LG

Hiking with Maria

This is Maria.

Maria loves to hike.

She also loves our family,

even though she has threatened to never speak to us again

since we are moving to Utah, and leaving her beloved Tennessee.

Yesterday

we called Maria,

so she could take us to one of her favorite local trails.

She said it was kind of steep,

but I convinced her we could do it.

We headed to House Mountain.

Where the only trail condition is steep.

We all wore out our calves packing 30 pound Caroline.

Maria tried really hard to get a nice family photo for us.

I think she did a pretty good job. Given the incompetency of her models.

I am certain we would have quit before getting to the top without Maria’s help.
Or one of our kids would have fallen off a cliff.

Look she got a great shot. If only LG was looking at the camera this would have been the perfect photo to say goodbye to our life in Tennessee.

Even our dog loves Maria.

Maria said it all would be worth it
when we got to the top.

I believe she was right.

The Garbage

While in marriage counseling a while back the subject of garbage became a stumbling block. I complained that he knew it was his job and that he never did it. This was my complaint in general. I was begging for my husband to do his part.

Imagine my surprise when LG answered the counselor’s question of why he didn’t take the garbage out if he knew it was his job. “She always does it first. She never gives me a chance.” What?? I felt betrayed. How many times had I run out to the meet the garbage man in my underwear, like my newest favorite blogger? Yes, there were many times that I just went ahead and did it after school the day before so that I wouldn’t forget, but there were also many more that I didn’t do it all because I hoped he would, and he didn’t. In fact, he may have done it once without my reminder. Once in 12 years.

So, marriage counseling became our tool to reveal the truth. The truth was somewhere in the middle. I took the garbage out too much and he didn’t enough. Wow. What a revelation.

The real work came when we had to decide what to do about it. For my husband it meant getting in touch with his ADD and making a reminder and system that would help him out.

For me it was a little more difficult. It was called some serious character changing. When the marriage counselor told me to let the garbage pile up if needed I about died. Seriously, it was like he told me to give up my first born.

Looking back it made perfect sense. How was the guy ever gonna learn unless I was willing to let him take full responsibility? I had to be willing to let him succeed or fail with the garbage. The only way he would be forced to admit to not doing the job was when he had to go out after three weeks and physically handle the maggot infested bags. To which afterwards while jumping in the shower he proclaimed, “O.k. the problem just became greater than the solution.”

The next time that reminder came up on his phone’s screen, it became a whole lot more relevant.

It is hard for self proclaimed perfect people like me to give grace to others’ weaknesses. It is even harder to give that grace to myself. I had to get in touch with the fact that I am OK and of worth with imperfections. I can let myself and my family members have imperfections too. Just because we aren’t perfect it doesn’t mean that I am worthless. This may sound like selfworth 101 for some of you, but trust me when I say that this concept was a huge deal to me.

So the moral of the story. Let the garbage pile up. Let your spouse take full responsibility. Let people fail because it’s only in the failing that people learn to succeed. It’s also only in the accepting the failure that we truly learn to love ourselves and others.

Oh, and if I am gonna be fair, I would like to make a public apology to my husband for being mad at him for 11 years over the garbage. I admit that I wasn’t really fair that I was resentful at him for not doing a job that I was all too willing to do for him.

I would also like to make an announcement. I think it has been a whole two months since the last time he forgot, and that is really really impressive. And I think I am equally impressive as the one time I watched it piling up tall and wide…like almost to the fence-line, I believed myself that the garbage really had nothing to do with my selfworth.

A Mom Heart, Her Pets, and Her Hero

Hey everybody.

We aren’t necessarily moving.

Sorry for the scare.

It’s just that LG is looking for a new job,

and that could bring a new residence.

Let’s face it,

the economy sucks.

And you have to go where the work is.

Today one of LG’s cousins said they were looking for a dog.

My mother in law so kindly offered up ours.

She knows I have been thinking about finding her a new home.

I have been stressed about finding a new place for her to live,

in case we have to move.

You know, I do that stress thing from time to time.

Why?

Because I am a mom.

That’s why.

And I have a mom heart.

I can’t help it.

And I want to make sure that all of my kids (and pets) are taken care of.

I take no child left behind to an all new level. It’s called no living thing left behind.

So, this cousin, who would provide Olive (our dog) with a wonderful home,

offered to take her on a trial basis.

My in-laws were pulling out of the drive-way,

and it was all up to me,

as to whether or not Olive was going to go along.

At least that is what LG said.

I started loving on the dog,

and I couldn’t keep the tears away.

My 12 year old Alice

who lost her best friend Major (a German Shepherd)

to the vet’s needle,

seemed to show her true self.

She screamed,

“Please don’t make me do this.”

It was decided to postpone the decision for now.

Relief washed over me,

and the 12 year old Alice

thanked me incessantly.

Once a mom decides to care for something as her own,

nobody should try to come between them.

Unless they want to watch the mom cry

for any amount of time.

The funny thing is that I have complained about this dog.

I have constantly complained.

I’m the only ones who feeds her.

Or takes her on walks.

I have to bathe her.

And cut her nails.

And get up with her in the night.

And I have to run after her when someone lets her out,

and she can run about 80 miles an hour.

Seriously.

From the get-go I took the majority of the responsibility for cleaning up her messes.

And it took about 6 months and ripped out carpet to properly house-train her.

But gosh danget…she is MY dog.

And I am not giving her away.

Because I promised to take care of her.

No matter what personal sacrifice I have to make.

And I love her.

And she loves me.

And my mom heart can’t handle abandoning her.

And just writing the word abandon makes me want to throw up.

A mother can never abandon her children or her dogs.

She will throw herself in front of the train if she has to.

And her reward at this very moment is a dog sprawled out on the rug looking up at her with loyal eyes and her cat sitting next to her arm that rests on the desk while typing.

And on lots of days, that is more than her kids ever offer her for all of her sacrifice.

So, after my in-laws drove away,

LG says to me,

“Alice, I just made an important decision. If we do have to move, we are just gonna have to find a place that will let us have the dog and the cat.”

“Why do you say that?” I question.

“You know why.”

I wrapped my arms around him and started to bawl.

I love that man.

The Snow Blues

After a month of almost consecutive snow days and Winter Break,

this mom is officially in Cabin Fever mode.

I even pulled out my old gowns as a new point of interest.

I have been in a foul mood.

I am not sure quite why.

It’s a combination of things, I am sure.

The lack of sunshine.

My house being at 60 degrees to conserve cash.

The cooking three meals a day,

EVERY day.

O.k. I’ll be honest:

no breakfast

just lunch dinner and the 4th meal.

The daily routine of

Wizards of Waverly Place, Hannah Montana, and Cake Boss

should be envious.

(And just for the rest of you moms who are trying to survive

with a Netflix membership

because the remote

to the digital converter went missing ages ago

and you don’t have any real T.V.

the last of those three shows is the winner of

Best Entertaining TV)

And there’s nothing like a really long

run-on sentence to express the true sentiment

of my last month.

I’ve been dreaming of going to Carlos’ Bakery

for a warm lobster tail or crumb cake.

Of course, in my dreams,

I am decked out fashionably

with my hair done, make-up on, and nails brightly painted.

I guess if my mind really had some imagination

I should have been wearing a Miley wig

and some Wizard glasses.

Because that is what the kids would find entertaining.

But, in my dreams,

I am all alone.

Go figure.

And then I sit to blog.

Because maybe it will help me find myself.

Or at least pull me out of this mood.

And I stumble upon this old photo:

and I remember how awesome my kids are.

And how fast they grow.

And then the smell of a poopy diaper

brings me back to my senses.

Just as Caroline goes flying off the bottom of treadmill.

And for the millionth time

with my kids

we laugh.

And I think

it’s too bad

their teachers don’t get to

see them at their best.

And I tell myself

to embrace these snow days.

Because even though the days go by so very slow.

The years fly by.

And, next winter,

if I am lucky

The Tennessee weather God

may bring no snow at all.

But of course,

by then I may be living in South Dakota.

And LG will still be saying,

“Oh, but this is still nothing

compared to the Winter of ’88.”

And I will no longer wonder how my mom survived

with seven children

because I will be longing

for my childhood

Southern California.

Where snow days

don’t exist.

What a year.

So, here is your Christmas card.
If you are a diehard,
you can print us out and put us up on your wall
so you can prove to all incomers
that you really do have friends.

This year was the kind
that we didn’t have a professional photo.
We also didn’t want to spend for the
cost of printing and mailing.

To put it lightly,
our family has been tried tremendously.
To put it honestly,
we have walked through hell
and we are hoping that we are on our way back.

It was the kind of year that made me grateful
for a simple family snapshot.
Even if it was
as an afterthought,
and we ended up with a crappy backdrop,
and the sun was in our eyes.

You see
we were on our way to church,
together.

And together
is
huge.
It’s more than anyone can ask for.

This morning
I realized that I wanted a living record
of the end of this year,
as I looked at my daughters
and the love of my life.
We were all in the colors,
black, white, and red.

And I saw that as a great representation
of a very hard year.

We are all
still trying to do the right things.
Together.
And that pretty much sums it up.
God has held us together
in the palm of His hand.

And I am extremely
humbled
and
grateful.
And happy.

I look forward in faith.
Even if the sun has been blinding.
And what better Christmas message is there?

My daughters would not be any more beautiful
with a professional photo to prove it.
My marriage would not be as strong
without the trials and intense work.
My friends would not have reached out to us
in such love
without our pain.
Our gratitude for loving parents
would not be as deep
without the struggle.
And our testimony of a loving God
would not be as intimate.

I think we have every reason
to
rejoice.

Jesus Christ makes all things possible.
He is love and light.
He will blind you
if that is what it takes
to heal you,
to love you,
and
to know you.

And when you get through it,
you will be grateful for a sun so bright.
Even if it hurt temporarily.

Merry Christmas to you.
Especially if the sun is blinding your eyes.

Better Blogs and Christmas Cheer

I am not in a blogging mood.

I am more occupied with negotiating Christmas with my husband,

who apparently doesn’t want to buy our kids any sort of magical Christmas gift.

Can I say the man is imagination challenged

without spurring on my haters

to call me to repentance?

Do you know that the father of my children

let Santa’s cat out of the bag

three years ago?

Oh, Yes he did!!!

Our kids were 8,5, and 4.

And they now think the world of their daddy.

Because he is Santa and the tooth fairy.

But I am still struggling to forgive.

Because I believe in magic.

And Harry Potter.

But because of all the things I have been learning lately,

I will not Christmas shop until LG and I are on the same page.

Because that is what Dave Ramsey says.

And that is what the Bible says.

And who can argue with the Bible or Dave Ramsey?

And I have to say after reading the Bible just now

and hearing God’s admonition to reverence my husband,

I am feeling guilty about this whole post.

I guess I will have to repent.

Once I do I am sure that

our marriage will prevail.

One challenge at a time.

Even if everything seems to be a challenge lately.

I think Christmas should not be a challenge.

Who knew two people could be married

for 13 years

and never be on the same page?

This year if anything,

we will be on the same page.

And both of us will be happy with what is under the tree.

Even if it is only due to the generosity of others.

And hours of negotiation.

I’ve said it a million times before

but

2011

is gonna be our year.

Next Christmas will bring no negotiation.

And that will be LG’s best gift to me.

The fact that he cared enough to negotiate this one.

If that makes any sense.

From now on,

we will hopefully be on the same Christmas page.

Is that just wishful thinking?

The older I get, the more I think

that life is really just one negotiation after another.

T’was the night before Christmas

and all through our house,

no raised voice was heard,

because we’re espoused.

We negotiated until our hearts

were content.

And now the wife will not overspend

and have need to repent.

But, I will have to repent about the reverencing the man.

How can I reverence Santa Claus?

Huh? Huh?

He’s fictional.

I hope your kids don’t read this blog.

Or maybe they should.

Because then my husband will have some more

little people to reverence him.

He needs that.

Since he isn’t getting it from me.

Well anyhow.

I wanted to share some better blogs.

For my loyal readers

who I have just left totally confused.

But before I do.

Really, how do you married people

agree about Christmas?

Just curious.

Did you negotiate year 1

and never argue again?

Or do you still fight about it?

I love my husband.

A lot.

I want to be on the same page.

Even if his page is to pay the bills

and give the kids as little as possible.

And mine is to make Santa magical.

There has to be a good medium.

Do you ever even think about these things?

Are all other married couples like us.

I can remember my parents always fighting over Christmas.

Mom wanted to make it magical

and dad didn’t want to go into debt.

I wonder if this is the same story in every household?

So, on with the real fun.

My friends all have it figured out.

They don’t blog about their private business,

leaving their blogs actually entertaining.

Unlike mine.

There is good reason why I am not blogging right now.

Check out Cally’s homemade gift tags.

And Lori’s movie making skills.

And Erika’s honesty.

Jeremy’s love for an awesome father, who just passed on,

and made me have a greater desire not to fight over stupid stuff.

Gina’s photography.

Jennifer’s yummy food.

Rachel’s consistent gratitude, maturity, and resilience in the midst of battling childhood cancer.

There are definitely a lot better blogs out there.

But at least many of them belong to my friends.

I am off to make a spreadsheet for my husband.

Maybe it will help if I speak his language.

Lesson With a Flair

Abigail has been making dinner on Sunday nights.

I got really stressed about her learning to cook before she goes to college.

I am not sure why since that is at least 7 years away,

but it’s all good since it gets me out of dinner duty on Sunday.

Abigail loves to search the cookbooks for something.

She is completely opposite from me.

I like to cook the same thing over and over again

so I don’t have to refer to a recipe.

Anyway, last Sunday, Abigail found a recipe for

Chicken Catchatore. Or however you spell that.

I have never made it before, how would I know.

We decided to tweak the recipe a bit

because we don’t shop on Sunday

and we didn’t have all the required ingredients.

However we did have ginger.

Abigail wanted to add it.

LG kept saying to add more.

I told him that ginger is really strong

but he wanted more.

We ended up chopping and sauteeing

what Abigail calls

a whole leg of ginger.

About an eighth of a cup.

We fried it up with garlic and onion

and the diced tomatoes

and added some spinach

and then added the leftover Thanksgiving turkey.

And Abigail declared proudly to her sisters

that we would be eating

turkey catchatore with a flair.

I said, “One big flair of ginger,”

as I secretly added some brown sugar and milk

to lighten up the overwhelming ginger.

Abigail and Bella then got into it

about what kind of noodles were being served.

Abigail assured Bella that they were linguine.

Bella argued back, like she had some kind of authority in the matter

knowing full well that Abigail was

the one to fetch the noodles from the box.

Before I knew it, Abigail and Bella were having it out

about noodles.

I then hollered,

“Fine, you are both right

the noodles are NOT linguine,

from now on in our house

they will be called:

‘Love one Another, who gives a crap what kind of noodles they are’ “.

End of story.

As we ate Bella says,

“So we are having

Turkey Ginger Catchatore over ‘Love One Another, who gives a crap kind of noodles they are.”

And Sophia in typical Sophia fashion.

Always with perfect timing

and always keeping the peace

says “with a flair.”

So from now on, our noodles will remain nameless

(don’t they all taste the same anyway)

and anything that has ginger in it

will be with a flair.

And I call that one productive Sabbath.

Peace and Quiet

Tonight I am grateful for peace and quiet.

I am not sure what is making me so grateful.

It may be living 24 hours a day with a very hyper 17 month old.

Or the fact that I am now the mother of a teenager.

Or that I have a daughter exactly like me who could talk non-stop all day.

Or the cheers and incantations that my only quiet child has felt loyal to practicing.

Tonight, LG is getting a sleep study.

I can’t wait until he gets his C-pap machine.

There’s nothing like a c-pap’d husband that can make a woman feel old.

For some reason, that just made me think the man was getting his yearly vaginal exam.

What is that? Not c-pap. But some other form of pap.

So, tonight, I am grateful for peace and quiet.

Because it may not be too much longer that I will enjoy this luxury through the night.

(Insert the sound of c-pap)

But really, I have found serenity.

In peace and quiet.

And I long for it.

Even if I only get it for a few short hours during nap time and before I conk out in bed at night.

Southern Drawls

The other day

LeGrand was getting onto Abigail.

How could she have a crush on a boy

who is always misspelling his texts?

I took the opportunity to tell him

that while I was on my mission

every time I read a letter from him,

I would cringe

and resist the urge to edit

with a red pen

and mail it back.

I know

I’m just a tad controlling.

But he had to admit

that I am about

the smartest gal in the world.

Not because I can spell

(for the most part)

but because I chose to marry him

before he could.

And he was in the 14th grade.

Abigail then said,

“Dad, it’s texting,

you don’t have to spell right.”

I am sure LeGrand

was secretly wishing that he

could have dated me via text.

Daydreaming

When we first moved to Knoxville,

seven years ago,

I would drive by this house often.

It was for sale.

One time during an open house

I went inside and dreamed of buying it,

and filling it with foster children.

There are about 12 spacious rooms

each with its own bathroom.

Filling the house with children

seemed the only alternative

when thinking of the

only other choices

I could figure:

Being occupied by

a small family with two children

or a bed and breakfast.

As I walked through the spacious kitchen,

I imagined a bunch of sets of little hands

pitching in at family meal time.

And as I left,

I pictured the porch swing.

I would have to install one.

But, there would be a swing.

Because that is how my daydream

always ends.

Me and LeGrand

sitting on the swing

watching our posterity

play on the lawn.