Cutting Cords?

I haven't blogged much about our change in churches, because it's been a hard process.

I don't like change.

But sometimes it's necessary.

Our previous church was truly our church family. A first for me, considering that I've never lived in one location long enough to put down roots that deep.

Bruce was mostly raised in that church, though. And still, I sometimes think the move was harder for me. Even though moving is what I do. A lot. And quiet well, I might add.

This change in churches is the first one we've made since we've been married that wasn't required because of a physical change in location from one city or state to another.

But that doesn't mean it wasn't required just the same. I believe God ordained it.

I began praying about moving churches a year beforehand, almost entirely because more children Clay's age go to the church we're now at. But I didn't think that our oldest would be the only person in our family to benefit from attending a different church.

The first couple of months were hairy. Filled with clinging and crying. Hesitancy. Uncertainty. Discomfort.

I kept thinking, "I don't know who goes with what family here. And these people never held my children when they were babies. Nobody here knows that I'm partial to teaching second graders during the week of VBS, but I prefer teaching youth girls for Sunday school. At our old church, I knew who to ask about leading a Beth Moore Bible study and what to do with the Lifeway receipt once I purchased the materials. And at our old church, the librarian can probably tell you my top three favorite authors."

Silly thoughts, really, but there they were.

And then it came time to sign our kids up to play Upwards basketball, which isn't offered at our new church but is at our previous church. The night I took the kids for evaluations at our old church, I was heartsick. I missed it so much.

In walked a newly familiar face. Spencer and Allison's new Sunday school teacher, who also happens to be Clay's Awanas leader. We chatted for a minute and then all our kids were having their skills evaluated. I found an old friend who I hadn't seen since we'd made the church swap and was talking to her.

Allison finished her evaluations first. But she walked right past me, and sat down on the bleacher with her new Sunday school teacher. If she had scooted much closer, she'd have been in his lap! Spencer did the same.

I have to thank God for people like that, who are such a blessing to my kids that a change that has rocked their little worlds is made a bit smoother.

Other things were sweet changes that might not have happened, at least as quickly, at our previous church. The kids chose NOT to go to children's church and instead attend regular services with us after Sunday school. Bruce and I decided that they'd have no more paper and pens during service. No distractions. A few Sundays a couple of them fell asleep, but after some pokes, prods and earlier bedtimes, I noticed they were all paying attention during the service well enough to later re-state what the preacher's sermon was about.

We go to the contemporary service at our new church, which wasn't my first choice, because I miss hearing the choir and it's only in the earlier service. But there was no doubt which service was better suited to our whole family once I saw all three kids enraptured by the praise band that plays in the second service.

A couple of Sundays ago, I noticed our new church just felt more like "home" for the first time. I can't even remember why or even if there was a reason why. But it probably helped that the following Wednesday, I made my first stop at the church library.

I still don't know names with most faces. I still feel uncomfortable sometimes.

I still miss our old church and the people there. In fact, tonight I'm hitting the local Cracker Barrel to spend an evening with several friends from our old church.

But tomorrow, when the alarm goes off, I'll still look forward to worshipping at our new church.

I still talk to the secretary at our old church at least once every couple of weeks, either by phone, e-mail or with just a Facebook comment. I'll still hug our previous pastor and his wonderful wife every time I see them. And I'll still go to any women's function at our old church that my mother-in-law or someone else invites me to.

Bruce told me a few weeks ago that I needed to "cut the cord" holding me to our old church.

But I can't.

I won't.

Some of my favorite people are there.

It's not like a New Year celebration... out with the old, in with the new.

It's just different. An added bonus of new friends. New church family.

No cord cutting for me!

A Much Safer Day

Maybe I mean "a much saner day".

School was cancelled today. Again. For the third straight day. After two whole weeks of Christmas vacation.

I'm convinced that there will be no school again tomorrow. And it has nothing to do with the weather forecast.

I think God's teaching me something.

Patience? I doubt it.

Loving through all circumstances? Nah. It isn't that. I love the little boogers in all circumstances. I just don't always like them. (Call me a bad mom all you want. I'm just being honest. You can lie if you want to. I won't call you a bad parent.)

Oh, I know. I know!

Maybe He's teaching me not to hold too tightly to worldly things... like sanity.

It's okay. I'll be talking to Him about it some more again later. Just in case I'm wrong.

Today's boredom buster was much more creative than yesterday's attempt to reenact Noah's flood inside our home.

I have often said that what Spencer can do with paper, tape and scissors is simply amazing.

In honor of the fact that he just can't let go of his Christmas spirit (probably because he's still technically on Christmas break for the third week in a row!), Spencer constructed this little beauty...



Santa's sled!

I love the Wal-mart bag that he colored red with a marker. It probably would have been simpler if he'd used a bag from Target, but I'm not sure Santa should be flying the unfriendly skies of today's world with a giant red target painted on the back of his sled.

I think Spencer does fine work. Might look good on a resume one day when he applies for an engineering job with Honda. Maybe he could continue to hook me up with one Honda after another.

The Dangers of Balloons

Water balloons should be illegal. They rank right next to my proposed law saying that no Silly Putty should ever be brought into a home that has both carpeting and boys.

And kids should go to school after two weeks of Christmas break, regardless of snow, sleet, hail, ice and frigid temperatures. Seriously. If the postal service is delivering mail in their little buggies, then those heavy buses should be running! Spend a few thousand bucks equipping the yellow beasts with seat belts and quit being sissies about calling school off at the drop of a flake.

Don't chastise me and tell me they cancelled school in the interest of keeping kids safe from a weather-related accident. I'm here to tell you, my kids may not be safe at home after today's water balloon-related accident.

They're bored. Bored children are dangerous children. They turn into a mixture of MacGyver and Rambo. Bad things happen.

I even had the blow-up latex contraband appropriately stashed away. In a room that my kids aren't even allowed to enter.

Moreover, said children were supposed to be in their respective rooms having a "quiet time" while I talked on the phone with Bruce, planning a summer trip to Germany to visit my mom.

Oh, they were having a quiet time, all right. Too quiet.

I should have sensed something.

But after hanging up the phone, I got online to research what I needed to do to renew the kids' passports.

And that's when the oldest perpetrator came downstairs and asked if they could be done with their quiet time. I asked if they could all get along together nicely. He said yes and so I agreed that quiet time could cease. I told him to go back upstairs and tell his young accomplices.

And as he walked by the kitchen, he said, "Uh, Mom. I think we have a leak."

What? What leak? I hadn't yet run the dishwasher today.

I walked to the kitchen and noticed that the lamp over the table was dripping water, looking more like a fountain in the park than a light fixture ought to look. The table was holding puddles.

Surprisingly, all three children were behind me at that moment. Even though Clay never made it upstairs to tell Spencer and Allison that their incarceration was over.

"What have you all done?" I asked, and then I ran up the stairs to the bathroom on the floor above the kitchen.

Hmmm. No obvious flooding on the floor. No water filling the bathtub to overflowing. No clogged toilet had been continuously flushed past capacity. In fact, the only evidence of wrongdoing was that the hand towel was lying on the floor, next to a few drops of water; but the towel was only slightly damp.

"What have you done?" I repeated. But a lot louder this second time.

And so the story gushed forth from the mouths of my babes.

Spencer went into the room that has been deemed off limits. He found the water balloons that were left over from Clay's birthday party last summer. And then he and Clay proceeded to fill the water balloons. With water, naturally.

Allison, the best tattle tale we've got, strictly blew air into the balloons. No water. Not her. No way. But she didn't blow any hot air in my direction informing me of her brothers' misdeeds either. I still am not sure what possessed her to pass up that opportunity.

But still. Where was all that water in the kitchen coming from?

I opened the cabinet under the bathroom vanity.

My memory fades a bit here. I think it's a coping mechanism in order for me to maintain some small measure of psychiatric health.

I do know that I was mad enough to tell the kids to get to their rooms promptly because there was no way I was fit to even spank them at that moment. I spent several minutes venting while soaking and then wringing out the hand towel.

The kids are still in their rooms. Waiting for Bruce's arrival home. Because they are more afraid of daddy spankings than mommy spankings. And because, after all, the wait is worse than the actual spanking. Usually. Exceptions might be made tonight.

Still, I feel a little bad for them. Truly, they had no idea what was actually going on.

No-no's were violated. We have a strict rule against water play inside the house. And the boys will be spanked for disregarding that rule.

But they didn't even see the water accumulating under the sink. Clay fitted the balloon over the lip of the spigot but, all I can figure is, the water back sprayed up into the faucet and then dripped on the outside of the pipes under the sink onto the bottom of the area underneath where you store all your extra toilet paper. If they'd seen in, I'm certain they would have stopped.

Well, I'm not 100 percent certain. Because they're boys. And water play is fun.

I'm maybe 70 percent sure they'd have stopped.

Alas, while all our Christmas decorations are no longer decking our walls, we now have two rather large water spots decorating our kitchen ceiling.




They aren't very festive, are they? And they aren't even symmetrical. Lovely.

On a positive note, the light does actually still work.

Meanwhile, the local school system continues to toy with me. Tomorrow, school is starting on a two-hour delay.

Uncomfortable... Very Uncomfortable

I haven't been much of a blogger lately. This used to be a place for me to purge my soul, but I've been too busy to write out my thoughts. They still rumble around upstairs, but that's as far as they're getting lately, unless I unload them on poor Bruce.

But Bruce is at work right now. And I feel the need to unload. Just warning you.

I do not like door-to-door sales people. It's nothing personal. I'm sure they're lovely individuals who simply have possibly the world's worst job. But I am way too suspicious to appreciate their efforts, even on a day like today when it's flurrying snow and so cold outside that our dog's water bowl is more like a Popsicle holder.

For starters, I've done an awful lot of back scratching in the newspaper world when an editor had me write a business article to swap for advertising. And I've worked in public relations, which pays better than newspaper writing, but is far less fulfilling for me. Seriously, I have worn out the thesaurus on finding different ways to say "wonderful" and I doubt anyone is going to impress me with a new word in describing their product.

Also, for me, it's a patience thing. I don't do well with long, drawn out explanations of how great a deal something is, how I'm going to benefit from it, how a product will change my life, make me smarter, richer, thinner... whatever. Tell me in 10 words or less what you're hocking and then be on your way. Because when it comes right down to it, if I want something, I'll research it on my own time on the Internet and then find a supplier and place an order... if we can afford it at all!

I also don't enjoy someone I don't know knocking on my door when I am home alone, or home with my children, and making my warped mind wander back to the latest episode of Criminal Minds. I spend way more time mentally noting height, approximate weight, hair and eye color, clothing and possible speaking dialects, piercings and tattoos than I do listening to their sales pitch.

Even better than having my time interrupted and my suspicions aroused is when my three kids parade to the door to see who has approached our inner sanctum. That's when I realize that the kids are still wearing their pajamas, so I squint back at the sales person and wonder if they're either a pedophile or a kidnapper.

But, I remember, perfectly normal looking human beings have been convicted of horrible things.

It's pretty simple. I'm either going to have to quit watching TV, including the news, or I'm going to have to post a "NO SOLICITING" sign at our front door.

Because the older I get, the less patience I have and the more my mind is naturally inclined to turning into Stephen King's playground.

Better Late Than Never

Just posting a couple of pictures from 2009 that I neglected to post at the time they occurred. For my mom!

Way back in October, here's how the kids dressed up for Halloween.

Clay didn't want to really be anything in particular. His only request was that he get to spike his hair up. I found the glow-in-the-dark green skeleton shirt at Wal-mart and added some green hairspray to the mix. He's a handsome freaky thing, isn't he?

I made Allison's ladybug outfit following instructions I found online somewhere. It was pretty low key, which is what I shoot for in any kind of homemade item.

Spencer asked to be a gardener. I bought the overalls from my neighbor at a community garage sale. The hat is Bruce's. You can't really see the gardening gloves and seed packets that are attached to the front pockets of his overalls, but you can see a bit of the watering can I attached to the loop on his carpenter overalls. For some reason, when I asked Allison to turn around so I could catch her wings, Spencer felt it was important to show me his rear side as well.

Next up... the fourth graders at Clay's school put on a Veteran's Day program back in November. I surprised Clay by calling Bruce at work after I dropped the kids at school that morning and asked him if he could take off from work to come. I always go to the kids' school programs, but Bruce has never been able to. And Clay has only one year of elementary school after this year, so I thought it'd be nice for both of my older guys.

All three of our kids were happy to see Dad!

The fourth graders did a great job. Our Clay is never enthused about being in front of an audience, so this is his standard pose.



Still handsome as can be, but you can see his discomfort. Poor kid.

Today, we're two days into 2010... and it's snowing. Again.

I don't think it'll amount to anything worth playing in, and for that I'm grateful. It's way too cold out, even for energetic kids who are bundled to look like marshmallows in snow gear. The thermostat has hovered between 19 and 21 degrees.

I'm feeling bad for our lab Dixie.

Happy New Year!