointments still didn't matter much. But ten fingers and ten toes and a giggle that sets the heart a ticklin' - these became my top priority.

I don't try to comprehend the ways and means of the magnetic forces drawing me unto them daily (now three in all, thank you Lord!) I'm content to float happily along relishing them in good and tough, laugh and cry, fight and peace...just like mothers before me. For that, too, is a cycle...the realization that, when our mothers exclaimed, "Someday you'll have your own children and..." perhaps an insouciant shrug wasn't the wisest form of first response because here we are, hands in air, wondering, "What the *#$%@ is happening right now?"

Yes, Mother's Day is a cycle. But it's a great one filled with wisdom from the past for the present and coated with the reassurant love that, no, peanut butter sandwiches without the jelly won't ruin them for life, all things considered, because you're still counting the toes and the fingers and getting a good tickle from the giggle.

And, someday, they'll do the same for
their own children.

I Fell Off the Blog

Something happened on the way to June. Well, and July. Life got busy - as it always does in May - and then I got tired. As I always do in May. When these conditions exist to this degree simultaneously, a curious phenomenon occurs: they collide like a supernova to create a version of me usually more fiction than fact, a bit of an avatar come to dwell in the real world. This pseudo-me is weary and introspective (even more than usual), and I find that writing "out loud" even loses its appeal.

Now, make no mistake - I've still been writing. But writing as I believe we all do before any text arrives to print. I'm writing in my head. My imagination. Sometimes laughing out loud or crying in the quiet while I take it all in, chew it all up, and figure out the best from the better while spitting out the bad. For me, writing is organic like this: it's why I think so many pop culture authors compose essentially one great book and then commercialize themselves for the 18 that follow. You've got to let it breathe. Just open the cork and let it sit. You'll know when it's time to take a sip because you'll finally have something you want to say.

So I fell off the blog, but now I'm back on. And you'll find a bit of back, I'm afraid, as I document the better - after all, it IS the better. And, you know, it's rather good to take a sip...it tastes better after the wait.