Thanksgiving

Today, we're going to do Thanksgiving with my family. We had Thanksgiving with Bruce's family actually on Thanksgiving.

It was a wonderful, restful time with family.

Here are several pictures from the day.

Mamaw bought all the outfits for her grandchildren in this picture. Can you say, "Merry Christmas"?



Boys only.



Just the girls.



Once those pictures were done, we changed the kids back into play clothes and cut them loose. They built a fort from Papaw's scrap wood and various other items they found in the woods alongside my in-law's yard.



They slept good that night, which means that a good time was had by all.

Sharing Jesus

Back in October, we made our final camping trip of the year to Fall Creek Falls in middle Tennessee.

It was a cold, rainy, miserable weekend. I had just had the LASIK surgery and I was highly paranoid about damaging my eyes. In short, I was a big baby.

Despite all that, our kids had a blast. They were filthy nearly all day, every day, from playing in mud, fallen leaves and ashes from the fire pit.

The biggest reason they had such a good time was because we met another family who had kids very close in age to our kids. Ironically, their oldest child was a boy named Clay, just like in our family. Then they had another son named Carter who was close to Spencer and Allison's age. (They also had a little girl named Chloe, but she didn't play much with the big kids.)

Those kids had a blast. They built a couple of forts in the woods behind our camper. They rode bikes in the cul-de-sac section of the campground where we were. And they made s'mores together.

At the end of our weekend, we swapped regular mail and e-mail addresses.

We were hardly in the house five minutes after returning from our trip before Clay wanted to write Clay a note. When my boy had the letter finished, I asked him if I could read it before sealing the envelope. He said I could, and I'm so glad I did.

He told his new friend what a good time he had camping with them. Clay also challenged him to an art contest by asking him to draw his best house "and scenery" and then mailing it back to him, so that I can impartially judge which drawing is best. (Be real. I'm mom. Nobody ever said anything about needing to be impartial!)

But the best part was when our Clay wrote this:

"Clay, I forgot to ask you when we were together, but do you have Jesus in your heart? If you don't, you should. It's great."

It took awhile to get a reply in the mail, but it came last week.

The Camping Clay wrote back to our Clay about what a good time he had camping and that he hoped we could camp together again some time. And then he wrote, "P.S. I love God."

Now, why can't it be that simple for us to share Christ?

In the News

Clay made the local newspaper.

Each week, in the Wednesday paper, there's a section called Write On: Young Voices Speak! Local teachers mail in student responses to pre-selected questions.

Clay has been hoping to have his answer written up since the end of last school year.

This past Wednesday, the question was: World Kindness Week is the second week in November. What are some ways you can show kindness toward others?

Clay wrote: "I would not litter, because world kindness week sounds like I should be kind to the world. I would recycle paper, coke cans, and bottles. I would listen to my parents. I could give money to charity. I could help my brother (kindergartener) with his homework."

He's got a little bit of the tree hugger in him.

When he realized he was in the paper, he started wondering if he's now famous. It's funny and sweet.

Spencer had a dental appointment on Friday and the receptionist said she saw Clay's write up. When I told Clay that, he said, "I guess I really am worldwide."

And there is no way I'm bursting that little bubble.

Joy To the World

Spencer is running around the house singing Christmas carols. Bruce put up our fake tree last night. I've got nearly all of our Christmas shopping done (for the kids anyway). I just got e-mail confirmation that our Christmas photo cards are ready to be picked up.

And last night, our first real snow fell.



Clay woke up at 3 a.m. with a bloody nose, which happens frequently with him in the winter. I think it's a combination of his allergies and dry air. After we had him all fixed up, Bruce told him there was snow outside.

I gave my sweet hubby the evil eye (as much as I could around my normal-for-3 a.m., squinty-eyed expression). I asked him, "Why did you tell him that? You want him to go back to sleep, don't you?" Thankfully, he did.

Technically, this is the third time we've seen snow this year, but it's the first time it's actually amounted to anything more than a few flakes. We have about two inches out there right now. And even though the roads are clear in our neighborhood, school has been cancelled.



I love snow. But more from the inside looking out. Unless I'm skiing, I'd rather be in the house next to a fire. But today, I'm certain I'll be bundled up with the kids and sledding in the back yard. I get to pull the sled. Just call me "lucky".

I'm not going to get a thing accomplished today, but I'm happy the kids are getting a break from school. Snow just adds to the whole ambiance of the approaching holidays.



Hope you are appropriately bundled up and ready to enjoy the season.

Being Thankful

In honor of the Thanksgiving holiday next week, I have a couple of recent conversations on thankfulness to share.

The first was actually a suppertime prayer from Spencer. While Clay and Allison have to be coaxed to come up with something other than rote prayers, Spencer is wonderful about praying very naturally. He talks to God as if he can see Him sitting right next to him.

The other evening he slipped this statement into his prayer: "God, thank you that my mom signed me up for school. So I can learn."

Yeah. I signed him up for school. Just like I sign him up for sports or something. It's not like I'm following any laws or anything.

I like that he thinks it's a privilege to go to school, which it is for some kids in parts of the world. Spencer is simply thankful to be learning. Ahhh, kindergarten is so great.

The next thankful expression originated with me.

Something is clicking with my littlest guy. Not a moment too soon, either. This past week, he has taken our talks to heart and has been working on accepting responsibility for his actions and exhibiting self control.

The other day was a wonderful day. Spencer and I didn't butt heads even once. If I pointed out that he was doing something he wasn't allowed to do, he immediately stopped, most often first saying, "Yes, ma'am." (It's always a little freaky to me when he kicks into this mode. I can't help it. I'm suspicious. But he's always sincere when he says it.)

Oh, I was basking in motherhood, let me tell you. The day was just that good. I decided my boy needed some praise.

"Spencer," I said, "I just want to thank you for being so good today. I can tell you are really working on the things we've talked about in the last week or so. I'm proud of you and I appreciate your efforts."

And he said to me, "I did it so I can get lots of presents."

As in Christmas presents. Because the Toys R Us catalog was delivered last week. We received one in the mail, another came wrapped within the newspaper, and a third copy was donated by Bruce's parents. Each kid has had their own catalog and has marked their copy accordingly.

Well, I wasn't thrilled with his motivation for good behavior. I had a better idea.

"Spencer," I said, "why not behave just because you love mom?"

He budged closer to my way of thinking, but not by much.

"Well, I did it because of that, too... and also because I love Jesus and Santa."

Alrighty then!

Color Coordinated

A completely random question to start the day with.

Does anybody else coordinate their kids' clothing with whatever is on the menu at school that day?

Today is ravioli day.

My children will be dressed in their finest red clothing (or at least dark-colored shirts).

But not as a precursor to holiday festivities.

Delightful

I've been in a little funk.

Nothing major. I'm just weary. From thinking about various things.

Things like...

...everyone else in the house has had strep at least once in the last month (and I don't think we're done, either.).

...no matter what, at this time of year, we're always strapped financially. I want to go back to work, but I'm still getting that "wait" answer from the Lord. Waiting stinks.

...disciplining children even when there doesn't seem to be much evidence of resolution or repentance. Parenting is hard.

...being more busy than I ought to be. I can't say I'm so busy that I'm even stressed out, because I'm not feeling particularly stressed. But I am just busy enough that I realize, again, that my family is not my main ministry. And it should be.

...trying to get all three of our kids to smile pretty for the camera so we could send out a photo Christmas card. All to no avail. Evidently my children are photo Christmas card retardant. I tried. Bruce tried. Two separate days. Two different cameras. Probably 50 pictures. Not one worth printing off. This is the best one I took, but Bruce vetoed it because I didn't clear the background.



And this was the best one that Bruce took, but I vetoed it because Allison doesn't look like Allison.



So we went a different route and took individual shots and Bruce got online for a Photoshop tutorial (because he's into tutorials. I am not.). Bruce made our cards this year, with lots of input from me. Probably too much input. A good time was not had by all.

But God always provides some relief. A bright spot or two.

My mother is coming from Germany to visit over Christmas. We are all very excited about that.

I found the green 6 card that was missing from our Uno deck for weeks. These things matter!

I'm loving Bible Study Fellowship more and more during this study of Moses. It's rich. Some days, the things I learn speak to me nearly every minute of the next week.

And last week, when I was particularly bummed about Spencer's report card, two things happened.

I got a comment on my last post about the report card from my good friend, Amie, who teaches first grade at my kids' school (and has taught all three of our children during Sunday school at some point, before she abandoned us and headed to another church down the road. Just kidding. We miss her though!). I so needed to hear what she wrote. So here it is:

"Keep in mind kindergarten 'report cards' are not really report cards. They should be called progress reports. Kindergartners do not get grades for the same reasons you are stating. We just discussed this at lunch today. Calling it a report card gives parents the idea that they are grades and they are not."

That was antibiotic ointment for my wounded psyche.

And then at school, I got the bandaid. From the P.E. teacher.

I rotate eating lunch in the school cafeteria with the kids, and it was Allison's turn. I had planned to join her for lunch later in the month, but I got a phone call from her teacher while I was driving to BSF.

Allison had put her head down and cried in the cafeteria when the bus dropped her off that morning. Her teacher took her to her classroom, thinking she'd perk up. Nope. She put her head down and continued to be mopey.

So I made a decision. That day was the day I'd eat lunch with my girl, even though it meant leaving BSF early.

I know how Allison's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day began. I made her wear the dreaded purple sweatpants again. (I'm getting rid of them now.)

Evidently, her woes continued when she had to move her behavior light from green to yellow. For talking. (Yeah, yeah. I know. She's making up for not being able to talk at home because of her brothers' constant chatter.).

Still, Allison and I enjoyed our lunch of spaghetti, cheese stick and salad. I stopped at Spencer's table, too, to give him some attention.

After lunch, Allison wanted me to go back to her classroom so she could show me something about a panda that they've been learning. She held my hand in line, and before we moved off, the P.E. teacher came up.

He said to me, "She is a delightful child. Well prepared for kindergarten."

I almost said, "You do know that she's the sister of two of my boys who attend here, don't you?" But I didn't want to diminish the moment.

I thanked him for the compliment, and he thanked me for preparing Allison to be a good student.

I loved hearing praise for our daughter.

But later, my reaction bothered me. For two reasons.

First, because it was based off of comparing my kids to each other. And that's not fair to any of them. They are each good little apples, but on any given day of the week any one of them can turn rotten.

Second, because my joy was based off of pride. My kids are who they are because God made them that way. I have a responsibility to parent them the best I can, but each one of them will apply the lessons I give them differently. The end result? That's God's masterpiece, not mine. He gets the glory, not me.

I forgot that for a minute.

I still liked getting the bandaid though. And I do believe the compliment came because of God's prompting, whether the P.E. teacher knows that or not.

Making the Grade

Report cards came home the other day.

Clay walked in the front door, arms raised like Rocky after a victorious fight.

"Mom, I did it! I finally got a 1 on self control!"

And that was enough to make me lose all self control. We danced like crazy around the kitchen.

Clay has struggled since first grade with self control (in regards to talking in class when it isn't his time to talk). This was his best report card ever. He always does well academically, but that self control thing has dogged him for too long. Finally, he got it licked.

Now we need to move that success to the home front. If you ever have been around all three of my kids at the same time, you know my boys talk non-stop while poor Allison watches from the sideline, head bouncing back and forth between the boys like she's watching a tennis match. She does not get equal talking time.

So it's no surprise that on Spencer's first report card, he got a 3 on self control (again, in regards to talking out of turn in class). Academically, he's as sharp as a tack. Behaviorally... the report card just made me so grateful that we held both twins back last year and started them in kindergarten this year. I shudder to think of the feedback we would have gotten a year ago at this time.

Spencer's report card had me feeling completely beat down as a parent. Not one thing on that report card was news to me. As parents, Bruce and I are not blind; we see issues at home. We aren't dunking our heads in the sand; we know our kids very well, good and bad.

But it's painful to see it in writing.

I tucked the kids in bed. Bruce wasn't home yet. And I started bawling. And praying. Lots of praying.

My mother-in-law gives cash for good report cards. It has been wonderful incentive for Clay in the past few years, and he has been talking it up to my other little money grubbers ever since they started kindergarten. (They didn't get report cards for the first six weeks. We had parent/teacher conferences instead. This is the first time Spencer and Allison have brought home report cards.)

It hit me hard that I'm not sure I would give Spencer any money for what he brought home. I am so torn.

I know this is just kindergarten, and there are years of growth ahead. I also know that there is a discrepancy between Spencer and Allison's report cards, even academically, partly because of the different styles of their teachers.

(Please don't tell me that grading is completely objective. I won't buy it any more than you would buy me telling you that reporters are objective. I know how things are supposed to be, but who we are rubs off in what we do. And I don't have a problem with that, as long as I go in with that expectation and understanding, which I do. I've said it before and I'll say it again, all three women teaching my three kids are God's blessings to us. Each one is perfect for each kid they are matched with.)

Allison's report card shows that she is a better student academically than Spencer. But when I sit them side-by-side at home, he is a more proficient reader than she is. He is also more mathematically intuitive than she is.

However, in a classroom setting, she is a teacher's dream, and he can be more of a challenge.

Still, despite the fact that his report card is good on the academics, the reason I'm not sure I'd reward him financially is in an effort to be consistent with what we've always taught Clay, which is this:

Being smart is not enough. With some effort, anybody can get good grades (putting learning disabilities aside; I'm thinking of your average kid.). But being well behaved is to be more desired. It's harder to achieve, but will serve you far better in life than good grades will.

(This is ingrained in me. When I looked for a husband, I wasn't looking for the smartest man I could find, although Bruce does not fall far from that mark. I always wanted to marry a hard worker. Because a smart, but lazy man wasn't going to provide for me and a family, in my mind, as well as a less-educated, but diligent worker. I'm just blessed that Bruce is both smart and hard-working.)

BUT, behavior quirks aside, Spencer loves school. And he loves his teacher. And by not providing him with some sort of reward for his eagerness to learn, I'm afraid we'll squelch it. Especially in light of the fact that the other two will be seeing some greenbacks.

So here's how I'm going to handle this quandary. I'm putting it in the hands of my mother-in-law, who shells out all the moolah.

I'm not simply passing the buck (no pun intended).

I am taking the godly advice of one of my favorite Bible authors, James, who wrote, "Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says."

This past week in Bible Study Fellowship, we studied Exodus 18. Moses' father-in-law Jethro gave him some advice that essentially allowed Moses to better serve God in his main task while delegating more minor tasks to others. It was good advice because it gave others an opportunity to serve God in their own capacity. It also appeased the Israelites, because they didn't have to wait as long to get their gripes settled... and those Israelites sure griped and grumbled a lot.

Thanks to my Lord, Bruce and I are not alone in this parenting thing. However, I can't say that I'm always as gracious about accepting advice from my in-laws as Moses was in taking Jethro's suggestion. Even when the advice is good, and godly, which it almost always is (my in-laws have been around the Christian block a few times. They've got some wisdom. I tell Bruce sometimes that I married him partly to have his parents as in-laws. After all, picking a spouse can't be all about cuteness, brains and the ability to work hard.)

And as a personal little poke, God pointed out to me that Jethro's advice was unsolicited. Moses did not go to his father-in-law looking for help. Jethro just piped up and said, "What you are doing is not good." I am particularly bad about accepting help when it is not sought.

I've been worked over pretty good this week. A double whammy. Spencer and God.

But, like kindergarten, there are years of growth ahead for me, too.

The Book Fair

Do you have a kid that tests you constantly with his willfulness? Do you question your sanity, along with your ability to parent, because you are forever knocking heads with your child?

I do. And I do.

Am I alone? I don't think so.

I've always said there will come a day when Spencer's hardheadedness will serve him well.

Today is that day. Hallelujah!

We took the kids to their school's book fair on Monday night and picked up several books. Today, Spencer has sat on the couch with his new best friend.



He is stubbornly plowing his way through this book, sounding out vowels and consonants like crazy. Sometimes he asks for help, but overall I'm amazed at the words he gets all on his own.



It looks like we have another big reader on our hands.

I like that very much.

Overheard...

While driving the other night, Bruce and I overheard the following conversation between our kids.


Clay: Hey, Spencer, I'm not trying to point any fingers or anything, but what have you been learning in guidance at school?

Spencer: Lots of things.

Clay: Like what?

Spencer: Behavior stuff.

Clay: Well, and I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but have you all talked about bullying with Miss Clair?

Spencer: Yeah.

Clay: Well, you might want to listen better. Because Allison and I are getting kind of tired of you bullying us.

Allison: Yeah!

Spencer: Whatever.


Bruce and I could hardly hold in the laughs. It's a perfect script of daily life in our house. Except that this particular talk was played out without shouting, so I was proud.

And this conversation happened without a physical scuffle.

Maybe because they were all seat-belted into their respective corners of the vehicle.

Still, I have to count it as progress.

Jeremiah 29:11

I snatched this right off of Kim's blog.



This is one of my all-time favorite Bible verses for assurance and peace.

You want someone to have your back? He's got it!

You want a protector? He's it!

You want to live without worry? Cling to Him!

It just doesn't get any better... 'til Heaven, that is.

Delayed Halloween Pictures

One week late...

...here's how our kids dressed for Halloween. We used no imagination at all this year. All costumes courtesy of Wal-mart, thank you very much.

Never in all your life will you ever see a fireman in any town as handsome as this one.



Who's behind this mask?



Only the most bored superhero ever.



Princess Allison makes her royal presence known. She's known from kingdom to kingdom for her radiant smile.



Will the big, burly, brave fireman let the princess give him a kiss? No. Firemen always play hard to get.



(In retrospect, I'm glad that little display of sibling love never quite happened. Right now, Allison has strep throat for the second time. Right on time, too. It's been a month to the day since the last case.)

Bruce sat them all down on the stairs on our front porch and spent several minutes clicking off pictures. This is the best one of the bunch. For real. Nothing better.



And at the end of the night, dentists across the country had nightmares picturing this very scene.

Shhhhhhhh...

...listen.

Do you hear that?

Yeah, it's quiet. Your phone is no longer ringing incessantly with calls from one political camp or another.

It's over.

Finally.

Ahhhhhhh.

But what's not done is that huge pile of candy in the kitchen, leftover from Halloween.

You want to know the best clue that your kids have too much candy?

You walk, barefooted, across the kitchen floor and feel something poke your toe. Thinking you have a hang-nail, you glance down at your foot and instead see a piece of brown glass.

"Who broke a Pyrex dish and didn't tell me about it?" you wonder. (Aren't all Moms the Glass Police, after all?)

However, upon a more detailed inspection of your bare toe, you realize no glass has been broken. You have been poked by a candy shard.

A chocolate Tootsie Roll Pop shard, to be exact.

And did you realize that Wal-mart already has its Christmas candy aisle in order?

Do you think Obama can fix that?

Because that's my issue right now. Christmas candy at Wal-mart, right next to Halloween candy that's marked half off.

There should be a law against that!

Surely, retailers have an obligation to mothers to wait until we have paid off the fillings from Halloween goodies before plying us with their Christmas candy.

A True Southerner

I love southern foods.

Mashed potatoes... with or without gravy works for me. Fried okra. Sweet potato casserole. Pecan pie. Grits. Chicken livers, even.

And I love garden-grown tomatoes better than just about any vegetable out there (let's skip the whole "it's a fruit" argument). Because my very southern grandpa got me hooked on them when I was a pup.

This year, the tomato plants my father-in-law gave me at the beginning of summer got a slow start. And just a few weeks after they decided to yield like gang-busters, the cooler weather signaled the arrival of fall.

I gave away a slew of tomatoes before someone suggested I pull the green ones off the vine before a frost hit and sit them in a cardboard box to ripen indoors.

And the other suggestion I received was to make fried green tomatoes. Several people even passed on recipes.



Fried green tomatoes are one southern food I've not tried.

But, I'm almost always game to try new foods. It's about the only area in life where I claim to have a sense of adventure. The rest of the time, I'm all for the "safe and sound" approach.

So I made fried green tomatoes last night. And I ate fried green tomatoes last night.

And I don't get it. I found nothing worthy of inspiring a chick flick to honor the food's name.



Actually, I thought they were downright disgusting. Even after I poured on plenty of salt. Still yuck.

Spencer liked them though. But I think he gets his taste buds from both my dad, who eats anything that won't move off his plate, and my mother-in-law, who likes food so hot and spicy that she could breathe fire after eating.

Clay and Allison wouldn't even try them. And after tasting them myself, I didn't make them.

I'm not completely willing to write them off. Maybe I messed them up somehow. I'll have to order fried green tomatoes at a restaurant some day.

But I have a feeling that I'm always going to like tomatoes ripened. And fresh from the garden.

Too Much of a Good Thing

This time of year always brings so many things to look forward to.

Halloween candy. Leaves changing. Cooler temperatures. Holidays around the corner.

And one thing I don't look forward to.

Ladybugs galore. Inside my house.

Near the lights in the den...




On the door trim...



In the kitchen...



Another one in the kitchen...



And this is the morning after I went on a giant sucking safari. This is the one time of the year that my vacuum cleaner gets used several times a day. Lucky Charms still litter my floors, but, hey, at least the ceilings remain ladybug free for a few minutes at a time.

What is up with all the ladybugs each year?

And to not suck them up with the vacuum cleaner is not an option. Because then we find ladybug carcasses on the carpet and on the furniture, or stuck to our socks.

And, at supper time, their bodies ping when they land on the light hanging over the kitchen table. Which makes us gag just a little bit as we swallow our roast beef.

The Egyptians and their plagues of frogs, gnats, flies and locusts? Yeah, I'm feeling their pain. Maybe just a little bit.

Normally, I like ladybugs. They're cute and harmless. And you can safely bet they're the only bug I'll let crawl anywhere on my body without convulsing into a squirming dance accompanied by the high-pitch song that includes the words: "Get it off! Where is it? Is it gone?"

But like a contest in which you shove countless marshmallows into your cheeks to see who can fit the most in, ladybugs in the fall in East Tennessee simply prove the truth that you can have too much of a good thing.

Hoovers, unite!!

The Good Doctor

Sometimes, you just need to brag on someone. Even if they'll never know you bragged on them.

This past week I had my one-week follow-up appointment post LASIK surgery. My vision has improved even more since the day-after appointment. Now I'm seeing 20/15, which is just a miracle, really.

I'd been pondering ever since the surgery what to write in a thank-you note to my surgeon. I wanted to give the man credit for easing my nerves. And the staff members who were there that day each did their part, too. But I never forget that the Lord is the One who gifted that surgeon. And He's the One who put that staff together, too.

I sat down and spent probably 15 minutes writing a note that I was satisfied with, and then I put it in the mailbox for my mail carrier to pick up.

The same day my note went out, when I picked up what had been delivered to our mailbox, I noticed an envelope addressed to me from Woolfson Eye Institute. I opened it and was floored.

No, it wasn't a refund of any kind, which would have been nice, even though I believe that the surgery was worth every penny we paid for it. (Don't ask my frugal hubby about that, because I'm not sure he'd agree... he'll agree once he has the surgery... you just wait and see!)

I was surprised because my surgeon had written a personal note to me. To thank me for trusting him with my eyes.

Can you believe that? When was the last time a doctor wrote you a thank-you note?

I am no stranger to doctors. In the last few years, I've seen at least seven kinds of doctors annually - dentist, optometrist, dermatologist, OB/GYN, primary care physician, pediatrician, endocrinologist. At one point, I was also seeing a nephrologist, but my primary care doc manages that issue now.

I've also been to a physical therapist, although, I'm not sure they are technically doctors. Throw in an allergist and a radiologist and that about covers my health care woes in the last decade.

Not one of them has ever written me a note. A bill? Yes. A note? No.

Before I go on, I must say, I've been extraordinarily blessed with great physicians. They are good at their jobs, and they are patient. (I've been known to arrive with a sheet of paper filled with questions.) I even know several of them well enough to know they are Christians, which is an added bonus... first just because they know Jesus, but second because it's even come up and I know that they know Jesus.

I'm not trying to take away from any of my other doctors. I recommend them highly. Often. (So if you're local and need a doctor in any of the above fields, call me.)

Despite all that, above-and-beyond is always going to be above-and-beyond.

By my calculations, based off of what I was told from an office worker in the Asheville branch of Woolfson Eye Institute, Dr. Jonathan Woolfson probably does about 10 surgeries a day. Roughly 50 a week.

I assume he's writing 50 thank-you notes a week.

That's just cool. He certainly doesn't have to do that. I'm sure being gracious is not a subject taught in medical school.

Sometimes, you just need to brag on someone. Even if they'll never know you bragged on them.