FunnyBlog

My Prayer of Conversion

Search me God.
Find the source of decay and heal it.
Find my broken heart and make it whole.
Make my brain without lesions.
Cure each sore muscle.
Fill the hole of lonliness.
The thoughts of negativity, pluck from me
and transform them into loveliness.

And when thou art done,
make me a tribute to thee,
a living monument to thy grace
and power and love.

And from me,
others will see beauty
and like I have,
they will stop in place and time
and know that thou art God.
And they will want
to be thy creation too.
And they will search for thee.

And they will know
that all they have to do
is let Thou search through them.
And do thy magic.
They will ask also.
And I will be but one flower
in a world full of breathtaking gardens.

Scientific Method

Abigail was quoted in the Knoxville Sentinel today. She was dressed like Galileo when talking to the reporter. She was so proud that the way the reporter started his article was Galileo was there. “Oh yeah, he’s talking about me,” bragged Abigail. The irony of her later quote is what is killing me. I must blog about it. Don’t mind me as I ramble on about the whole experience. Sometimes this blog acts as my personal journal and our family historian. If you want the abridged version just read the next paragraph and scroll to the end.

I can only blog about this because Abigail is usually a great student. She always scores in advanced on her T-Caps. She is in all Honors classes. She got straight A’s her first quarter of middle school. So you can imagine our dismay when a few days ago, Abigail came home with her report card and there was a big fat F in Science. We were appalled.

My friend Rita said that when she saw Abigail at the school it
 reminded her of how they always depict God in the movies.
It wasn’t until I took this picture and added it to my blog
that I realized what she was talking about.

We have come to the conclusion that the grade is the fault of three bad combinations: 1- Our neglect due to the move. 2- Abigail’s complacency and 3 – We are pretty sure Abigail will eventually be diagnosed as ADHD.

What most people don’t understand about ADHD kids is that a lot of them are extremely bright. There is an ADHD subset that usually gets overlooked. They are the ones that do very well in school because they are so bright.

My husband was a kid like that. He was just recently diagnosed with ADHD as a 35 year old adult. Ritalin has been an eye-opening experience for LG. The first time he took the drug, he said to me, “Oh my gosh Alice, my mind is so clear. It’s crazy. Just imagine what I could have done if I had some Ritalin while in law school.”

Anyhow, back to the story. Abigail brought home this F. It was horrifying. I immediately e-mailed her teacher and talked to her principal on the phone. I am a little worried how this will effect Abigail’s placement at her new school after we move. The timing is awful, but hopefully we can get her new school to understand the extreme abnormality of this grade. The good news is that maybe now we can get her doctor and school to understand our concern for her ADHD.  They wouldn’t agree to look into the possibility when she had straight A’s, but now they will hopefully be able to see a little window into what we are dealing with on a larger scale.

When LG sat down with Abigail last night to review her individual assignment grades it was no surprise to us that Abigail said that on each low grade she had forgot to either turn it in, complete it, or study. She has science first period and even if she does pay close enough attention to instructions, which she often considers non-essential information, it’s gone by the end of the day. She is just not engaged by things that don’t require real thinking and she is simultaneously totally overwhelmed by the structure in this class. Her teacher has about ten things going on at once and it’s just too much for an ADD brain. Her teacher is great and really makes science come to life, but for an ADD kid, the way that she structures her class is brutal. It’s been an awesome on-going science project. Who knew that they actually do science projects in a middle school science class?

Let’s see. The Scientific Method at work:

1 Ask a question – Does Abigail have ADHD?
2 Do background research – Abigail is normally a straight A student.
3 Construct a Hypothesis – It would be unlikely that Abigail has ADHD given the facts.
4 Test your hypothesis by doing an experiment – Give Abigail a Science Teacher who assigns 6 projects per nine weeks and does very little to communicate with the parents or make sure that Abigail stays on task. See how she does.
5 Analyze your data and draw a conclusion – Abigail failed science yet still received either A’s or B’s in all of her more structured classes, therefore she probably does have ADHD or just hates science.
6 Communicate your results – That would be this blog post. Do you think I should e-mail it to the teacher? She would be so proud that real science was actually taking place. She might even use it for future class projects.

So, imagine our surprise when Abigail came home the same day as receiving her F all excited about her Galileo project. She was so excited to not just research Galileo but to dress up like him. She did awesome, huh? She got really creative and insisted on dragging out the Santa costume box. Of course it was at the bottom of the stack of moving boxes, but at her stubborn request we re-shifted the whole room to discover the needed beard and wig. Then she told us not to come to her presentation. I think she was trying to keep us away from her science teacher.

Well imagine our surprise when reading this in the newspaper article this afternoon: (Amongst our first failing grade ever, the irony is just a little too much)

Sixth-grader Abigail Gold donned a white wig and beard as she depicted famed early astronomer Galileo for the Living Space History Museum exhibit.

She and other students selected a person in history who had an impact on the space program, designed posters, dressed in period and gave oral presentations on their historical figures. 

Abigail said Thursday’s event shows science and math can be fun.

“I’ve always wanted to be a scientist,” she said. “A lot (of kids) think it’s boring, but it’s my favorite subject.”

When Abigail got done reading aloud about herself in the article, Sophia quickly chimed in:

“Abigail what it really should have said is ‘but it’s my favorite subject’, even if I did fail the last nine weeks.”

What I was thinking was that it’s a good thing that God gave Abigail such a bright mind because if anyone is ever gonna figure out how to beat ADHD permanently, it’s her. She has a love for science that I have rarely seen, even if it’s a failing kind of love.

Table Talk

I am sure that our family is much like most others.

I am sure of it until we sit down to dinner. My husband and kids are all the entertainment a girl could ask for.

Here was the conversation the other night:

LG:
What do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on a wall?
Girls:
Art

LG: What do you call a man with no arms and legs floating in a lake?
Girls: Bob.

LG: What do you call a man with no arms and legs in your mailbox?
Me: Envelope?
LG: Bill

Me: Did you just make that one up?
LG: (with a smirk) “Yeah, good one, huh?”

LG: What do you call a man with no arms and legs on your doorstep?
Me: Matt

LG: Why do you have to take my punchline, huh?

Me: What do you call a man with legs and arms that tells bad jokes?
Girls: Dad!!!

LG: What do you call a man with arms and legs that is not appreciated by his family?
Me: Dad?

Bella: What do you call a woman with arms and legs that tells bad jokes?
Silence.
That’s right they know who is boss.
They also know who cooks dinner.

Moving Sucks
Right idea. For sure.

It’s 1 am. I have vowed to post something every day. It only took me 3 minutes to regret that vow. And I haven’t stopped regretting it for 3 whole weeks.

I have not written anything for tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. I do have something scheduled for next Saturday and Sunday. Yeah for me. I am so ahead of myself.

So, I have about .8 seconds before I drop dead. I guess I can only hope to hit the publish button before my fingers give up.

Why does moving suck? Do I really need to tell you? I am pretty sure you all know all the reasons. I am sure the moving sucks mode is the same across all other barriers

Callouses and paper cuts from cardboard boxes.
Packing.
Cleaning. (cleaning normally is good, but packing cleaning is frustrating)
Trying to cook only to realize that you packed that thing away already.
The feeling of your teeth  ripping against each other while tearing off packing tape.
Labeling…box after box.
Sore back from lifting.
Being stuck on the phone all day, every day.
Saying goodbye, one place at a time, one person at a time, one memory at a time.

This time I decided to add a great little challenge. Try having only 11 days left to go before you head out across the nation without a new home secured.

It’s a doozie.

And I am exhausted.

These are my hands typing very s l o              wwwwwwwwww llllllll yyyyyyyy.

E n t er

Publish.

Polynesian Pani Popo

I would never attempt to give you a Polynesian recipe because I am not Polynesian. I do love the Polynesian people and culture. I guess my adoration can be traced back to growing up so closely with the Poly’s in my hometown of Carlsbad, CA and the neighboring town of Oceanside, CA. My dad was a Bishop of the church there when it took two whole cities to make up one congregation. Now, there are many congregations there. But, my family were so very fortunate to have many Polynesian friends. They became like family to us. To this day, I am drawn to Polynesian people. I feel like I am adopted in to their vast family. As they will be the first to tell you they are all cousins. Samoans, Hawaiians, Tongans, New Zea-landers…all cousins.

When LG and I got married 10 days after deciding, it was once again my Polynesian family who came through. My good friends Kia and Kyla (both originally from Hawaii) and their friend Lisa (who was totally white) decided to throw us a luau. To this day, without fail, every time we attend a wedding reception LG will proclaim that nobody has better food than we did. I think he dreams about the noodles. I didn’t get to eat much that evening. Apparently, I was playing hostess as LG was gorging at the spread. Can you say foreshadow? I am not calling my husband fat. I am just saying that if there is one hostess in this family, it is me, so in-laws stop typing shame on you’s now.

However, on that evening I got to eat one thing. Well, I actually probably ate at least 8. LG would bring them to me on a plate from time to time. Pani popo. I can’t even utter the word without salivating. Years ago when I started blogging I made an online blogging friend who posted the recipe. I have successfully made much pani popo on my own. I guess that means I am really a true cousin now. Out of pure reverence for my friend sharing her polynesian equivalent to The Holy Grail,  I am refraining from giving you the recipe here, but do go over and get it. You will not be disappointed. And at your next Palagi luau, I promise you will receive the most leis.

And just to give you a peek at how easy this recipe is. From the top of my head I can only remember three ingredients that are needed and one is Rhode’s rolls.

Pani PoPo

The Power of the Atonement

One thing I have come to understand in the past few years is that we each have addictions.

Some are addicted to alcohol, drugs, or sex. Some to pornography, coffee, tobacco. Many others have the socially acceptable if not revered addictions like exercise, house cleaning, make-up application, shoe collecting, or shopping. Some are hoarders. Some have eating disorders. Some struggle with same sex attraction. Some pedophilia. Others with having children (hello octomom) or stockpiling stocks.

I personally struggle as a co-dependent. I am also addicted to baked goods, and I am not saying that as a joke. Like so many others, in the closet and out, I have an obsession with being loved. I will do anything to be loved including but not limited to letting other people treat me like crap, excessively rescuing and controlling, crying for days when someone reprimands me, and being overly responsible. I am grateful that I am married to the man that I am, who understands my struggle. Many other codependents have to go through many relationships to be satisfied. Many other addictions can be traced back to original codependency; in fact many addicts have to come to terms with their codependency to successfully overcome their other temptations.

Just watch this Pink video for the song Please Don’t Leave Me and tell me she doesn’t get the need to be loved. Or  how about this one called I Can’t Make You Love Me by Bonnie Rait, one of my personal favorites. We sang the song Give Me the Gift of Love by Bette Midler at my Grandma’s funeral. I have come to believe that my Grandma understood the excessive need I feel to be loved. My mom has it too. No brainer really. Where do you think I learned it?

Anyhow, it’s Sunday. If I post on Sunday, it is going to be something that honors God. This video honors my God. It does a great job of explaining there is one place where we can get the strength to overcome addiction. I know this place to be my friend and Savior Jesus Christ. He strengthens me every day and I am so very grateful.

So, go ahead, say something mean. I am recovered enough I can take it. I no longer need you to love me. I have learned that getting love from one person is plenty satisfying. That person isn’t my husband; LG’s love is just icing on the cake. Your love for me is like daffodils in bloom, but God’s love: God’s love is as big as this whole magnificent earth. Actually it’s bigger than I understand. I can’t measure infinity.

Thank you to my God who frees me from my bondage. Next focus: milkshakes. I am not planning on taking that one too fast.

Speak up Sophia.

Sophia is our quiet child. She is our low maintenance child. I am always worried that I am not giving her enough attention because to be quite honest, in a crazy house like mine, she is a breathe of fresh air. She is so easy to raise. I would never make the mistake of calling her perfect because nobody is perfect, but as far as being her mom, she is really really easy. She doesn’t require much but some food and water. Heck, she is lower maintenance than our dog. She is definitely quieter than our dog. She rarely barks. She noticed her picture and came over to read what I was writing. She says, “I do not bark.”

Well, I’ve blogged before about a big oops with Sophia. These slip ups seem to be happening more regularly. Just the other day I found myself at Walgreen’s purchasing lemon heads and chocolate ice-cream to say I was sorry for missing her school program. My husband was having a crisis and his brother stopped in on his way through town to say good-bye before we moved. With all the drama, I totally spaced that I was supposed to go to her day program to make up for the night before when I was at Abigail’s school program that took place at the exact same time. I don’t know how single moms do it; my hubby and I have to divide and conquer all too often. Well, I cried to Sophia, apologized profusely, promised to watch the video, and cautioned her that she may as well learn now that nobody is perfect and she is gonna be let down. I told her that there was only one person that would never let her down. And she said that she knew that. I said, “Well, who then?” She replied, “Jesus Christ.” Very good. I am not totally failing as a parent.

Unless you count what happened at church couple of weeks back. Sophia was assigned to give a talk to the other kids. I totally forgot. In my defense, I told Sophia on Saturday to remind me that evening and she forgot too. On the way to church on Sunday morning, I told Sophia we would just tell her leaders that we forgot or the other option was for Sophia to find a scripture to share during the first hour and just give a brief testimonial about it. Well guess what? In between the drive to church and the hour after the first meeting got out, I forgot again.

So, you can imagine my surprise when Sophia comes up to me after the three hours of church and tells me she was so embarrassed for her talk. Hard slapped open face palm to forehead kind of moment. And then I may as well have slapped myself across the face too for being such an awful mom. I apologized and asked her what she did. She said she just got up and talked and that Daddy had come to watch. What? Why didn’t daddy rescue her? They didn’t come and get me because I was teaching the women’s class, but they did go and fetch LG from the man’s class. He, of course, had no idea about all of the above on-goings and walked into the Primary room figuring that I had taken care of it.

As we talked about it on the way home from church, LG was a doting father. He said that she pulled it off rather well. She pretty much just rambled about how she knows the Bible to be the true word of God. (I would say that has to count for something that she even knew on her own to talk about such a serious topic). LG then went on: She then clammed up and got quiet. She turned her head to the side and whispered to the Primary leader, “I am so embarrassed.” The kids heard. They chuckled. It lightened the moment, and she was able to finish it out.

Sophia had succeeded in filling her alloted time. LG was proud. The primary children had been entertained. The primary leader had been fooled into thinking that Sophia was overcome by the Spirit of God, but just for a second until Sophia proclaimed her embarrassment. I was left once again hoping to improve as a mother, but overall I count it a success. Mostly because our whole family laughed consistently for an hour after church while Sophia retold the experience over and over again.

I am pretty sure that the next time she has a talk, she won’t forget to remind me to help her. Or and this is a big OR the next time Sophia will tell her Primary President she dropped the ball OR the girl is gonna get pretty good at winging it. It’s not like we haven’t given her plenty of opportunity for practice.