Grand Champion or Stuff On a Rock*

Rohini tagged me a couple of weeks ago. I finally got it done.

Height of cruelty - The weather these days. Whoever decided it would be good for homo sapiens to inhabit this latitude?

Height of reward - Today, Jude wrote his name ALL BY HIMSELF. Okay, so I verbally reminded him that there is a stem on the D. And I helped him with the U. But he did the J and the E on his own.

Height of challenge - Noah will not decide to potty train. I've been making him run around bum-naked for the last few days, which is about the only way he will make any effort to go to the toilet when he needs to relieve himself. Unless he's watching a movie, unfortunately. (Don't ask what the wet spot on the slip-cover is. You don't want to know.)

Height of vigilance - Between Noah and the dog, who has now decided that the basement is her own personal litter box, I have been at the height of vigilance for the last little while to make sure everyone toilets where they should.

Height of dieting - While I never used to pay much consideration to what I ate, as long as I managed to work in the four food groups, you are all aware that diet is no small matter in our house anymore. Due to how different it is from "common wisdom," it often makes me feel like somewhat of an outcast, except among the "converted" (said with tongue planted firmly in cheek).

Height of comparison - I am tired of how people compare their children to everyone else's--and don't mind telling you if your own are not measuring up to the developmental milestones that theirs are hitting. So, if you do that, stop it!

Height of rivalry - Just before bed tonight, Noah was on Jason's lap, and they were rough-housing. As soon as Noah got down, who was up there but Jude, asking to get the same treatment. My brother can't have fun that I don't get to have! This is a small snapshot, in a very small way, of what goes on all day in our house, 24/7.

Height of anger - A few weeks ago, I made a vegetable soup that had a fairly high concentration of beets in it. Due to colour, or texture, or whatever reason, Jude decided he didn't like it. So, he got to sit at the kitchen table until whatever amount Jason had decreed was consumed (I was teaching during supper that night.) When I came out of the office after 7, Jude was still sitting at the table. I heated my soup and ate it, and he was still at the table. A few minutes later, Jude runs into the kitchen to say he ate the rest of his soup. He was carrying the empty bowl in his hands, but I noticed there was some soup along the base of it--this immediately made me suspicious. Sure enough, he had dumped 1/4 bowl of beet soup on the light beige carpet under the dining room table!! I think you can guess who it was that hit the height of anger at that point. (Don't ask what that red stain is under the dining room table. You won't want to hear the rant that follows.)

Height of table manners - Jude looked at me with his mouth full of scrambled egg this morning, then opened wide for me to enjoy the view. Reminded me of a Calvin and Hobbes strip.

Height of choice - Usually, I do not have a problem making decisions. When ordering at a restaurant, I usually get the first thing that grabs my attention. When buying clothes, I pick out my top faves, then narrow it down by "least-fave" until the dollar sign is within my budget.

But when I am making up my monthly Scrap Club order, indecision strikes. Patterned paper or cardstock? Neutrals or brights? Pewter accents or brass? Grosgrain or organdy?

Not a pretty sight.

Height of choosiness - Last week Jabin loved his scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese. Today we were out of cheddar, so I put in slivers of cream cheese.

Apparently, this was not a good substitute.

Height of bossiness - When Noah is doing something that displeases Jude, (such as happily playing by himself and therefore ignoring his older sibling), Jude tends to lose any tentative grip he may have had on self-control. That's when I start hearing a lot of "NO! NOAH! GIVE ME THAT!!"

Height of provocation - Either that, or he will do anything he can to get attention from Noah--which usually results in Noah whining, which draws attention from me, too. Go figure.

Height of endorsement - "Mom, what you making?"

"Cream of Asparagus Soup." (I had never made it before.)

"Oh. I like that one!"

And he did.

Height of embarrassment - Seriously too tired to dig up anything like this from the depths right now. I tend to block off things that were that embarrassing to me, and they only come up when I am in a similar situation again. (If you want to know this, ask my dad. He could probably remember all kinds of stuff I find embarrassing. But he might not tell you.)

Height of irony - Well, I could point out again the number of junk food and candy machines in the doctor's offices and hospital waiting areas. Or the fact that we have lived here a year on the 22nd of December, and I finally know the phone number of the friendliest neighbours we have.

Height of starting early - I was going to start piano lessons with Jude on Monday, but I got the flu and barely made it through the two regularly scheduled students I did have to teach. However, I just got this new course for another little four-year-old guy that started, and it's awesome for pre-reading kids. I asked Jude if he wanted to take lessons, and he is really excited about it. So, hopefully, I'll get him on it tomorrow.

Height of daredevilry - Boys are always a surprise. And they are always trying things that make mother's hearts quake in fear. Not that I've become immune, but I'm having a hard time of thinking of a specific example right now. At least, nothing that wouldn't seem a lot lamer on the page than it was in real life.

Height of cleanliness - This is something I haven't seen since the birth of my first child. As much as I try to make sure the entire house and as much of the family as I am responsible for are as clean as possible all the time, there are certain times and things that I have to say, "That doesn't matter so much right now."

So, if you drop by unexpectedly (or even expectedly), I am going to assume you came to see me, not rate my housekeeping.

Height of grooming - Last week when I was babysitting the Burdick kids, all five of the older children (their three and my two older boys) spent a good twenty minutes doing their hair with water and brushes. Bailey's mohawk was my favourite.

Height of participation - I keep meaning to get a chore chart system for Jude set up, now that he's four, but it hasn't happened yet. Soon! I hope!

I tag Grafxgurl and Anne. When they are done galavanting to all the Asian countries in existence and cleaning up the mess in their basements, respectively, of course.

-------------------

*According to Canadian comedien Norm MacDonald, these are the two categories of results when you go cliff diving.

Frosty's Got Icicles on His Nose

It is cold.

Cold. Cold. Cold.

I don't remember the last time we had a November this cold. Two nights ago, it was -40C. Yesterday, it got to a balmy high of -28. Jason said he heard on the radio that we're pushing records for this time of year. I believe it.

It's cold like if you are outside for thirty seconds or so without a hat, your hair starts to feel all crinkly and frozen.

It's cold like if you are outside for a minute and a half without a scarf on your face, your skin starts to feel all tight and brittle, like a snowflake hitting it at full velocity might shatter it.

It's cold like if you are outside for more than five minutes, even in full winter garb, the jelly in your eyeballs starts to go hard.

And it's dry. Dry, dry, dry.

I can't drink enough water to quench my thirst, or put on enough lotion to keep my hands from getting cracked.

If it's like this in November, what will it be like in our two coldest months of the year, January and February? So anxious to find out!

Don't you all want to rush up here and experience a Canadian winter, now? ;-)

Jabin Happy Birthday Boy

I don't know what's with me lately. Too tired. Too much to do. Too little time to do it in.

Jabin's birthday was on Tuesday. I feel like I have totally not done him justice for it. I tried having a little casual-gathering cake-and-ice-cream event for him last Sunday, not realizing that I was competing with Grey Cup Sunday. Needless to say, that didn't work out. Tuesday was a write-off, with me and the kids being out all day shopping, visiting, etc., and I was so tired that night I didn't even have energy to blog about my littlest man.

So we finally had his party yesterday. The only ones there were his own brothers and parents. So sad that we couldn't even have any extended family here for his first birthday party--one more thing to brood about and add to my melancholy mood, I suppose. Anyway, so this is what we did:

1. We took the kids to the theatre for the first time and saw "Happy Feet." Totally cool movie. Loved. It.

happy feet


2. I went to the drug store to buy Jabin's present--a "Little People" train that makes noise. (I know. The grandparents weren't here, so I had to fill in for them.)

3. We got home, had leftovers for supper, and I threw his presents in a couple of gift bags with some tissue paper, knowing all along that the paper would hold the greatest attraction. (If I prepare myself for that ahead of time, it's easier to laugh about it later.)

4. While I was "wrapping" the gifts, Jason made the whipped cream for the traditional first-birthday chocolate cake I had made that morning.

5. I then went and got the camera, only to discover MY BATTERY WAS ALMOST DEAD!! How could I have forgotten to get a spare battery right before my son's birthday? His first birthday? This once-in-a-lifetime experience? I tried using the Kid Tough camera that my mom had gotten Jude for his birthday, but the photos kept disappearing into cyberspace whenever I tried to put them onto the computer, so as a result, I have a grand total of 5 photos for Jabin's birthday. I did get this pretty cute one of a messy-chocolate-faced boy, though.

Jabin seems to be jumping past some developmental milestones, lately. Did I mention he cut a molar a week ago? Top left. Now I can see one on the bottom right bulging. The front tooth next to it still hasn't cut through. Weirdest teething pattern I've ever seen.

Two weeks ago, Jabin couldn't sit up from a horizontal position. Two days ago, he took his first crawling steps. We have been able to watch the progress between those two points change almost daily. Also, I think I'm going to have to stop keeping magazines on the coffee table or at floor level for a while, because they are getting absolutely trashed as he exercises his new-found abilities.

He has imitated a few Baby Signs, but has not initiated any (except the universal wave for Hi and Bye.) He has copied "down," "all done," and "moon"--the last while we were reading "Goodnight Moon" together.

His two favourite games right now are "Peek-a-boo", which he plays with the blanket every time I lay him down to sleep, and "Pat-a-cake", which he loves to play at any time, but especially on his change table. It's so sweet to hear him say his little "bu" as he hides his face, then whips the blanket off, and to see him clap his hands in expectation of me chiming in with the words to Pat-A-Cake.

At the end of "pat-a-cake," I always say "Yaaaaay!" and clap wildly. On Tuesday, when I was talking to Jabin about it being his birthday, I said "Yaaaaay, Jabin!" and he started to clap his hands. It's so cool to see him making those connections. Even though this is baby number three, it is neat every time.

So, there. I hope this came out okay through my foggy brain. I hope you are having a good weekend, friends. And I hope you take the time to let me know about it--leave a comment. Please? I could use some encouragement right now.

Hugs!

The music in our DNA

This is an interesting article posted to the Newstarget site today, regarding the recent discoveries about DNA variability. I found it quite fascinating--and the idea of being made of poetry and music makes perfect sense to me! ;-)

This is an excerpt. Click on the link to read the full article. Enjoy!

The discovery of DNA variability, holographic blueprints and the symphony of life: "Announced with great fanfare in late November, 2006, scientists have discovered that human DNA is far more variable than previously thought. Contrary to previous beliefs, as much as 10 percent of human genes vary wildly from one person to the next. The mainstream press is hailing the discovery and some sort of breakthrough that will shed light on so-called 'incurable' diseases and give researchers the ability to create more targeted medicines. (There's always a pro-Pharma slant in the mainstream media isn't there?) In reality, this new DNA discovery explains why most pharmaceuticals don't work for most people.

More importantly, this discovery humbles us, and shows us that even our top scientists know less about human DNA than they once thought. Researching DNA is a lot like researching astronomy: the more we learn, the less we realize we know. It's as if every newly discovered fact unveils the existence of ten new questions we never knew existed.

The mainstream media, in its usual limited view, is reporting this discovery as a breakthrough that will help scientists develop new drugs to treat disease. Every 'Eureka!' moment having anything to do with the genetic code seems to lead the mainstream media to the same advertiser-pleasing conclusion, but they haven't even begun to realize the big story here. The real news in this discovery, you see, has nothing to do with pharmaceuticals or even medical science. It is larger and more profound than any of us could have possibly imagined.

Allow me to explain..."

Motorcycle Maniacs

My kids got some new winter hats the other day. (Well, except Jabin.) They thought they looked like motorcycle helmets. Just a titch more imagination, and the hampers became motorbikes. This photo is too cute:

The truth about the food shortage...

If the best current knowledge were employed, enough food to feed the four billion people could be grown in the southern half of the Sudan! It is only the Western bias, the idea spread throughout the world that one must eat white grain and drink soda pop to be "civilized," that is responsible for the suffering of the millions of starving people in the world. It is a myth that there is not enough to go around, that there is no way the Earth can support its exploding population. The truth is that most of the world's food resources are controlled by a handful of greedy men, who deny people the right to grow food for themselves but try to sell them Western-produced junk instead. [Some experts] estimate that if all the arable land on earth were used properly and sowed with foods for human consumption, the Earth could support 60 billion people--almost fifteen times our current population! But it is true that there is no way we can feed the world population on Whoppers and Cheez-Wiz, let alone nourish it. - Paul Stitt Fighting the Food Giants

The First Step

"I finished four layouts today!" I said to Jason as we prepared for bed.

"Wow, that's pretty good!" he responded politely, in his best I'm-happy-because-you're-happy tone of voice.

"Well, three and a half. I started the first one like, three weeks ago."

"No, you didn't! You started it last weekend!"

I thought about it for a second.

"Well, it felt like three weeks ago," I muttered.

Scrapbooking withdrawals after only one week. Does this mean I have a problem?

Hindsight is 20/20: Part 2

I sat in Exam Room 2 at the local Emergency ward, waiting none-too-anxiously to clap eyes on Dr. DeGratt. I could hear him examining someone in the curtained-off room across the hallway. I had finally succumbed to the nagging of my friends, and most notably, my husband, and came in to get my toe looked at.

Apparently, although the patient across the hall was in there for bronchitis, the doctor felt it necessary to give him a mini-lecture on the old stab wound he had discovered on the patient during the exam. I focused on the citrus-coloured cotton yarn in my hands as the curtain was withdrawn, taking a surreptitious glance at the bronchitis patient while pretending to be extremely interested in the intricacies of seed stitch.

The nurse had mentioned something about a "drill." This did not sound exciting, since I was certain that it was meant to be used on my toe. As badly as my toe already hurt, I could just imagine the high-pitched whirring of a miniature cordless drill being the harbinger of even more pain and suffering.

Dr. DeGratt was very personable. South African, so I found out as I was chatting him up, trying to distract him from the real purpose of my visit and any thoughts of using a drill on my big toe. Unfortunately, he proved infinitely difficult to distract.

"When did you say this happened?" he asked.

"Um...Wednesday," I said. I was eyeing the pointy sticks in my hands, wondering what kind of defense they would offer if I had to make a break for it and hobble out of there. "I just couldn't get in before now."

"Well, it's not fractured." That was the end of the good news. "You've got a lot of blood under the nail. We're going to have to put a hole in there for yeh." His chipper tone of voice told me that this man moonlighted as a torture master--this line of work was right up his alley. My knuckles grew whiter on my knitting needles.

"What would happen, say, if you didn't do that?"

"It would go septic."

I don't exactly know what this means, but I've watched enough Lost to know it's not good. I heaved a sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable. "I'm going to knit while you do it, so I can try not to think about it."

"Do you think it will hurt?"

I nodded, white-lipped.

"I think it will make you feel better," he said, trying to cheer me up.

"I hope you're right," I said.

As he straightened out a paperclip (this was the drill?) and lit the fuse on a little kerosene-like glass candle to heat it with, I decided that knitting was out. I covered my face with my hands, peeking between my fingers occasionally like a child too scared to find out what's really behind the door in that scary movie, and too curious not to know.

Yes, I am a wuss. When I get needles, I have to clench my teeth and look the other way. It seems that the pain you know is coming is always worse than pain that already happened and you are enduring.

A couple of pokes with the hot paperclip, and the only evidence of the deed was the red-stained gauze pad over my toenail, and the acrid scent of singed protein in the air.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes." I paused. "For like, a second. All in all, much less than childbirth, so I guess it wasn't so bad," I said, glad it was over, and trying to recover some of my lost dignity.

He then went into an explanation of how there was a small chance the nail would take hold of the bed again, but most likely it would fall off.

"Permanently?" I squeaked.

"No, no. It will grow back in about six months or so. If you had come in here on Wednesday, it would have been a lot better."

Well, that definitely gives Jason 'I told you so' fodder, I thought.

For those of you wondering how I am doing, my toe still hurts, although it feels somewhat better. I am still limping, but hopefully not for much longer. My vanity is somewhat alarmed at the idea of a nail-less toe but, Hey. At least it will start to come back in time for sandals weather.

I hope your weekend is going better than mine! Tell me about it. Take my mind off my toe!

Hindsight is 20/20

"Can I watch a movie, Mom?"

The question came from Jude, my oldest. He no longer naps, but he is the only one of my children who skips this daily ritual. (Too bad. Sometimes I wouldn't mind one, myself.) Often I will take this time to do a little "school" with him, or a short craft, and then let him watch a movie while I go get some office work done. So for him to ask this question was not so unreasonable.

However, I had already let him and Noah watch a full-length animated feature before lunch, and figured that another movie this afternoon was not all that necessary.

"No, I think we are going to make thank you cards for all the people who gave you birthday presents. Do you want to do some stamping?"

Jude loves to stamp. It was a no-brainer.

"Wait here, and I'll go get the stuff."

"Can I help, Mom?"

Duh. "Sure! C'mon down!"

So I descended into the basement, my tow-headed four-year-old trailing closely behind me.

My craft room used to share floor space with my husband's and my office. However, when I decided to start teaching this fall, we decided that the office would be put to better use combined with my music studio, so the craft stuff got moved to it's new home behind our wet bar downstairs. I actually love it down there. It's a little chillier, and a little less convenient--no more popping in and out of the room to work on a scrapbook layout ten minutes at a time--but I have WAY more storage, especially considering that the wall behind the bar is a mirror, fitted with glass shelves. There's a sink right there for cleaning up brushes, etc. And when I am finished, I pull a leg-less table turned edge-down across the opening so I do not get unwanted "helpers" in my workspace.

One of the items that does not fit in my new, compact craft area is the ironing board. It has now taken up permanent residence between my husband's benchpress and the wall. But for safety's sake, I always make sure and put the iron on my chair in my closed-off craft area when I am not down there using the chair myself. After all, the rest of the common area is my children's toy room!

I slid back the table and grabbed a couple of stamp sets for Jude to choose from. He picked my new set with the hearts, stars, and flowers--nice, large, filled-in stamps that leave satisfying saturated shapes of colour on the page. Good choice. Then I hunkered down to rummage through the inkpad drawer for the primary colours I had decided would be perfect for a card from a preschool boy.

The drawer is on the bottom of a tower of 7 plastic-drawers-on-wheels. Next to the tower, chumming it up, is my chair, the iron positioned in the center of its padded seat.

What happened next was like one of those slow-motion action scenes from an epic drama. It was like time slowed to a snail's pace, and my reaction time with it, but my brain sped up to have a full commentary on the play-by-play:

Okay, there's the red. Annd...the black for the "Thanks." Perfect. Now we'll just close this drawer, and I think I'll use the blue cardstock that matches the Brilliant Blue in--OOOOOWWWW! WHAT THE--?

The IRON fell on my foot! OOOWWW! Point down! On the big and second toes! Why did--?

Jude leaned on the chair. It was an accident. BUT IT HURTS SO MUCH! WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH?!!!!

And then I cried. A lot. And loudly. I don't normally cry from physical pain, but this is pain like I haven't experienced since I broke and dislocated my arm at the age of 9.

The intensity of my reaction totally freaked Jude out. "What happened, Mommy?!"

Through my sobs I managed to say that he knocked the iron onto my foot. I could see the remorse instantly strike his little heart. His face screwed up and he started crying, too.

"I'm sorry, Mommy, I'm sorry!"

Great. So now I have to somehow suppress the mind-numbing pain and soothe the fears of a well-meaning but careless boy. By now I had removed my sock and noticed that my big toenail was already blooming with blood under the nail behind my months-old chipped pedicure. Figuring that seeing that would only freak Jude out more, I gingerly replaced the sock, tested putting my foot into my slide, decided against it.

I managed to get a bit of a grip and called Jude to me. "It's okay, buddy, I know it was an accident. You just have to be more careful. I'm not angry with you."

This seemed to do little. Hoping that distance from the situation would help to calm him down, I sent him upstairs with the stamps and ink while I gathered the cardstock and followed behind, as quickly as my injury allowed.

Jabin had been drinking his bottle on the kitchen floor when we went downstairs, but was now wailing in displeasure because he still cannot sit up from a prostrate position. I sat him up, then collapsed down onto the floor beside him with an icepack on my toe, still barely holding it together.

Finally, I was able to get Jude to tell me why he couldn't calm down. He was actually frightened. "I scared that the iron fell on your foot."

It's hard to tell what was really frightening him--most likely, it was seeing me like this. There was probably a healthy dose of guilt in the role he played in the situation. Not wanting to let a teaching moment pass, I calmly explained that even when we don't mean to, we can hurt other people because we are not paying attention--that we always need to be aware of and pay attention to everything around us. (This was a lesson I remember my father oft repeating: "Be aware of your environment!")

After lots more reassuring hugs and words, plus reading a book together, Jude had calmed down enough to complete the card project.

And after a full night of teaching piano, my blood has pooled sufficiently in my toe that I am not sure I am going to be able to sleep. But, I guess I better go give it a shot. My toe may well be broken, or just very badly bruised, but I guess we'll see in time.

Someone has to be a responsible, cheerful adult around here tomorrow, and I guess I better make sure I qualify for the job.

I do not usually indulge in "what ifs" and regret--but right now, I wish I could zing a message back through time to myself at 2:00 today that says, "When Jude asks to watch a movie today, just say 'Yes.' Trust me on this one."

Brighten where you are

This is a poem I just came across in my files. I wrote it in 1997--ironically, when I had been on my trip to India for a little over a month. Perhaps that perspective helped me to see the importance of living your life well and right no matter where you sleep at night, I don't know. I do know that it was inspired in part by the old hymn "Brighten The Corner Where You Are."

Anyway, enjoy:


I may not be a blazing fire
To be seen from miles away.
I may not be the torch
That will keep the wolves at bay.
Perhaps I’m only one small candle
Gleaming in the night.
Though I be unimposing—still,
I know I am a light.

And in the corner, where I stand
I’ll shine out sure and strong.
I’ll shed my light on those I see.
Who knows? Before too long
I may be able to share my flame
With someone in the mire.
Perhaps my little candle may
Ignite a bigger fire.

For Jesus called me to be seen;
To shine where’er I go.
I’m not to hide the light I have
So no one else will know.
So don’t wait until great things you do,
Or to shed your light afar.
To your many duties near be true, and
Brighten where you are.

Photo update

Just so you know, this post now has pictures of Jude as Captain Hook.

Enjoy!

The Queen Has Spoken

Lately, for some reason, I have been putting all my really entertaining and funny posts in the comments sections of other people's blogs, reserving the dry, newsy posts for my own. (Of course, that's my opinion. Is it shared? No idea.) Why is that? I shall tell you...

I don't know. However, if you are looking for entertainment today, I recommend bopping by Peefer's place. He just won Hoagie's Choice, and apparently it wrecked his head. Or perhaps Scott might tickle your funny bone more. Or you could get rid of some of your personal skeletons over at Heather Anne's Monday Confessions. Or just drop by Sean's and give him some encouragement. At any rate, I seem to be cleverer when reacting to someone else's posts, lately, than when creating my own. Perhaps I should just start referring to myself in the third person and coming up with titles that all include the word "Shocking". Then I might feel like my life has some value.

Talena's Shocking Monday Routine!
After the completion of blogging, she will become a whirling dervish, but in a less destructive manner, in an effort to clean up the chaos of the weekend before her first student arrives at 5 o'clock today.

Happy Monday, friends. Tell me--what is tickling your funny bone today?

Melancholy

In the lonely hours of the soul
You come to me
You comfort me
My heart will never be whole
Without You, without You

And I know that You can see me here
I feel Your touch brush away my tears
You hold me close inside Your arms
Until I can hear Your heart
So I will never turn away from the lonely hours of the soul

In the lonely hours of the soul
You lift me up
You fill my cup
When I come to the end of me
That's when I can see You
I finally see You

And I know that You can see me here
I feel Your touch brush away my tears
You hold me close inside Your arms
Until I can hear Your heart
So I will never turn away from the lonely hours of the soul.
I will never turn away from the lonely hours of the soul.

"Lonely Hours of the Soul" Words and music by Talena Winters. ©2003 Talena Winters. All rights reserved.

Enough Love to Go Around

Today, I was on the Alberta Government adoption website.

I know you are all going to think I'm crazy. My husband does, and has told me so. Repeatedly! :-) And since he is so far from warming up to the idea of adopting right now that he is planning an expedition to study penguins in Antarctica, it will be a while.

Why am I even looking? I thought about it, and here's what I came up with:

1. It is no secret that I have long wanted to adopt an orphan. The plan had always been to do it after we were finished having our own children. Well, since Jason got the snip while Jabin was still in his first month of life, I guess that means we are done, whether I want to be or not, which brings me to the second point.

2. I am not sure I want to be done! While I was pretty sure immediately after Jabin was born that I wasn't too keen on experiencing pregnancy again (and still look at it from the same angle), that does not mean I wouldn't be willing to go through pregnancy to experience the joy that having children brings.

3. I got pregnant with Noah when Jude was 7 months old. Noah was just two weeks away from one year old when Jabin was conceived. Jabin will be one in two weeks. It almost feels like we should be getting pregnant now. I find myself floundering around at a loss, like there is something I keep forgetting to do, and I am pretty sure it is just my body saying "we ought to be getting pregnant right about now, dontcha think? Hasn't it been long enough?"

It is kind of mind-blowing to think of adopting a child and missing out on the baby stages, and perhaps getting some extra issues to deal with that most kids do not have to go through, but on the other hand, part of me cries out that this is what God made me to do--all my other dreams do not mean nearly as much as loving a child that would otherwise grow up in foster care, never knowing what real love means. If that is my true calling, then perhaps the other dreams will just take longer--or never come to fruition.

But when I am standing before the judgement seat of Christ, is this how I want my resumé to read?

"Wrote a handful of smash hit musicals, but in the process neglected husband and children with the end result of divorce and spending her twilight years in a nursing home, lonely and unvisited."

Not so much. Rather, may it say that I spent my life spreading around the love that God has shown me through the gift of His Son, starting with my own family, and as many other people as possible.

Because through His strength, there is always more than enough love to go around.

"...to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"
- Isaiah 58:6,7

"He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion--
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair."
--Isaiah 61:1-3

Healing Food and Herbs reference page

As I have made the switch from traditional drugs and presriptions to natural remedies, nutrition, and herbs, I have often been frustrated in trying to find reliable information--not to mention accessible information--about what I should be doing to help specific medical conditions. So, when the e-mail from Newstarget arrived in my mailbox yesterday, announcing the launch of their new website resource, I was completely thrilled. This is exactly what I've been looking for!

They have compiled information from 14 books and natural medicine encyclopedias, with plans to expand it to include 25 books. Over one hundred medical conditions are already covered. Check it out at http://www.HealingFoodReference.com.

I was impressed with the extensiveness of what is already covered on there. I'm sure it will become one of my most-visited bookmarked pages.

Drink up, me hearties, Yo Ho!

In my mind, the party was perfect.

I could see it all: the cleverly-laid-out Disney-esque vignettes of skeletons in pirate hats holding signs that read "Dead Men Tell No Tales" and other such scenes (all perfectly illuminated with directional mood lighting, of course); the swashbuckling music laying a soundtrack to the evening's events; the happy kids, delightfully searching for buried treasure that was contained in the cutest little wooden treasure chests ever; the cake I had home-made and decorated to look like little islands and a treasure map; and above all, my husband and sons in their perfect-to-the-last detail replica costumes of three of the most famous pirates ever: Captain Hook, The Dread Pirate Roberts, and Captain Jack Sparrow.

If my superpower was that I could stop time, while removing myself from the flow of it to accomplish more than 24 hours a day allow, this might have actually been possible.

I did not begin planning this grand scheme until only two weeks ago, after the madness of teaching at Scrap Away was behind me. Had I given myself an extra month to prepare, this might have been possible.

I, in my self-deluding optimism, have spent the last two weeks in a flurry of buying fabric, party favours, and gifts, sending out invitations, hours pouring over the internet on period costume details, and staying up until even the owls have gone back to bed. I told Jude he could have a pirate party for his birthday. I told him that he could be Captain Hook. I would not back down now!

Sadly, I do not have any superpowers. Despite staying up until at least one a.m. every night working on costumes, with a grand finale of 5 a.m. on Friday putting the trim on Captain Hook's jacket, I knew as I was going to bed that morning that there were some things in my picture-perfect vision that would be compromised by 7 p.m. that night.

The homemade cake was the first thing to go. It was too late to order a Dairy Queen cake special, but they had plenty in the case, so a couple of plastic palm trees and a visit to the dollar store later, I had transformed Vanilla Fudge Softserve and Blueberry Cheesecake cakes into a couple of islands sitting on an ocean of blue Bristol Board.

Captain Hook's jacket was not yet complete. At 4 p.m. I descended into the depths (a.k.a. my craft room) to finish putting on the sleeves and hemming it up. My wonderful husband took over on the treasure hunt project. He filled the plastic organizers treasure chests with the loot, then volunteered to complete the game. Writing out three clues a piece for 13 kids is no small job, even if we did put them into five "family" teams. What an amazing man. Without him, there would have been no entertainment!

Magnussons showed up around 6. I immediately put Amanda to work on decorating duty. (Come to think of it, she did the same thing at my wedding, along with my other girlhood friend, Tegan. Nice to know some things never change! :-D) The streamers got hung, the table got covered in black plastic and faux-gold coins, and the glow-in-the-dark skeleton got his pirate scarf and hat--but sadly, he never got his sign, and even his chair was stolen from under his plastic pelvic bone e'er much time had passed. He spent the remainder of the evening in a sad-looking heap beside the stereo, wondering if there really was any more to life, and if there maybe was a tale he could tell, if only anyone would take the time to notice him and listen.

In a fluster and a hurry, all at the last minute, Jude was transformed into the cutest Captain Hook I've ever seen, Noah was bedecked in his Dread Pirate Roberts outfit (sans mask, since I didn't hold out much chance of a two-and-a-half-year-old keeping that on for long), and Jason was robed in--well, that's where the trail of success ends. His Captain Jack hat and goatee combo that I ordered off eBay still has yet to arrive, and all I had time to sew for him was his sash. We scrounged together a few things from his wardrobe, threw a bandana and an eyepatch on him, and said, "Eh. It'll do," with a shrug. My costume also came from my wardrobe, but thanks to my flair for the dramatic and interest in period clothes, I happened to have enough suitable clothes to throw something fairly authentic together. (I did buy a pair of large hoop earrings for the occasion.)

In the end, the kids came, the parents were all in costume but one, everyone had fun with Glow sticks! and Treasure Hunts! and Stickers! and Cake! And there was even a swashbuckling soundtrack.

So. Maybe it was a perfect party after all.

(I realized as I was writing this blog that I did not take even one really good picture of the hero of the evening! What kind of mother am I? I will get Jude in his Captain Hook costume tomorrow, and snap a photo to insert in here later, so check back again if you want to see it, okay?) Edit, Nov. 13: Got some photos of Jude, at last. Here they are:

The Pirate Wench serving cake.

A blurry picture of Jude opening a gift (without his hat on.)

Shipmate Jason and the Dread Pirate Noah.

Da Food.

The Sweetest Thing

There are three reasons why Jude is counting down to his birthday on Friday:

3. He gets to turn four.

2. He gets to dress like Captain Hook.

And the number one reason he is counting down the sleeps is:

1. He knows he finally gets to have some of the "Unsweetened Apple Juice (not from concentrate)" sitting on our counter in three big one-gallon jugs.

I think I'm okay with my kid being as excited about having unsweetened juice as most kids are about having pop.

For my part, I am not counting sleeps. I am counting days. Because after Friday, after I have finished making the costumes, and they have been worn? After the party favours have been handed out? After the gifts have been unwrapped and played with? After the cake has been eaten, the guests have left, and the kids are worn out and in bed?

Then, oh then, I shall finally get to sleep. That shall be sweet, indeed.