Photoblog: Deck the Halls

My kids have chickenpox. Bad. They also have cabin fever, sibling rivalry, and pale complexion from calamine lotion. A mouse got into my cupboards (all of the cupboards, apparently) and delighted in acts of rodent defecation all over my clean dishes. All that, and it snowed. Seriously - I'm in need of some cheering up. Care to join me?

We live in a really cool old one-room school house. For the bulk of our time living here we've been too busy or too distracted to really capitalize on the charm and appeal of a Schoolhouse Christmas. This year - varmints and diseases be darned - we're pulling out all the stops. We have already decorated, and continue to make cutesy crafts to supplement our already-decadent decor. (I'm a bit sleep deprived, here. Forgive me for substituting alliteration for truly clever writing today.) We're even hosting our very first, grown-up Christmas party (complete with mulled cider and fancy finger foods), and a Christmas Tea for my co-workers. Oh yeah - we're rockin' this Christmas season.

So, in keeping with our festive theme, I'm going to ignore the piles of laundry and the stacks of dishes, and take you on a tour of the well-decked halls of Evergreen Schoolhouse. Enjoy.

 

Our first stop is the upstairs dining room - aglow with a peaceful light and the soft sound of brilliant children thinking about their peaceful game of chess. Yes - it's always like this. Always.

 

Next up is the cozy living room. Note how the piano is invitingly calling your name. "Come play with me! Sing a rousing carol or two. Invite your friends to join." (It's a bit needy.) Of course, the seasonal central feature of this room is our tree. So pretty. 

This is what our tree looked like when we first put it up. Lovely, but needs a little something - don't you think? 

This is our tree after a visit from the Tinsel Fairy. (Note - this is not an entity my family was aware of when I was a child. It only entered our lives after I married Mark. Late one night. When everyone was asleep. Leaving its handiwork for all to see (and cats to play with, and vacuums to clean up). 

I must admit - ever since that first (and subsequent) midnight visit from the Tinsel Fairy, I always think a tree looks a bit naked (or, at least under dressed) without some shiny floss.

But, the tree is far from the only glamorous thing around here. (Besides us, of course.)  We've hung up lots of lovely features - like  these decorations in the windows and doors.

 

 And even put out a bowl of lovely glass balls. Oooohhh - shiny!

No chimney (save the stove pipe, which gets really hot), so we hung stockings on the steps. It works!

Best of all - our Nativities!

We've had some accidents, of course. Besides just these, heads have also rolled. Joseph's and a shepherd's head, to be exact. A little glue fixed 'em up, though. I think they're going to pull thru. 

Besides just these broken pieces, we also have some other interesting features to our Nativity sets. For example - this one is missing Jesus. Kind of a big deal. I debated whether or not to get rid of it entirely, but it's a lovely, old, nine-piece set. So, the wise men and Mary and Joseph now look adoringly at a little lamb. It's actually scripturally accurate, in a way, and much less blasphemous than putting in a troll doll.

This set is one of my favorites. They're almost a foot tall, and gleaming in brilliant jewel tones. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a decent picture without also having our wall chart of the presidents involved. That's right - home schoolers decorate their walls with geeky learning things. Might be a bit ugly, but once you hear a four-year-old sing all the presidents in order you'll agree - it's totally worth it. 

 Continuing in that theme, we also left our presidential flashcards up. I mean, people like to *receive* dead presidents for Christmas. Don't you think they'll also want to *look at* dead presidents as well? 

And, finally, here's the part where you come in. See - I've hung up a lovely ribbon from which to hang all of the Christmas cards we receive, and photos from our upcoming holiday events. I'm saving a spot on there just for you. See it - right there?  Yep - that's your own special place in the very decked halls of Evergreen School. Can't wait to see you there!

Merry Christmas, all!

Happy Sacher Torte Day!

Well, who knew? According to louderbacks.com, today, apparently, is Sacher Torte Day. (That'll teach you to rely on the internet for all of your information!) I know that the squares on my calendar are pretty small, but how could this treasure of a holiday have been left off? Turns out, Sacher Torte Day is really only big in Vienna. Had I consulted my Austrian calendar, I'm sure it would have been on there. You live, you learn.

So, what exactly do you do on Sacher Torte Day? Is there a costume you have to wear? Special song to sing? Hallmark card to send? Nope. Franz Sacher was a baker who invented an especially yummy kind of chocolate cake that he dubbed 'the Sacher Torte.' He has gone down in history as a national hero. This cake was so good that it's still made today - over 150 years after the first one came out of the oven - and can only be purchased in three or four bakeries around the world. There were literally lawsuits over this delicacy - fortunes made and fortunes lost. Wow - all for a cake.

I may not exactly be Franz Sacher, but I do have a few recipes up my sleeve that I'm kind of proud of. They may not make me rich or famous, but they do make my family smile. In the long run, that's worth far more than fame or fortune anyway. So, I'm choosing to celebrate Sacher Torte day by making my crowd-pleasing chili and a boxed chocolate cake. Is that sacrilegious? Maybe, but we've all got to find our niches in the world, and in the kitchen. Happy Franz Sacher Day, and happy eating. :)

Want to try to make your own Franz Sacher Torte? Check out this recipe:
http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/wolfgang-puck/wolfgangs-sachertorte-recipe/index.html

For those of you who aren't exactly up to making a Franz Sacher Torte, you might like this one instead:
http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,176,150187-236194,00.html

Grooming Tips for the Uninitiated

I believe I've mentioned before that I'm not exactly what you might call a girly girl. (If I haven't - what was I thinking? There's enough blog fodder there to last for months!) I do try to stay presentable, of course, even if my standards are way lower than those of most of the ladies I know. (Hint: I do not have makeup. None. Don't even own a tube of lipstick.Seriously.)

For me, grooming generally involves brushing and flossing (the former everyday, the latter as often as I remember, or when an overwhelming sense of guilt prompts me to action, or when a visit to the dentist is imminent.), washing my hair (Suave shampoo and conditioner, often not even matching scents), and shaving (for special occasions, or at least before doing so would clog the bathtub drain - whichever comes first). Beyond hacking back the tangled undergrowth of underarm hair once in a while, and battling bad breath, I'm not over fussy when it comes to grooming. That is why it is all the more perplexing (to me, and especially to them) that God gifted me with three lovely girls.

My younger two, so far, are on board with my fuss-free philosophy. In fact, they'd probably never brush their teeth or hair, if given the chance. However, my oldest daughter is dangerously close to actually being a teenager, and even more dangerously close to acting like one. She has discovered all kinds of new-fangled things: like straightening irons, sweeping updos, and 'product'. This last one really threw me for a loop. I took her for a simple haircut about a year ago, and she and the stylist (barber, for us oldschool types) chatted away comfortably about 'product' the whole time. Seriously - it was liking trying to decipher a secret code. From what I gathered, there is apparently shampoo and conditioner out there that does stuff other than just get your hair clean and tangle free. I'm not exactly clear on all the details, but I have learned that it costs more than 88 cents a bottle, and is dearly coveted by my daughter. I'll have to look into this more.

For now, I am just trying to keep up. When she asks me about a specific nail painting technique or piece of fancy-pants hair technology, I usually just smile and nod. (And call my girly friends.) But, despite feeling like a blind person in a foreign (and expensive) land, I couldn't be happier. This is why motherhood is so great - I'm going to get to learn something new right alongside her. Inside I am screaming, "Don't buy into the Hollywood lies! You're beautiful the way you are! Run! Escape! Flee while you still can!" But, I somehow doubt that haranguing my pre-teen with these esoteric sentiments would be the best choice. So, I'm gonna learn to get girly too, even if it comically (though temporarily) disfigures us both. Remember - I'm going to have to teach this girl about makeup in a few years. Yikes.

For now, she's grateful for my help - however little I have to offer, and I am learning how to browse in the cosmetic and haircare aisle without breaking out into spots, seizures, or sermons. I think we're going to make it through this, and (if I can get past my prejudices and preconceived notions) we might even look good doing so. Watch out world - the Farrier girls are coming thru! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go figure out what on earth shine serum and straightening balm are. They sound like the perfect antidote to expensive dental and orthodontic visits, but I'm betting I've got it all wrong...

Smart Woman / Stupid Moments

I am a smart gal. I've even got test scores from high school to prove it. I certainly am no Einstein, and there will be probably not be anything named after me when I am dead, but I like to think I can hold my own in the realm of ideas. Even after having had three children (which does, let's be honest, tend to diminish capacity just a tiny bit, at least in the eyes of your teenagers), I still get at least 60% of the questions right when I watch re-runs of Jeopardy on TV, and can generally fill in ten to fifteen words in the Sunday crossword puzzle before I get bored, distracted, or need to clean up a spill. I guess you could say that I've got it goin' on in the brain department.

This is why I am all the more amused and confused when I get bemused. (See - only a smart person could string those words together, right?) My problem is that I am kind of book smart, and not always real-world smart. My friend laughs at me for being so capable of deconstructing the obscure literature of unknown writers, but unable to order a sandwich at the drive-thru without practically breaking into tears. I am the woman ahead of you at the grocery store, holding up the line, because I have forgotten to push the 'do you want cash back' button on the credit card machine. (Seriously - I just want to pay for my groceries, not have a relationship. Why does it ask so many questions!?)

Vending machines cause me a bit of anxiety. The main reason I never started drinking coffee was my profound fear of ordering at Starbucks. Seriously... people who can do that without quaking in fear (or because of the caffeine overload) deserve Noble prizes.  In short, I am a smart woman who has trouble with the simple things, which has led to many, many stupid moments. Typically, I try to keep these to myself (you know - to preserve the whole 'smart woman' reputation I'm trying to cultivate). However, my last trip to Oklahoma brought several of these to the surface, and I thought that it would be cathartic to confess my stupidity, rather than holding it in any longer. (That, and since I experienced them with several people around, I can no longer be assured that they will be kept secret without having to pay off or kill some folks.) Perhaps admitting to my problem it will help me overcome it. At the very least, I hope it will provide a bit of comfort if you've had similar moments, or a bit of mirth if you have not.

So, I present to you, my top five 'Duh' moments (that I can remember and am willing to admit to)...

1.) As we drove into Oklahoma, I started seeing lots of signs for Indian smoke shops. I was very excited, since I really like smoked meat. My imagination started to run away with me, as I envisioned wizened native Americans offering smoked buffalo, venison, perhaps even something exotic like rattlesnake or turtle. It was at the point that I was actually trying to figure out how much room we would have in the cargo area of the van that I realized that Indian smoke shops sell smokes. You know - cigarettes. Cuz they can. Without as many taxes attached. Cuz it's Oklahoma. Duh.

2.) Last year we went to the International Cattle Dog trials. You know - where people train fuzzy, black-and-white collies to go and fetch the cows. (Why has no one thought to train dogs to do the same for children in parking lots and grocery stores? Hmm....) Anyway, there were only about 100 people there total, including the trainers and audience. After the sixth white cane that I saw, I started to wonder what it was about this sport that drew so many blind people. I mean, surely it couldn't that interesting to just listen to the whistles and moos, could it? What kind of a spectator sport would this be for someone who couldn't see? Yep - that's right. I actually thought that for a few minutes, before it dawned on me that the cattle dog owners use the white canes to point out instructions and directions to the dogs. Does make you wonder, though - how much more challenging would it be if you had to blindfold the owners. Or the dogs... Just sayin'. Duh.

3.) (You might need to be from the south to understand this one.) On our way down to Oklahoma, I mentioned that I didn't know the names of the Duke boys from the popular TV show from the 80's called The Dukes of Hazard. (This, for you Yankees, is akin to not knowing how to wipe your own nose or spell your own name. In the south, the latter two are optional, but knowing about the Dukes is not.) I said something about hearing the names Crockett and Tubbs on a movie, and thinking, "Oh - that must be the names of the Dukes boys." (Even as I type this, I am filled with shame.) See - that was my mistake. I thought I had been dumb for not knowing something, and smart once I finally figured it out. Although (and, you've probably already noticed this by now, especially if you've ever lived south of the Mason-Dixon line) Crockett and Tubbs are not the Dukes brothers. They, apparently, are from the equally-popular 1980's television show called Miami Vice. For the record, the Dukes boys are named Bo and Luke. If you ever get confused about that yourself (which I doubt you would), you can simply call anyone - literally, anyone - in a southern area code and ask. They'll be able to tell you. Even a five-year old, though I cannot be trusted when it comes to these things. Duh.

4.) We had just finished with a lovely meal, and I was clearing the table. Noting that there was a lot of liquid wax in the candle, I wondered what I should do with it. (Note - the right answer is JUST LEAVE IT! Trust me on this one.) I decided - because I am brilliant - that I should dump it down the drain. Now, lest you think that I am a total idiot, I want to point out that I was smart enough to know that wax does cool. So, to counteract the cooling effect, I ran hot water down the drain with the wax. (Yes, I was trying to mitigate my own stupid, but sometimes effort does not replace intelligence.) As I'm sure you can imagine, the wax hardened in the trap, and clogged the sink. You'd think - as many times as I had put my finger into liquid wax (and felt the burn), and watched that wax harden on my finger - that I would be able to foresee the hazards of my dumb decision. But, I did not. That's what we call a stupid moment. Duh.

5.) And, finally - the piece de resistance. (See - I AM smart. I know some fancy French words!) I wish I could say that the last stupid moment ended there, but it did not. (I guess you could call this a whole stupid evening.)

After clogging the sink, I called to my dear, saintly husband (who rescues me in such situations), and told him what had happened. After looking at me and shaking his head ruefully, he put a pan under the sink and began loosening the plumbing. Once he got the trap off, the water from the sink drained into the pan, and quickly filled it up. He hollered for me to hand him a big bowl, which I did, and asked me to dump the pan. I grabbed it and (oh yes I did - you can see it coming) promptly dumped it back down the drain. (He told me to empty it. That's where you empty stuff, right!?)  Duh.

Have I mentioned that my husband is a saint? Sputtering (both from the water that had cascaded down on him from above and the utter stupidity that his very smart wife had just exhibited) he thanked me and said he would handle plumbing situations by himself in the future. That is probably the smartest decision he has ever made. But, then again - he doesn't suffer from stupid moments like I do, so his decisions are almost always smart.

Note: He did get his revenge (which resulted in another 'Duh' moment for me.) Several months later I was watching TV at my parents' house. They have Dish Network. This, also, confuses me. I wanted to see what shows were going to be on a particular channel much later that afternoon, so I kept hitting the right arrow button. The screen would blink momentarily before revealing the next two hours of programming. I had done this three or four times when my dear, sweet husband (have I mentioned that he's not always a saint?) casually said, "You know it costs your parents a quarter every time you do that, don't you?" I froze - desperately trying to calculate how much cost I had incurred - a task made all the more difficult because I'm not so hot at math or remembering details like how many times I had hit a button. He finally couldn't contain himself, and grinned. Duh!

Don't worry - I'll get back at him, though. I'm pretty sure there's a drip in the bathroom sink, and I'll just offer to help him fix it. Stay tuned for more stupid moments to come...

Going Home...

I just got back from a whirlwind trip back to my home state. My best friend and I went together, along with our five little girls. Yes - that's right. There were seven females confined to one small space for ten hours straight. Twice. Giggles ensued.

The whole way down my friend and I solved the world's problems - discussing politics, religion, finances, healthcare, and (especially) parenting. I don't know why the UN can't seem to get it together. We pretty much had everything figured out before we even got to Kansas City, even while having to hand back kleenex and snacks at regular intervals. Maybe that's it - someone needs to bus up all the delegates and make them ride across country until they get to that mellow, silly stage that occurs about three hours in.

I don't know what it is about road trips that makes people so goofy. It's a bit like being drunk, I think, but with less risk for hangover. It helped, for us, that we shared common memories from way back then, and still have much in common today. Every mile we drove away from our homes took us a mile closer to home, so to speak. The drive there may have only taken ten hours, but we arrived twenty-five years younger and in a whole different world. It was, truly, a trip down memory lane.

Lee Ann and I are Okies from Muskogee. Merle Haggard crooned about being proud to come from a place with such inherent tradition, simplicity, and changelessness back in 1969, and I get it. Muskogee, Oklahoma wasn't buying into the gyrations that the rest of the United States was going through then, and it isn't today either. The store fronts may have changed, but the heart hasn't. Somehow time really does stand still in that small southern town, and even more so forty-miles to the south, in the even sleepier hamlet of Eufaula - our home town.

I've always found it strange that when I tell people I grew up in the South, they reply, "Oh, Oklahoma isn't really the south." Seriously? It's really hot, and people talk funny. Doesn't that qualify?  Granted, Oklahoma was Indian Territory during the Civil War (another common indicator of whether or not people consider a state 'southern' or not), but I went to Dixie Elementary, and our high school was called Jefferson Davis. See - southern to the core. Plus, anyone who's ever been there from here can attest - it is different. It's the South.

When I first got there, I was greedy for all the sights, and sounds, and memories this little town held for me. I saw places that I thought I had only dreamed, but now they stood before me in the thin, fall sunshine in all of their solid glory. They really were real! The experience was at once unnerving and comforting - a bit like finding your keys right where you just got done looking. You're glad to have them, but still somehow a bit perplexed. Each twist in the road and blooming flower triggered a new sensory overload. My brain was like a pinball machine - lighting up in dusty, forgotten corners. Experiences and memories welled to the surface, clawed their way to the front of the crowd, burst into the room - each singing and hollering excitedly at being validated and proven true. But, the best part was hearing the voices of my home town again.

 My cousin (whom I used to live next door to, and haven't seen in a quarter of a century) sat across the table from me and related a story about being surprised by something, and said she, "... 'bout fell out on the floor." My friend's dad greeted us with a grin as we pulled up in his driveway and apologized for not being able to "hug us around the neck" because he had "greazy hands". I got called darlin' and honey and sugar more times than I can count, and each one was like a lovely embrace. It felt good to hear 'fixin to' and 'ya'll' in regular conversation, and I could have spread those deep, smoothy, buttery accents  on a piece of homemade bread and eaten it for breakfast. I may have been only six when we left Oklahoma, but a southern drawl will always be a favorite lullaby to me.

But, all things must come to an end. Even in the midst of being comfortably enveloped by my own childhood, and even with as much as things really had stayed the same, I realized they were different. Or, more accurately, I was. Iowa is not Oklahoma. The North is not the South. There is a distinct difference - culturally, economically, socially. I treasure my memories from there and the way that it colored my personality. I love to tell the stories, hear the accents, hug the people, eat the food. I appreciate more than words can express that there is a place where I can go and step right back into my perfectly-preserved past, but I was also very glad to get back into the van and make the ten hour drive back to my future.

Having already solved the world's problems on the way down, Lee Ann and I let our exhausted brains have free-reign on the drive back, and got really silly. Somehow every road sign was comment-worthy, and every billboard was hilarious. Desperate to document the entirety of our trip, I took photos of the inside of the van, the tollbooth at the turnpike, and even of the girls doing jumping jacks at a rest area. (I told you we got silly.) Scattered amongst our giggles and snorts we processed our time in Oklahoma together. What had been good.  What had been surprising. What had been difficult. At one point, after hours of talking, a moment of silence settled over the vehicle, and we summed up our shared history and trip the same way  - we're glad we came from there.

We pulled into home just after suppertime and smiled as a gaggle of children poured out of the van to hug the two waiting daddies. The sights, sounds, and smells around me didn't arouse the same electric thrill of rediscovery as the ones in Oklahoma had, but familiarity sure feels good too. I hugged my husband, rushed my tired children into our waiting car, and waved goodbye to my friend - who was already engaged in doing all the same things herself. Going back to our shared childhood home together had been a wonderful trip, but coming back home was the best thing of all.

The Making of a Strong Heart

My husband is an awesome man, and we have a wonderful marriage. Since we are two distinct and separate people, our endeavor to walk the same path together often includes disagreement, and even the occasional argument. After over a decade of marriage, I've discovered that the act and actions of disagreement itself is often what leads couples to argue, and not necessarily the different opinions that started the discussion in the first place.

When my husband and I argue, it is usually because I have withdrawn to lick my wounds about how I feel about what he said. That's, invariably, what escalates a discussion into an argument at our house. It's typically got nothing to do with the honest, constructive things that he has said, and everything to do with my reactions to them. Specifically, when my husband shares his needs, thoughts, and desires with me, it highlights all that I have not been, done, or accomplished for him or our family. When that happens, I find myself sinking under the feeling that I am not the wife that he deserves. I know there are different nuances and finer points in each situation. And, I have only written about my role in our arguments. He faces his own thoughts and fears, and has his own culpability, but the main thread under all of our arguments is one thing - insecurity.

When we argue, I cover my feelings of guilt by saying that he's been brusque, or not gentle enough, or harsh in the words and tone of voice that he has chosen to use. In reality, though, I am simply trying to re-focus the spotlight onto him in order to not drag my shame and shortfalls out into the open. That's a lot of theatrics to impose on someone just because I don't want to face up to the places where I've lacked - especially since he's always had grace for me when I have been honest with him. The bottom line is that it is not the words he chose or the way he chose to say them that I'm upset about. I'm upset about me.

Mark is a man. He does not think or talk like I do. But, that doesn't mean that I don't have the ability or responsibility to understand what he's saying, even if he doesn't use the words my delicate, feminine nature wishes he would. I can make the choice to circumvent his heart-felt and honest words because I don't like the way they're delivered, or I can be realistic about our differences so that I can understand his needs and desires, and make the changes necessary to bring us closer.  It is the same with the Lord.

The scriptures talk often about the fact that God's church is his bride. I know that to be true corporately, but our relationship individually with the Lord is much the same. I myself am his bride, and I can easily get confused about what I should do or how I should go about doing things in life. Instead of looking to Him and listening to his direction and instruction, I often shy away from his leading because it comes in a way that is not palatable to me - not how I want to hear it. So, I harden my heart. The reality is that I could make things a lot more simple and successful with my earthly husband, and my heavenly one as well, if I would choose to strengthen my feminine heart, instead of hardening it - and there's a big difference.

The process of hardening something - like metal, for example - usually leads it to be impenetrable. Once changed, it is difficult (if not impossible) to re-soften it in order for other elements to be mixed in. To harden steel, you heat it quickly, and cool it quickly - much like our hearts are quick to burn with anger, and quick to turn to icy resentment. While having an impenetrable, hard substance (or heart), may seem like a good idea, it most often turns brittle, and can shatter when not handled with care.

When you strengthen something, however, the process is very different. To strengthen metal, you must first refine it, and rid it of all impurities. What is left, then, can be relied upon to be consistent and stable, no matter what trials you put it through. To that pure substance, then, other elements are added - elements that are tested and proven to be beneficial. To make strong metal, workers add carbon, which changes its very structure on a cellular level. It makes the metal pliable, and easier to mold and work with. To make a strong heart, the Lord gives us the Holy Spirit, which changes our very nature, as well, and produces the same characteristics in us that carbon produces in steel - the ability to be turned into something useful and flexible. The final act of strengthening has to do with a repeated heating and cooling process - very precise, very slow, very painstaking. This is not a process that the human flesh finds comfortable, but it is one which produces proven, lasting, life-changing results - a strong heart.

The end product with either substance - be it heated metal, or a tested heart - is going to be the same, depending on how the process is carried out. You will either find yourself with hardness that encases impurities, does not allow for the acceptance of new things, and will ultimately end up shattered and broken. Or, you will end up having strength, durability, usefulness, and timelessness. I know which one I want for my heart, and am going to have to make the choice - moment by moment - to embrace the process of achieving it.

So, I am challenging myself to listen to the true words of instruction that I receive - no matter how they may come, or how much they may shed light on my insecurities and shortfalls. Choosing to cover them over will never rid me of them, but exposing them to the clear light of a refining flame will. And, I am determined to give thanks for the ones wielding the refining fire in my life; focusing on the good their work is doing, instead of the challenge it presents to me personally. A strong heart - that can be of daily use and comfort to my husband and my Lord - is well worth it.

I invite you (especially the wives out there) to join me in this challenge, and start looking for the ways that you withdraw from the refining process. Would you really choose a hardened heart, when strength can be your portion? Would you really choose to protect what you already have, even if means never being able to let anything else in? Is what you have (and who you are) right now really what you want to have and be forever, anyway? I didn't think so. So, ladies - let's face the refining fire together, and be grateful for people who are willing to wield the flame. (And, let's not fool ourselves into thinking their job is a piece of cake, either.)

Want to be encouraged as you walk through this process? Check out these two really awesome blogs, which inspire me to keep my heart close to the refiners in my life, even when it hurts. The first is a dear friend of mine who got married just a few months ago, and who is honestly sharing her daily insights as a young wife. The other is a dear friend who got married years ago, and who clarifies the role of a wife so well as she shares her insights as a seasoned wife. I hope they'll encourage you, just as they have for me. Until next time - may we all embrace the process of building strong hearts.

Great Blogs You Should Follow:

The Neesby Lookbook - by Nicole Neesby

The Respect Dare - by Nina Roesner

Hair!

If I never hear the word hair again, it will be too soon. You see - I have three daughters. And, they all have hair. And that hair - it has to be brushed. I know - none of those things are startling revelations in and of themselves, but there is a deeper meaning behind each one that has led me to consider encouraging them to enter a Buddhist monastery, but only for the haircut and to save on laundry expenses. Let me explain.

First off - I have three daughters. You know - girls. That means they have feelings. Lots of them, and they like to express those feelings. All the time. Out loud. I usually don't have conversations, per se. Instead, I'm often on the receiving end of a rapid-fire, three-fold conversational assault. The pre-teen fires, and I volley back, simultaneously returning a query from my seven-year-old. We continue this parlay for whole minutes at a time, while I dodge the constant tommy-gun prattle that my four-year-old deftly aims my direction. To put it lightly, they like to talk about what they're thinking, feeling, and experiencing. They are each very strong, but none is what you might call the silent type. That's because they're daughters.

The next deeply unnerving truth in my life - my daughters all have hair. Yes, I'm glad they have hair, especially in light of the fact that the oldest was nearly bald until she was 2 1/2. But, those days are gone. Now, they're all fully-tressed, each with lustrous, healthy, gorgeous heads of hair. One has highlights that would make even the most skilled hairdresser weep with jealousy. One has hair so benevolent and compliant that it can practically curl, shine, or French-Roll on command. The other has such perfect, uniform, ringlet curls that we literally have to schedule an extra fifteen minutes into our errand-running days, just so we aren't made late by all the people who stop to compliment her. In short, these girls have got it going on in the hair department. Why, you ask, does that make me want to weep copiously and head for the hills? Simple - with great hair, comes great responsibility, which leads me to point number three.


Hair must be brushed. Seems simple enough, doesn't it? But - let me assure you - when you combine point number one (girls who love to talk about what they're feeling) and point number two (girls with tons of hair of varying temperaments), it makes you really start to reconsider the full ramifications of point number three (that hair must be brushed). Sure, the act of hair brushing itself is simple enough. But, so is changing a flat tire, unless it's 32 degrees, raining cats and dogs, and the cars are honking and speeding by your head, mere inches away. This, in a nutshell, is how I've come to view our daily grooming ritual. I feel like I've got post-traumatic stress disorder from my previous run-ins with tangles, tender heads, and tantrums. It's gotten so bad lately that I've begun contemplating alternatives to the dreaded morning ritual. Perhaps they don't really need their hair brushed every day after all... I'm sure they would look very good in hats... How long does it take to do cornrows?... Hmmm...

In the interest of full disclosure (and, mostly, to make sure you don't think ill of me or my wonderful children), I should note that we have tried every tangle spray and different brush type in the universe, but to no avail. And, though I do sincerely (ardently, feverishly, fully, and earnestly) hope that my children will grow out of their tenderheadedness, I don't look for that to happen any time in the near future, since I still suffer from the dreaded disorder myself. We generally run a pretty tight ship around here when it comes to behavior, but I don't blame the girls for their vociferous reluctance to get their hair brushed. I, on occasion, still let a mild utterance or shriek fly when encountering my own tangles, after all.

So, there's nothing left to do but restrain myself from drastic measures, and keep enduring the screaming, struggling, fighting, flailing, ouching, oohing, ahhing trio, until their tresses are tamed, or baldness becomes the new style for little girls. After all - I have three daughters. They all have hair, and hair must be brushed. And so, we soldier on together.

Ready, Set, WRITE!

I like to blog. I like to send emails. I like to do Facebook updates. I even like to compose letters in my head that I would send to famous people about great injustices that I think have been committed, and how they could (and should) be made right. (Mostly, these are in the form of scathing rebuttals to my congressman about the trite and pandering general communiques he sends out. Sometimes they are also letters to food companies about their insistence on including calories in their otherwise-perfect desserts.) In short, I love to write.

I know most people do not feel the same way, and that's ok. Except, well... it isn't. I'm an English teacher. It is our goal in life (there are whole fraternities and international organizations devoted to it) is to encourage people to communicate, and to communicate well. Yes, I admit that I sometimes get hung up on being an eagle-eyed punctuation Nazi, but what I most love about reading and responding to people's writing is getting a chance to know what and how they think. That, ultimately, is the goal of writing. It is an act akin to opening up your brain and letting people probe about its inner reaches. 'Cause, here's the thing - there is a story inside each of us. No one experiences the world exactly like you do. No one has the same history as you, input as you, understanding as you, or insight as you. Who you are, what you know, and how you live your life is spectacularly unique! Kudos to you.

Now - share it with the world! Today is the perfect day to start translating that magnificent life inside your head, outside your head - so that everyone can enjoy it. Go on - spit it out, already! If you love art, do art. If you love music, do music. If you love dance, do dance. Don't know what you love? Well - maybe you should give writing a try. Really - it's not hard to do. You don't have to start well, or follow a format, or punctuate and spell correctly. Just sit down and see what comes out of you. I bet you'll be pleasantly surprised, and that will encourage you to continue. At the very least, you will be putting to use the skills some dedicated English teacher taught you, thereby making him/her very happy. Come on - if you don't want to tell your story for my sake, or your own sake, do it for the English teachers!

Ok - maybe that didn't do it for you, and you need more of a buy-in to get you started. How about this - I challenge you to join me (and hundreds-of-thousands of others) who are participating in National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo is a chance to spew forth the stories within you with reckless abandon. The ultimate goal is the completion of a 50,000 word novel by 11:59:59 on 11/30. There are no winners or losers. No one gets a prize at the end. The rules are whatever you make them. No one has to read your novel but you. You are only competing with yourself, and your own desire to share your story with the world. It's free, easy, and good for your brain. Best of all, there isn't a single calorie involved!

What are you waiting for!?  I'm already 740 words into my novel - Duckworth For Congress. It's all about intrigue, mystery, romance, politics, and space invaders. At least, it might be. I haven't decided yet. Guess we'll see where the next 29 days and 49,260 words takes me. It would really do this English teacher's heart some good to know that she had inspired someone to pursue the act of artful communication. So, check it out - and be sure to leave me a comment about how you are choosing to share your story with the world. Ready, set - WRITE!

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Finishing Well

I recently engaged in a very personal and meaningful ritual - my annual eve-of-the-hard-frost harvest. It is my chance to go out and love the plants I've tended so carefully one last time, and reap their final benefit to me for the season. It is a sad thing, in many ways, but not without its joys. Yes, I will miss the warm breeze and the feel of sun-baked soil under my toes as I picked ripe tomatoes from the garden for supper. But, I will not miss the sweat-dripping, head-pounding, mind-numbing monotony of pulling weed, after weed, after endless weed. Can I get an amen on that?

This harvest, ostensibly, is simply an act of salvaging what little good is left on that patch of dirt before it gets abandoned. In the past, that is exactly how I've thought of it. This year, however, I'm trying to be more contemplative. (Apparently I am going to get in touch with my inner philosopher in my thirties. Who knew?) Though harvest is about salvaging what is useful, it is also a time to reflect. I made sure to focus, as I picked the last few peppers and tough-skinned eggplant, at how abundant our garden had been this year, how nicely it looked because I took the time to keep it maintained, and how many happy hours it had provided me. I guess you could say that the ritual this time was focused equally as much on the figurative fruits my little plot had provided in life, as it was on the literal ones it had provided for my table.

More than that, however - beyond living in the glorious abundance of that moment, or reflecting on the goodness and benefit of the many months prior -  I also turned my thoughts to the future. Most importantly, I turned my efforts to it as well. You see, in the past I have never put my garden to bed well. Like a thief fleeing from the scene of a crime , I tended to pluck my goodies and run for the hills, leaving the fallout of tangled vines and withered weeds to be worried about the following spring. This year, I left only a clean, bare patch of dirt behind in order that I might be productive next spring when life is bursting forth, rather than scrambling to prepare.

Yes, my garden has been good to me. I planted peppers and egg plants, and harvested wisdom and life lessons. Funny how it works that way, isn't it? Perhaps there are more similarities than we care to admit between finishing a growing season well in your garden, and finishing a growing season well in your life. Babies grow up. Friends move away. Jobs come and go. Relationships change. I don't claim to know all the answers, of course (far from it!), but maybe some of the lessons I learned while scratching around in the dirt this year might be useful as you face your own seasons of life. For example:

This year, I chose not to close my eyes to the inevitable change that the chilly air around me signaled, because the warmth of my eagerly-wished-for sunshine cannot protect me from the frost.  I chose to recognize that sometimes you have to clear things out of your life in order to leave clean and fertile soil for something new to grow - even if those things have been fruitful for you in the past. And, though the freeze may have robbed my garden of the chance for any further growth this season, it certainly doesn't mean that it did the same for me. After all - the end of one season always signals the beginning of another. I'd say, all in all, it's been a good harvest, and I'm very grateful for the fruitfulness it has provided in my life.

Kelly

Every once in a while you get a do-over in life, and it is awesome. While I have been blessed with family, friends, and acquaintances that are incomparable in both quantity and quality, I have had very, very few besties in my life. I've got my family besties, my hubby bestie, and my life-long girlfriend bestie. Besides that, I have had only one other, and that didn't end well, I'm very sad to say. It has grieved me for a long time, and I have often felt regret over the loss of the relationship, and sadness to not have that other close friend my life. It was good while it lasted, but I had resigned myself to never again knowing the joy of an all-out, souls-bared, pedal-to-the-medal, life-changing bestie again. Then, I met Kelly.

Kelly loved me from moment one, in a way that was both comforting and off-putting at the same time. She accepted me. She encouraged me. She knew me, and it was unnerving. I couldn't hide from Kelly, but I realized that I didn't want to - or have to - either. Somehow this brazen, brash woman was telling me all the truths I didn't want to accept and the advice I didn't want to hear, and I found myself loving her for it.

So, because of our exciting, wonderful friendship, we did all the usual exciting, wonderful things that friends do. She painted my bathroom. I helped her load her moving truck. We stood over the kitchen sink and ate chicken salad on romaine lettuce. We talked about parents and parenting, children and chickens, husbands and humanity. We cried together. We laughed together. We sweated together, and then cried and laughed about that together too. It was awesome.

And then, one day, we did tie dye, and ate snackies, and she moved across the country. Here it was - happening all over. My bestie was gone, and I figured I would once again be left with regret over the loss of the relationship, and sadness to not have that other close friend my life. But, that's where I'd be wrong. Kelly may live 869.7 miles away, but I have learned that true besties never really leave you, even when they go away.

Kelly still talks me down, though it's via email, phone, or instant messages these days. Her handiwork is still evident in my life - both figuratively and literally - and I often find myself chuckling over shared moments we had together. We may not have lazy Monday afternoons and pop-in craft and chat sessions, but at least we can still share special occasions, like today. You see, it's Kelly's birthday. I wish we could have spent the day together, watching our children play and solving all the world's problems. But, that's kind of hard when you're this far apart. Instead, I'll cherish memories, look forward to the fun we'll have together in the future, and I'll share with her one of the best gifts I ever received - this really great gal named Kelly. Happy birthday, bestie! Thanks for being awesome in my life.

Help a Girl Out?

You may recall that I have a history of pleading and begging for help when I enter contests with ridiculously big prizes, and ridiculously-low odds of winning. I don't know what it is that compels me to do such things, except that I really love a challenge, and I am an eternal optimist. Well, that - and the fact that I've been incredibly blessed with supportive, encouraging, willing participants in my big-dream schemes. (This is where you come in.)

Reader's Digest magazine has piqued my interest with a contest entitled "Your Life: The Reader's Digest Version." Compelling, no? Anyway - as you (my faithful readers) can attest, I'm nothing if not capable of writing on, and on, and on about my life. The gauntlet that RD has thrown down, though, strikes fear into my very soul: in this contest, you're only allowed 150 words. 150 words? Seriously!? That's like asking a knight of olde to go into battle armed with a butter knife and a pizza box shield.  I use more than that 150 words to order at a drive up window - and that's just when I want a snack. Hmmm...

After 1,549 edits, I have finally compiled an entry that I *hope* will be provocative, powerful, and popular. Better yet, it meets all the criteria, and I even finished with three words to spare. :) Wanna help make my dream come true, and my bank account $25,000 bigger? (Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease....)  Here's what you can do:

1.) Go to facebook.com/readersdigest. Click 'like' on the page, and proceed to the contest tab.
2.) From there, find my story! It's called 'Sunshine'. Or, you can search by author's name (Andrea Farrier). VOTE FOR ME!!!!
3.) Repeat daily between now and November 15th.
4.) Share this information with everyone you've ever met, and ask them to do the same.
5.) Savor the warm, fuzzy feeling of knowing how much I appreciate your help. :)

Only the top 100 vote earners will be considered for the grand prize. So, I've got to make sure my entry gets to (and stays in) the top 100.

Judging is based 35% on originality, 35% on adherence to the contest theme, and 30% on persuasiveness. The theme of the contest is to share a lesson, simple advice, funny moment or other story from your life.

The grand prize winner will receive $25,000 and be published in Reader's Digest. The top ten runners up (and the readers' choice winner with the most votes) will receive $2,500 and may be published in Reader's Digest.

Do you think we can do this thing? I think we can! I have faith in you and am grateful for every little vote. Ready? Set? Click!

Thanks everyone!!!!

Presenting My Findings

I was chatting with my husband on the phone today and he told me how sweet our youngest daughter has been to him this morning. Before he leaves for work each day he always goes in, kisses the girls, and tells them goodbye. Typically, he gets snores, snorts, drool, and grumbles in response (especially from me, I'm ashamed to admit). But, apparently this morning our four-year-old opened her deep, dark eyes for a moment, smiled the biggest smile you can imagine, and told him how much she loved him, and couldn't wait until he got home from work again. Then, she insisted on one more hug before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Fast forward about an hour. The same, sweet child had come into my room sometime in the interim, and snuggled down in bed next to me. I awoke to see her precious little face, and I wrapped my arms around her, marveling at what a miracle each and every new morning is. After a moment, she opened her deep, dark eyes, stared intently into mine, and said, "When are you making shrimpy noodles for me?" Hmmm... Somehow that didn't go like I thought it would. But, that's okay, because a mom is not a dad.

Dad is fun and spontaneous. Dad is the bringer of treats. The taker to new places. The fun driver. The adventure seeker. The excitement in an otherwise monotonous life. Dad has cool stuff that is off limits and infinitely  more appealing because of it. Even though he is a grownup, he still buys stuff just for the pleasure of having it - the quintessential definition of a toy. Plus, to my girls at least, Dad has gifts and talents that they can only dream of. Not only can he fix any broken item and always find the right battery or bulb, but his mysterious anatomy allows Dad to pee outside. Awesome.

Mom, on the other hand, is not so spontaneous. Mom is the maker of food. The everyday chauffeur. The monotony in an otherwise exciting life. Mom has ordinary stuff that is (at least, in the minds of the kids) common property and infinitely more expendable because of it. Mom never was a child, and only buys things that are useful, necessary, and on sale. Not only is Mom the essence of prudence, but her anatomy doesn't do any cool tricks except, apparently, for enabling her to find things.

Look, I watched 'the film' in fourth grade and paid avid attention to the wonder and magic of the female reproductive system. I understand fallopian tubes, and ovaries, and complicated hormones as well as the next gal. Yet, despite three pregnancies, two ultrasounds, and full-color photographs of the exploratory surgery to my lower abdomen (I'll have to explain later), I have yet to understand how a uterus helps women find things. But, it must be so. No one wanders around my house plaintively whining, "Daddy, can you help me find my..." And, I'm certainly not the one who constantly asks the other members of the household where things are. Nope. Quite the contrary - apparently I am the one who always knows where things are (or, at least, should).

Naturally, I have concluded that beyond just being able to create and grow a baby, a uterus must also be a tracking device. Someday a white-coated scientist will discover a little, blipping microchip-like structure embedded deep inside a womb, and the mystery will finally be solved. Mind you, for such a find as that, it will have to be a female scientist, of course.

Until then, I will be content to not be able to water the flowers anatomically. I will also be more than happy to be the finder of lost things, the ho-hum helper, and the maker of shrimpy noodles. Dad may get the morning and evening hugs, but I get all the rest while he has to be at work. The greeting he gets tides him over until he returns home again at the end of the day. The greeting I get is filled with the promise of hours and hours together. Dad's spontaneity and my monotony make a fine balance for our family, and one that serves us all very well. In fact, I think you'd be hard pressed to find a better combination. And I should know - apparently I'm equipped to find anything...

Photoblog - A Camping How-To

 Last week I introduced a new type of post on Musings entitled 'Cheaterblog', where I borrowed (stole) a really good idea and presented it to you - my readers. This saved me valuable time and brainpower that I was able to put to use for such important things as websurfing, watching movies, and Spider Solitaire. You should expect to see further such posts in future.

Following those themes of flexibility and trying new things, I've decided to create yet another new type of post for my Musings - the Photoblog. Up to this point I've included only one image per post, usually taken off the internet - a habit for which I am fully expecting to be sued, jailed, or written a very nasty letter eventually. Before that happens, however, I thought I'd at least try throwing in a few of my own feeble photos. Voila - the photoblog...

A Camping How-To

 Have you ever wanted to go camping, but not known how to go about it? Do you dread the preparation it takes to get a family ready for a weekend outing in the woods? Or, are you just overwhelmed by the thought of undertaking such an expedition? Dear friends - camping needn't be a chore! Just follow these easy steps, and you'll be enjoying the great outdoors in no time!

Step 1: Preparations at Home

 Before you set off for the weekend, you'll want to be sure that you've left everything at home in tip-top order. Doing the little things like shutting windows, turning off the hot water heater, and making sure that no electronics are left running will save you money and peace of mind in the long run. Oh - and don't forget to leave plenty of food and water for your pets. The new 'self feed' systems are very convenient. 

The next step involves gathering the items you'll need for your weekend. While packing up your supplies, it's important not to go overboard and pack too much. Generally you'll know it's time to stop just before the liftgate no longer shuts. If you have extra room in the back, you've forgotten something. Go back and start over. 

 Step Two: Travel

 Now that you're all set, it's time to start your adventures. A map (or GPS), clean windows, and plenty of snackage are important for the drive - especially if you have children. The first two can be skipped entirely and still result in a successful trip as long as there is plenty of the latter. Since space might be an issue, you will want to emphasize the fun of 'snuggling' before you set off. Also, take pictures of traveling children early in the trip (before they are angry at you and one another). The best time to snap a candid shot of your happy tots is right before you pull out of the driveway. 

Teaching children to look at the beautiful things all around them out the windows not only helps them develop a keen sense of observation and an appreciation of the splendors of the great outdoors, but it also provides microseconds of silence and prevents you from having to play the license plate game for the entirety of the trip. Things you might teach them to look for include interesting buildings, beautiful scenery, and roadsigns that will be helpful to get you back on your intended path after you get lost.

Step Three: Arrival and Setup

Upon arrival, it's important to follow all of the required protocol for the campground in which you'll be staying. Usually this is simply a matter of filling out some paperwork, providing a method of payment, and then spending 25 minutes trying to get the registration card (3 x 5) to fit into the rigid plastic sleeve in the campsite marker (2 x 4). It will usually be close to dark by the time this is done.

Of course, the rest of your setup varies widely, depending on your method of camping. Those who have RV's simply pull into their space, press a button to level the vehicle, then (and this is the most important part) figure out which way to point the satellite in order to pick up the best TV stations. If you are not fortunate enough to have such a camping rig, you can at least hope to be related to (or make friends with) someone who is. The availability of indoor plumbing in the middle of the night is a powerful motivator for relationships.

 
For old-fashioned campers (like us) setting up the tent takes anywhere from approximately 30 to 234,345,054 minutes, depending on how long it's been since your last camping trip, and how much your children try to help. It will most assuredly be dark by the time you attempt this feat, making it all the more challenging and rewarding. Anyone can set up a tent in broad daylight. It takes a real outdoorsperson to best all those poles and stakes in the pitch black.

After your shelter is set up, the next step is to make it homey and comfortable. Hanging pictures, installing custom curtains, and re-carpeting are not advised. The usual method involves throwing sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows inside, and falling into a heap in your grubby clothing. Regardless of how careful you are in putting bedding inside, it will go from this:

to this: 

in a matter of hours. Don't worry too much about it. Order can be restored, and the loss of blankets throughout the night is one of the natural mysteries that goes along with camping. 

Note: site selection has a lot to do with how enjoyable and memorable your trip will be. The best campsites will provide both qualities. Some will be pleasant, but soon forgotten. Others will be memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. The subtle and crucial differences between memorable and enjoyable can sometimes be hard to anticipate. For example, selecting a sight close to the train tracks might *seem* like it would fulfill both criteria. However, after the 15th train has passed 20 feet from your tent in the middle of the night (horns blaring and lights flashing) you will realize that this trip might be heavy on the memorable, but light on the enjoyable. The best you can hope is to keep a positive outlook, take some interesting pictures, and plan on sleeping in when you get home. 

Step Four: Food
 There are many schools of thought when it comes to camp cooking. Some say that 'roughing it' requires the exclusive use of cast-iron cookware over an open fire. Others take advantage of the conveniences available through modern technology and rely on cook stoves, electric skillets, or state-of-the-art, built-in convection ovens when they're in the great outdoors. While I can see the benefits and detriments of all of the various options, I have found one fool-proof secret for camp cookery: bacon. Regardless of the meal, time of day, camp setup, or weather, bacon is a proven winner. Observe: 

Camper Without Bacon

Camper With Bacon

 Note the smile in the second picture. And the bacon. Other foods, of course, can be added to the meal. Toast and eggs are a particularly good choice.

Step Five: Entertainment
While the exercise it takes to setup your campsite and the consumption of bacon alone can be enough to ensure a successful outdoor experience, most people choose to engage in other forms of entertainment as well. Common camping pastimes include hiking, fishing, biking, sightseeing, and trying to find firewood.

In our family, one of the chief pleasures of camping (or any other get-together, for that matter) is card playing. I don't mean to brag, but we can pretty much beat the pants off any anyone, at any game, at any time of the day or night. Ever. Just sayin'

Playing cards while camping requires only a few things. The right supplies (note the card try - a *must* in our game of choice),

Finesse (look how carefully he's settling that card into the tray),

And, enough room (both for the cards to be laid out, and for the egos of the players. The latter is much bigger.)

Caution: playing too late into the night can sometimes cause a nasty case of card zombieism. The initial warning signs include:

Euphoria at winning,

Exhaustion,

And full-blown zombie symptoms.

The only known cure is to beat the pants off the afflicted persons (figuratively at first, literally if it's a particularly nasty case). Be sure to keep some sort of proof of your win, because poor card playing and excellent lying often go hand in hand. (Publishing the results on a famous blog with millions of readers world-wide is a nice added precaution.)

Step Six: Packing Up and Heading Home
Eventually, the fun of camping is overcome by the financial need to get home and back to work. That, or lack of sleep from the passing train will compel your physical body toward home and bed, sometimes even bypassing your brain and any conscious thought entirely. Either way - at some point you've got to clean up the mess - er, campsite - you've made. One final photograph of your site will serve as a pleasant reminder of your trip. Cuteness during the pic is both hard to come by (after not showering or sleeping) but nice to include if possible. Note how adorable the duo in this picture is...

 The first step to cleanup is to empty the contents of the tent. After that has been done, you may take the tent down. Failure to complete step one will almost assuredly complicate step two, and make it even more unlikely that your tent will fit back into its original packaging. This is, by means, necessary for a successful camping experience, but does provide plenty of opportunity for bragging rights. If you are unable to shrink an entire shelter back into a nylon bag the size of a loaf of bread, you can always use a duffel bag, suitcase, or plastic tote. For those of you who engage in one of the latter activities, just note - you are not as cool as my rockin' husband, who has been successfully re-rolling our tent into its original packaging for 12 years. Just sayin'.

After your site is empty and your vehicle is full, it is time to get on the road. But - don't despair. The fun of your few days of camping will not soon be forgotten, especially since it takes approximately ten times longer to clean up and unpack than it did to actually take the trip. But, such is the life of an outdoor enthusiast.

Step Six: Gratuitous Photos
I had a few more pics that were just too cute to not include. Enjoy!