soul food: finding the faith

With very little exception, Charlie and I have been going to church every weekend.

Now, I feel it's important to note that we're still not at the point of believing everything that we read in the Bible. Nor do I think we ever will be. And the next time gay marriage turns up on the ballot, so help me, I WILL vote the exact same way. And depending upon where we live, we might stick another sign up in our yard.

But it is my belief that even if my actions are wrong (which I fully believe they are NOT), God will love me, anyway.

So that being said, I'm really going to try and make a (better) concerted effort at writing down some of the services that we've been attending (under the Soul Food label) - because I've got a stack of around 30 sermons that I want to share and I'm starting to run out of space in my organizer.

Besides, I've found that writing down my notes from the service, really helps to make the point stick.

As I may have mentioned before, one of the things that I really appreciate about "our church" is that they will do series for a particular topic. Right now, the series is on "Dangerous Church: What Could and Should Be." The premise here, is that our church is DANGEROUS. What does that mean, you ask?

Well...

A Dangerous Church Believes:

1. Ordinary people want to find God.

2. God loves everyone and wants to be found.

The Council at Jerusalem: Some men came down from Judea to Antioch and were teaching the brothers, "Unless you are circumcised, according to the custom taught by Moses, you cannot be saved."

The passage goes on to say that Paul and Barnabas (not sure who he is, I'm still new to this) had a dispute with the concept that you had to be circumcised to become a Christian and went to Jerusalem to see what the apostles and elders would say about the question. When they arrived, they were welcomed and reported everything God had done, through them.

Then some of the believers who belonged to the party of the Pharisees stood up and said, "The Gentiles must be circumcised and required to obey the law of Moses." The apostles and elders met to consider this question. After much discussion, Peter got up and addressed them: "Brothers, you know that some time ago God made a choice among you that the Gentiles might hear from my lips the message of the gospel and believe. God, who knows the heart, showed that he accepted them by giving the Holy Spirit to them, just as he did to us. He made no distinction between us and them, for he purified their hearts by faith." Acts 15:1-9

OK. So what this story goes to show is that the Gentiles - (who I learned aren't Jewish - see I told you I had a lot to learn) had to become Jewish BEFORE they could become Christian.

Great News! You can be a Christian!

(But, first there's going to be a little operation.)

THIS is an obstacle. You cannot get to God without going through this door.

(Ding Dong! Snip. Snip.)

If you are laying rules and regulations on people, you are testing God.

I loved the analogy that our pastor gave of a ladder.

Imagine taking out the first five steps on a seven step ladder so that the only steps that remain are the two at the top. And let's just imagine that God is at the very top of the ladder. How are people on the ground - supposed to get to the top - if the first five steps are missing?

The theory is that rules and regulations were put in place, by man, to keep people from growing closer to God. Because if everyone is able to climb up that ladder, than everyone gets closer to God, and well - suddenly you've got overcrowding.

Who wants to stand on a step (or go to a church) with 5,000,000,000 other people?

Definitely not me.

(No seriously. I don't like crowds.)

3. A church's #1 purpose should be to remove obstacles that keep ordinary people from God.

A church should definitely not make it difficult for ordinary people to connect with God and form a relationship.

Now then, why do you try to test God by putting on the necks of the disciples a yoke that neither we nor our fathers have been able to bear? No! We believe it is through the grace of our Lord that we are saved, just as they are." Acts 15:10-11

It is my judgment, therefore, that we should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God. Acts 15:19

The men were sent off and went down to Antioch, where they gathered the church together and delivered the letter. The people read it and were glad for its encouraging message. Acts 15:30-31.

(Especially the MEN who heard, you don't have to that little operation to join the club. Yippee! The skin stays! HALLELUJAH!)

4. Every follower of Jesus is on Assignment.

OK. Hold the criticism, but I - personally - have a very difficult time whenever people talk about following Jesus. While I totally agree with the principle, the words themselves always make me uncomfortable. When I lived in South Carolina, I was asked weekly, if I had been saved and accepted Jesus as my Savior. (Always dreaded that question. Always saw it coming.)

Why is it that I can talk about God all day, but I get so skittish about Jesus? Why does his name have such a fanatical stigma? It wasn't very long ago, one of my co-workers and I were talking about religion and when I asked if she was Christian, with a straight face she said, "No. I'm Catholic."

Wha?

Did I miss something in Sunday School?

(Or maybe she did??)

Our minister said - and I fully believe - that it's because so many churches bring in weirdness that most people stay away.

Quick show of hands for anyone who has been to a church where the minister directs the congregation to turn to a passage in the Bible - and everyone, except you - seems to know exactly what to do?

Instead of feeling like you are connecting with God, you feel totally unworthy, like an outsider - looking in on people who are a deep and spiritually mature group and in order for you to belong, YOU HAVE A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO DO.

(You HEATHEN!! What are you doing here in the Holy House of God?!)

I'll raise my hand. BOTH hands in fact.

Our minister further gave an example that when he was young, he was exploring different churches in his area. He went to one particular church where he had to write down his name in a guest book when he entered.

Much to his absolute HORROR, midway through the sermon, the minister had the guest book brought up to the pulpit and he read aloud our minister's name. He asked him to stand, tell the church what brought him there that that day, how long he had been a Christian, whether or not he tithed and his stance on sexual purity, and a host of other questions that made him feel like RUNNING out of the church as fast as he could.

(Nothing like being put on the spot to make you never want to come back ever, ever again.)

While we're on the topic...

Although I'm a little embarrassed to admit this in front of my very large and very devout Catholic family, especially since I went to Catholic school for three years and was baptized Catholic and received my First Holy Communion, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing whenever I go to a Mass and I can barely get by just watching the rest of the congregation.

I'm so distracted with sitting and standing and kneeling and "Also with you(s)" that I totally lose track of what's going on. For those that don't know (and I'm sure my whole family knows by now), I got in to trouble because I received communion when I was in South Carolina last month during Uncle Bill's Mass. (Not REAL trouble, but knowledgeable others asked me WHAT WAS I DOING?)

You think I would have known better (having gone to Catholic school for three years and being baptized Catholic and receiving my First Holy Communion) but I didn't. So I did. Because the Spirit totally moved me. (In the complete wrong direction to the front of the line, apparently.)

By no means am I saying that the Catholic church is weird.

I just ... I just ... I just have no idea what I'm doing whenever I go.

Quick. Moving on.

Look! It's MIKE WAZOWSKI!!

THE POINT IS (to #4, above): Everyone is on a mission to take the focus off of us and help others find God. While keeping in mind that every church - home - business has a culture. You need to find a church that fits YOU.

So, where is there a culture that best fits you?

It's important to keep in mind that your assignment is not to try and change the church that you attend, but rather - find a church where you best FIT.

More than 80% of people in the United States were not in church this past weekend. Because, at least 80% of the people in this country do not believe that church can help them and it would just be a waste of time. Also, who wants to go to a church that tells you what you need to CHANGE about yourself before you can belong?

Definitely not me.

(No seriously. I sometimes don't respond well to criticism. Just ask my mother. Or husband. Or sisters.)

(It's important to point out here, that after one lap around the park, Carolyn decided that she needed her training wheels back ON.)

A lot of churches are like a ladder that are far too good at removing the rungs that will get you to the top - and ultimately, closer to God. But, if you can find a church that makes the connections easier - people will feel like they can connect and WANT to connect and the next thing you know, they BELONG.

Does this sound like a commercial?

Well it kind of is.

After almost five years of attending this particular church pretty religiously (pardon the pun), we still haven't joined.

HOWEVER, this church has been so amazing for us, our family, our marriage, our little Henry who wouldn't even EXIST if not for a particular sermon, our lives in general (TRUST ME, I'd be a lot worse off if not for the church) - and we've had such an incredible time splashing around the shallow end of Christianity, we are fully anticipating that very soon, we'll be taking the plunge in to the deep end.

For us, that's very BIG news.

But much like my daughter, I'm not sure that I have the faith to just GO FOR IT, because I'm afraid I'll wobble and look silly and ultimately, crash HARD. And then, people who are so much more experienced than me, will feel compelled to tell me that I'm doing it ALL WRONG, instead of just giving me a high five and saying, "WAY TO GO!! STICK WITH IT!!"

See ... the fact is, I am getting closer and feeling a lot more comfortable.

Because every time I go to church, I feel like I am riding on a cloud with the most awesome Superhero running beside me.

namaste

Much like clouds turn black and winds start whipping up dirt and debris before a big storm hits, so it is with me and my emotions. But once that storm passes through and the torrential downpour washes away all the dust, the landscape is clean and refreshed.

I'm not at all proud to admit ~ although I am extremely thankful ~ that my husband can see the storm brewing within me before it hits, and he has become exceptionally good at ducking for cover. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)

When Charlie is having a tough time, he takes off for an afternoon bike ride and returns a new man. But that doesn't work for me. I can feel it building, building until my head explodes. The problem is that for the past several weeks, I've been having explosions, a lot.

Until - we went to Disney on our family vacation and we made a decision.

Finally, we had a plan and it was such a relief.

But just as we were starting to get excited about it, our plan totally tanked. When I considered the real estate loss - and the depressed job market - and my current schedule of seeing the children only briefly before I left for work in the early morning and kissing their sleeping cheeks when I returned home late at the end of a long day ... I started flipping out. Repeatedly.

Now that I'm on the other side of my flip out, I can see that I was being terribly selfish. MY plans weren't working out. Obviously, I wasn't getting what I wanted, so damn it all to hell with a side of coleslaw.

And ... that's just about the time God decided to step in with a heavy-dose of perspective.

Because this afternoon, when I came home early from a meeting, I noticed that one of our sponsored children, through Compassion International, had sent us a letter. Little Elvis lives in the mountains of Peru. He is five-years-old and was writing to ask us for prayers because the swine flu is sweeping through his village.

While I know that people die from the flu every year, the H1N1 strain has me really concerned. More than 25 people have died from it in San Diego since June, including a five-year-old girl who died last month.

We'll be taking the children in to the pediatrician next week for their five-year checkup. I plan to have them all receive the H1N1 vaccination at the same time. We're very fortunate because that vaccination is available to us. But it dawned on me today that even if our children fall ill this year, we are incredibly blessed to have clean water, electricity, Puffs Plus with Lotion, Tylenol, Gatorade, Jell-O and an excellent children's hospital less than 30 minutes a way.

Our friend Elvis lives in a tiny shack with his parents. His father earns in a year what I earn in an hour. When our children are sick, I can put them in the car and take them to the hospital. If Elvis or someone in his family is sick, it might take them days to see a doctor. But the most sobering thing is that of the four children we have sponsored, Elvis is the most well off by a long shot. Our children in Africa, Bangladesh and India are even poorer.

They have dirt floors in their homes and tin roofs that leak.

Huh. What is it again that I'm so mad about?

I'm having a really tough time remembering...

Sometimes, I think that the best thing I could with my life is get rid of everything and go on a mission trip. What an awesome learning experience for our children about what the really important things are in life and yes, Anita, I very well could be bipolar.

(Goodbye! Goodbye! I'm traveling around the world to deliver rice to remote mountain villages accessible only by llamas**. I promise to write!!)

So many of us are shielded from the world when we sit in the comfort of our own homes with electricity at the flip of a switch and clean water at the turn of a knob. Instead of recognizing and reveling in how lucky we are, we bemoan our circumstances.

At least for me, it is so easy to get caught up in having the houses - and cars - and 401Ks with matching contributions - and fancy new digital cameras. Which surely, those things are important - but relatively speaking - they are definitely not critical for survival. Especially when you are reminded that there are millions of people in the world who have absolutely nothing. Except their faith. Which I could definitely use a bit more of these days.

After reading your insightful comments (and e-mails) on my last post, I'm less inclined to run off and see a therapist, and more inclined to send each and every one of you a co-pay along with my most sincere thanks.

Truly, this blog is better than therapy.

If anyone is interested in learning more about Compassion International, I have added a widget to the top left corner of my blog. I have found it to be a wonderful organization that I would highly recommend.

Our children adore the new friends that they have made and I really appreciate that they are having such great exposure to cultures different than their own, while picking up an excellent lesson in caring for others.

*****

EDIT: ** If you see that I spelled something totally wrong, please speak up!

Llama is two "L"s not an "I" and an "L". I'm not sure why I thought it was pronounced Ill-lama ... and not L-lama but when I'm writing a post at midnight, sometimes I don't pay very close attention to spell check. So when my husband points out the error, my husband who once spelled his own daughter's name wrong ("What you mean there's a Z in Elizabeth? I thought for sure it was an S!"), it feels like I've been walking around a cocktail party without realizing that the back of my dress was tucked in to my pantyhose.

I actually witnessed something similar to that once. I was at a concert and the poor woman had seats on the VERY front row. Just before the curtain came up and the lights were dimmed, she walked from the back of the PACKED hall to the very front, with her dress snuggly tucked in to the back of her hose. She was flocked by a group of women just before she sat down - and her reaction was awesome. Instead of passing out from embarrassment, she gave the audience a smile and a curtsy and then pulled the dress out before briskly walking back to the restroom.

Now, if that ever happens to you - you'll know what to do. Or you could just check your dress before you leave the bathroom. Or ... in my case, pay better attention to spell check.

(Smile. Curtsy. Dash back to the "edit post" button.)

divert your eyes

Do you want to know what I think?

I think that divorce is one of the worst things that can happen to a family. It's difficult for me to share that, because I know how much it pains my mother that she and my father divorced. And while I undoubtedly believe that my mom did the right thing leaving my dad when she did - all these years later - I've got some scar tissue that is terribly ugly.

There are five girls in my family. Of my four sisters, three of them have divorced. One of them twice. I also have two brothers. One of my brothers is married. My other brother, who is closest in age to me (and whose birthday is this weekend), has been with the same woman for almost 30 years. They have three children together. A set of twins that are nine months younger than our triplets and a little boy, who is five weeks older than Henry.

As much as my brother and this woman love each other, my brother will not marry her. I have no doubt that they'll spend the rest of their lives together, but he sees absolutely no value in the union of marriage. You can't change his mind, so don't even try. And whatever you do, don't put his decision or his family down, at least not in my presence. Because I think that out of the seven siblings, he has the best outlook on life and the happiest relationship of all.

As for me, I think that the year that my parent's divorced was the most tumultuous year of my entire life. That was the year that I was living in Massachusetts and my mother was living in South Carolina. Every weekday, I would jump on a bus after school and go to an after school program. When I think back to it now, it was really an awesome arrangement. There were arts and crafts and sports and games. But when I was a child, I didn't appreciate it.

All I wanted was to go home and play at our house, like all my friends did. But since no one was home and I was only nine, that wasn't an option. When my father would pick me up, we would drive home and have dinner. Then we'd watch a little television and I'd eventually make my way to bed after watching my father do the books for his drugstore.

Even though I had two older sisters and an older brother living there with me, and people were always coming and going, it felt lonely in that big house. And I was totally out of place.

One afternoon, instead of going to the after school program, I went home with my friend, Julie. She lived just down the road from us and we rode the bus together every morning. But on this one particular day - her mother came and picked us up from school. I remember her mom drove an AMC Pacer with faux wooden siding, which at the time, was the coolest car on the road.

(Or so I thought.)

(Clearly I was mistaken.)

We went back to Julie's house and while her older sister, Laura, showed us how to fold a dollar bill in to the shape of an accordion and letter M (a trick that I can still do to this day), their mom baked cookies. I can remember, so clearly, that the four of us were huddled in the kitchen on that cold afternoon, while trees blew outside and scratched against the windows of the house.

Soon, the girls father came home and after greeting his family and kissing his wife, he retired in to the family room to light a fire and catch the evening news. It was a warm and comfortable environment and I felt totally at peace. And also, a little envious that I wasn't a part of this intact family.

When my mother came to visit a few weeks later, I introduced her to my friend Julie and her family. When Julie and I were off playing, Julie's mom confided to my mom that it was her opinion, I was a very sad little girl and I really needed my mother.

How astute.

It's funny how something someone said 30 years ago, can stick with you. I've been thinking about Julie's mom a lot during these past few months. Mostly, I've been thinking that she was totally right in her impression of me. I've always had this 'vision' of what a family should be. And since I sadly didn't obtain that 'vision' when I was a child, it was my driving force in to adulthood. Without even realizing it, I developed a plan.

First, there was finding the right husband. A good man. A kind and gentle and intelligent man that knew how to laugh and would make a wonderful father. Second, we would build a home. A warm, inviting home with good lighting and comfortable seating and lots of live plants. Third, there were the children that we would welcome in to our world. God willing, there would be a lot of children, born to me when I was young. Ideally, I would be twenty five years old, plus or minus two years.

But when that third part didn't happen, it rocked me to my core. I looked around and everywhere, people were having babies. Neighbors, siblings, friends, cousins. They were popping them out like candy. And once again, I felt so envious, desperately wanting something that I couldn't have, despite my best efforts. And while it's difficult to admit this, I think it's important to note that the challenges we faced with trying to start a family didn't just put a little stress on our marriage, it almost destroyed it.

Because I was almost destroyed.

The emotional roller coaster of fertility treatments and the mental anguish when cycle after cycle (after cycle after cycle) didn't work were bad enough. But add to that the financial desperation that came with shelling out thousands upon thousands of dollars. We had the perfect recipe for marital disaster. With a side of hurt and resentment.

But then, finally, our long awaited babies arrived and everything we had gone through to get them, was washed away. That time following their birth was the most terrifying and glorious and surreal period of my life. For the first time, I wasn't on the outside looking in on something that I wanted. My dream was being realized.

Until. It was time to go back to work full time. And since then, things have started to go topsy turvy in my world. There is no balance and everything's flying out of control.

If I can be honest (and I can because this is my blog), things aren't so good right now. Just a few days ago - they were good. But then we heard from the Realtor who told us that moving at this juncture, was a very bad idea and the best bet is to stay put until the market recovers. And then Charlie heard from a company (or two) that employment opportunities which were open are now filled. By people who actually live there.

So now I'm mad that I only intended to stay in California for six months and 19 years later, I am still here. I'm mad that our house has lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in equity in 33 short months and we've paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in principal over the past 12 years. I'm mad that when the two of us were younger, we weren't more disciplined and instead of funneling money in to our mortgage, we funneled money in to three brand new cars.

(stupid) (stupid) (stupid!!)

I'm mad that Kindergarten is just around the corner and I have no idea where we'll be nine months from now. I'm mad that we don't have a concrete plan in place and WHY don't we have a concrete plan in place? I'm mad that I feel like the decision about what to do is on my shoulders. I'm mad that it I quit my job tomorrow, and Charlie started a job tomorrow, it would take him a few years to reach the level where I am right now. I'm mad that I'm at this level and he's not, given that he is smarter than me.

I'm mad that I might have to work forever. I'm mad that my employer forced me to return to work full-time. (I'm actually really mad about that.) I'm mad that my job has such outstanding benefits, it's very difficult to give up. I'm mad that I feel stuck. I'm mad that from this perspective, I don't see that I'll ever be able to stay home and bake cookies with my daughters on cold afternoons and show them how to make birds and the letter "M" out of dollar bills. I'm mad about what I'm missing and what I will miss if this keeps up. I'm mad that I'm not doing anything - fast enough - to fix this. I'm mad that I am immature and unable to adapt to my current life conditions.

I'm mad that I haven't picked up my camera in days. I'm mad that I'm missing out on moments with the kids. I'm mad that although I'd like to be home, I'd probably go crazy in a single afternoon and my eerily patient husband is undoubtedly the better candidate to be with the children all day. I'm mad that Charlie is such a good man and why would I ever be mad at him? I'm mad that I'm not more like him. I'm mad that my childhood wasn't perfect. I'm mad that I'm so far away and my parents are growing older and I might never be close enough to just drop in with them for an afternoon visit. I'm mad that because of the divorce, I've missed out on so much time with my parents. I'm mad that my parents aren't getting a better chance to know my children. I'm mad that I can't quit my bitching and be graciously content and abundantly thankful for what I have. Right Here. Right Now.

I'm mad that we only get one chance at life.

I'm mad that I'm mad and I can't stop being mad.

(Check it out. This is what I totally look like.)

But mostly, I'm scared.

I'm scared that my unannounced emotional eruptions are seriously harming our marriage. I'm scared that Charlie, is sick of me being an absolute pain in the ass and is starting to tune me out, completely. Because I am being an absolute pain in the ass. But he is, too. (Although I'm not really sure of that.) (It's quite possibly all me.) I'm scared that moments after leaving the tranquil environment of church, I can't even talk about 'these issues' with out getting upset. I'm scared that divorce happens every where - all the time - especially in my family and I don't want it to happen to us. I'm scared at what this stress is doing to me - to him - and to our precious children and at this point, I honestly don't know what to do.

I'm guessing a therapist is in order.

And some heavy-duty doses of Prozac.

what's in you wednesday

We've got about a three hour deficit in time everyday.

What that means is that since the triplets no longer nap during the day, we no longer have any down time during daylight hours. The kids typically wake up around 6:00 every morning and go to sleep at 7:30 or 8:00 every night. And if there is one thing I have learned during parenthood, it's that when your children are conscious - you need to be conscious, too.

Fully conscious of them - where they are - what they are doing - and whether or not your camera is located out of reach. Otherwise, you will be forced to look through hundreds of pictures of them taking photos of each other, their stuffed animals and MIKE WAZOWSKI!

Assuming 24 hours in a day - since the children are usually awake for 14 hours a day, we have approximately 10 hours of "free time" when children are otherwise constructively occupied (aka: sleeping). Considering we are supposed to be getting somewhere between 7 or 8 hours of sleep ourselves, that leaves approximately two to three hours a day for personal time and/or couple time.

Most days we spend at least an hour, at night once the kids are in bed, cleaning up the unbelievable disaster that is created during the day and doing load after load (after load) of laundry. And still, we can't seem to get on top of it all until the weekend. (No, I don't want to hire a maid. I've already explored that option. I'd much prefer an elf. Preferably green.)

As anyone who knows me knows, I've been working like a mad woman for the past several weeks and while I keep thinking that I see the end in sight, it's just a mirage. That end-of-the-year budgeting and invoicing and field inspection visits that I need to conduct are keeping me busy day and night and hey, look at that, I just picked up an additional 16 projects two hours north.

The house is a wreck, the kids are growing like weeds, I feel like I'm missing a bulk of their life with all of my traveling and full days and quite frankly, this new work arrangement really SUCKS stinks. There. I finally said it. Out loud.

Today, I wanted to write that I've been exercising and eating well and getting ready for my 3-Day walk that is only two weeks away. I also wanted to write about our plans to quickly sell our house and move back to South Carolina by the end of the year. As in ... this year, within the next eight weeks. Because Charlie wants to go, life is short, I miss my mom, I miss the dogwoods and seasons, I will never have these days back again when the children are small and I don't want to live out my days wondering what could have been.

Hallelujah.

Amen.

I wanted to tell you that I have an insatiable desire to be home with our children and I am fully prepared to give up my hard-earned career to do so. I wanted to tell you that although there are a lot of highly educated women in the work force who are also mothers, and might disagree with me, I personally believe that there is something in the genetic makeup of a woman that undeniably pulls you to your children, once you have them.

I believe that as awesome of a job as my husband does raising our children when I'm off working, I want to do better. Because I want it to be me at home, not him. And, I believe that Charlie would be a much more devoted and engaged full-time employee than I could ever be, because he wouldn't be distracted with whether or not the girls brushed their hair and the boys are wearing clean socks when he is sitting in a meeting discussing a multi-million dollar groundwater remediation strategy.

I wanted to tell you that when I turned down a position recently, to manage the environmental program at one of the largest refineries in the country, I was subsequently offered a promotion and raise to take the job. But I still said no. I was so excited to announce that I would be resigning from my position as senior environmental engineer and accepting the role of full time stay at home mom, soccer and swim team practice chauffeur, arts and crafts mentor, peanut butter and jelly sandwich maker extraordinaire - effective December 1.

The fact that we made this decision has brought us such a tremendous amount of relief and satisfaction. In body, mind and soul. It just feels like the absolute right thing to do.

But alas, thus far, my husband has been unable to secure a job with benefits in the area where we want to live nor does it appear likely that he will, any time soon. Worse than that, we heard back from our Realtor yesterday who informed us that our house has decreased more than 50% in value since March of 2007. That hurts just a little too much, and as such, any plans that we had to move cross country to live near family have crashed and burned like ... well ... the equity in our home.

As a result: I'm not telling you any of those things that I really wanted to tell you. Instead, I'm telling you that I will be working like a madwoman in to the unforeseeable future because that is the financially responsible thing to do ... unless the real estate market miraculously recovers and instantly soars. Charlie will remain home with our children and in his spare time, do his absolute best to get his new company off the ground and in to the Fortune 500, hopefully before my head bursts in to flames and/or the children are scheduled to begin Kindergarten. Ideally, I'd like to be settled in to a new area by then. So that gives us approximately nine months.

I'm also telling you that today for lunch I ate leftover Halloween candy and I just polished off my second glass of wine. For the past month, I haven't done any exercise, have nursed no more than eight times and have packed on at least five pounds as a result of my inactivity, unlactivity and horrendous diet.

On the upside (oh yes, there IS an upside), we did gain an hour this past Sunday with the end of Day Light Savings time, so now we only have about a one hour time deficit each day. That extra hour has really helped, since at this very moment - there isn't one stitch of dirty clothing in the house. Every single shirt, pant and sock has been washed and put away. Moreover, we are healthy and happy and I fully believe that our plans will evolve as they are meant to evolve.

It is at times like these that it's good to remember: whenever God closes a door, someone throws a rock and smashes out a window.

Or something optimistic like that.

yay or nay?

I have so much to write about - but since I'm finishing up my second 12+ hour work day in a row, my much-needed mental purge isn't going to happen tonight. However, as I sat down to quickly check e-mail, I noticed that the company where I purchased our Halloween costumes last week, is now having a huge sale. Thankfully, only one of the costumes that I purchased at full price was marked down 80%.

Nonetheless, while I was scrolling through the multiple pages of costumes wondering if perhaps I should buy some new ones - at a significantly reduced rate - and hang on to them until next year (or later) when they fit the children, I happened to notice this extraordinary adult sized costume.

Since Charlie's birthday is next week, and our kids love, love, LOVE Buzz Lightyear, and love, love, LOVE their dad to the point that they dress up like him and walk like him and even smart talk me - like him ... maybe this would make a great gift for my husband. He could run around the house in his costume and jump on the couch with the kids.

Doesn't that sound like fun for a 42 43-year old man?

Shhh. Don't tell him.

tricks of the trick-or-treat trade

Five-year-olds understand Halloween.

They understand that they are supposed to dress up in costume and go door-to-door collecting their body weight in candy. They understand that people in the neighborhood are likely to grab their cameras and gush that they are the cutest things that they've ever seen!

Five-year-olds understand that the day after Halloween, along with Easter morning and Christmas morning, is the only time during the year that mom and dad will grant them free reign to eat candy before breakfast. And because of the large quantity of candy consumed today, five-year-olds are now fully expecting that early in the morning on November 2 - before they even wake up - the tooth fairy will confiscate whatever candy remains.

But since five-year-olds don't yet have a full grasp of social etiquette, these are just a few of the things I (repeatedly) reinforced with our children, last night.

When people open the door, you keep your feet planted on the doormat. You should festively say, "Trick-or-Treat!" and when the people hand you candy, you politely say, "Thank you!" and then, as you retreat down the steps you should tell them, "Happy Halloween!"

You don't knock on the door, ring the door bell, knock, knock, BANG BANG BANG, ring the door bell, RING RING RING. You certainly don't try to OPEN the door and just walk in.

When your candy host opens the door, you don't storm in to the house, like you own the place. And when they bend down to offer you a treat, you don't say things like, "YUCK! I don't like that!" or "Ewww. Do you have anything else?" Whatever you do, please don't stuff your hand in to the bowl and try to take out more than what has been offered.

Please don't ask if the home owner has a dog that you can pet. But if by some chance you see that they do, please don't try to pick it up. And if the home owner has a bird, it's best not to share your opinion on the feathered species. "ICK. We don't like birds! They make a mess and poop everywhere and they are too loud!" might cause an awkward moment and cause your mother to blurt out something like, "Hmm. I doubt birds are louder or messier than children. Maybe I should throw a drape over your bed at night?"

Remember. If you decide to enjoy a piece of candy while you are out, please don't flip your discarded trash in to someone's nicely manicured landscaping. ESPECIALLY when you are standing on their doorstep and they are LOOKING right at you. Because then your mother will make you spend the next five minutes hunting in a starlight lily for a used Tootsie Roll lollipop stick.

Last but not least, if you happen to notice an odor with which you are unfamiliar when you are standing at the threshold of someone's home ... please, please, please don't hold your nose and loudly declare, "Yikes. I don't like this place. It really STINKS!"

Because that will cause your mother to look around and say, "I just found these kids wandering down the street. Do you have any idea who they might belong to?"

halloween at the homestead

Today was all about carving pumpkins.

Since today was Saturday and we had nothing else to do - we started carving this morning at around 10 AM.

This was an ideal start time, since we usually don't start until late afternoon - and by then - it becomes a cram session to get the pumpkin fully carved and lit before dusk.

The advantage of starting early is that we had plenty of time to separate seeds from pumpkin guts and roast them up to enjoy, later in the day.

Although what I remembered today is that separating seeds is quite an effort. It took me almost two hours and mid-way through that, I determined it probably would be easier to separate hydrogen from oxygen in a glass of water.

I don't know why it is that our children will lay down in a mud puddle, but the thought of putting their hands inside of the pumpkin and scooping out the innards, gave them the heebie jeebies.

But after they tried it once, there was no stopping them.

"Oh, it's MUSHY! It feels like ... squishy wishy..."

BRAINS!

(I'd like to interject here that I truly hope our children never ever squeeze brains through their clenched fists.)

Charlie carved the big pumpkin.

And after he meticulously cut the eyes and nose and mouth with teeth...

The children came along and in the process of touching, touching, touching the pumpkin - they knocked out two of his (fragile) teeth.

Shortly thereafter, William was running carrying his small pumpkin from inside to outside and he tripped. The pumpkin flew out of his hands, sailed 10 feet through the air, and cracked in half upon impact. My son was devastated.

The Bad Cop told him that's what happens when he runs carries his small pumpkin from outside to inside, repeatedly. The Good Cop stepped forward and said, "It's OK son. I'll fix your pumpkin up good as new."

Guess which cop I am?

Time's up.

Charlie brought in his staple gun, stapled the smashed parts back on to the original - and then painted the whole thing black and blue.

Then it was time to get the children in to their costumes. Although I had written about my dreams for Halloween costumes several weeks ago, I had absolutely no intention that our children would heed my advice about what they should wear, tonight. But alas, once we bought the 70th Anniversary disk set of the Wizard of Oz, they fell hook line and sinker for my idea.

This is William crying because he can see white around his eyes and I didn't do a good enough job putting on silver makeup (which for those interested - was totally safe. I Googled every single ingredient before I put it on the kids and read the Material Safety Data Sheets for anything that I wasn't absolutely sure of. Yay Google! How did people survive without it?!)

Here's William less than an hour later crying because he doesn't want a painted face and he wants for me to take it off now, now, now, now, NOW!

I obliged. But first, he had to pose for a picture.

Or two.

Look - it's Dorothy and Toto (who is actually a tiger) and the Wicked Witch of the West and the Tin Man and ... and ... and ... Buzz Lightyear. Space Ranger.

Henry was supposed to be the scarecrow - and although I had a costume for him - it would have been easier to separate hydrogen from oxygen than get him in it.

Then we walked over to our neighbor's house to drop in for their son's birthday party. We could only stay for 15 minutes because we needed to head over to the annual chili cook off. We would only stay there for 15 minutes too, because we needed to be at our other neighbor's house to say hello and visit. We were only supposed to stay there for 15 minutes so we could go to church.

But we stayed for almost an hour.

So we missed church.

Before you know it, it was time to rush home and go trick or treating. And the kids haven't really had any dinner because duh! duh! DUH! why did I take the kids out at all when I should have kept them home and fed them a nice meal instead of running all over God's Creation to visit with people. Who we really enjoyed seeing but dang that I don't always take on more than I should.

Charlie took the kids trick-or-treating first.

They came home after 30 minutes out and told me that they were finished.

But another 10 minutes later, the girls were re-energized and ready to tour the neighborhood, again. So I took them out and for the next 60 minutes we had a blast.

Our girls are so cute. When we would walk up to a door, they would run to ring the doorbell. Once the person would open the door they'd say, "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!" and then, without fail, both girls would poke their head inside the people's door and ask, "What's that noise? Do you have a dog?" They were considerably more interested in the dogs that they might see, than they were any amount of candy they would receive.

Even though I was interjecting, "Oh no, please just say thank you and let's go!" My children have absolutely NO reservations. So there were at least 10 houses in our neighborhood where I got the full tour. It would start with the girls wanting to pet the dog. And since just about every house had a dog, and just about everyone said yes. The people would be gracious enough to invite my children inside and then, walk around showing them where they live. We saw that our neighbors had an assortment of dogs, cats, hamsters and birds. And our kids now want all of the above.

There were a few houses we visited that had young tenants. They would just open the door - toss the candy in the children's bags - and close the door before there was much conversation. But on more than one occasion, Elizabeth (aka; Dorothy) would stick her arm down to stop the door from being closed on her, and when the person would give her a startled look, she'd ask, "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY COSTUME? Did you look at it? Do you know who I am? Do you think I look beautiful?!"

This would always prompt a brief discussion, wherein my daughter would elaborate that she is Dorothy and then, she'd close her eyes and click her little heels together and chant, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home..."

Once we finally got back, and although the kids told me that they wanted to keep trick or treating because they weren't tired and they could stay up all night long, everyone was starting to show signs of fatigue. Carolyn put her head down and fell asleep in the middle of eating dinner and when I woke her up to put her in the tub, she looked at me and groggily said, "I'm Melting. MELTINNNGGG!"

Funny. After the crazed week I've had, including today when my children waked me up woke me up (that was an edit. I wrote this late last night and fell asleep before I could proofread it) this morning at 4:30 AM, because ... because ... Mom ... Mom ... Guess What? I have to tell you something ... Guess What ... Mom ... Mom ... OPEN YOUR EYES. Guess What? TODAY. IS. HALLOWEEN.

I'd have to say I feel the same exact way.