tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39539141743446907182024-03-05T10:59:11.987-08:00Please Don't Take Me SeriouslyMy thoughts on life and oh, yes, I've got six daughtersLauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-25988285388369901712015-01-05T22:59:00.002-08:002015-01-05T23:02:53.533-08:00Tiny Seeds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<em>Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seeds to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him. -Psalm 126:5-6</em> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tiny mustard seed</td></tr>
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I have a picture of tiny mustard seeds in my hand. I'm clutching to them because that's all I have. The year 2015 that lay before me seems entirely daunting; finishing nursing school, getting a job, seeing Camille graduate from high school, sending her off to college - or having her stay home, deciding where Leanne will attend high school, Elena possibly leaving for the entire summer, Dad's cancer recovery, Julia's learning challenges - so many significant endings, beginnings, comings and goings.....I'm weary already. <br />
It's such a contrast to last year where I pictured myself standing in great faith and praying bold prayers. I have done that this last year. But as 2014 wound down, I felt wound down by a brutal 3rd semester, a cruel and unpredictable instructor, painful friendship challenges and my dad's cancer diagnosis. I stumbled through the holidays emotionally numb and muted. <br />
At this juncture, right after the new year, as our family schedule is about to reset into predictability, I'm having a hard time knowing where to begin praying. So, I've had tearful, desperate moments of feeble prayers. I have scolded myself for not believing that God wants to hear and answer. I've had this mindset that I must work very hard at praying and pouring my heart out to God, writing all my detailed prayers down and having pages and pages of requests to bring to him. Because you see, the needs are so great, so specific, so important....<br />
But all I have are these tiny little seeds of prayers to plant in the garden of time where I go to him as I am. Here I am....and scripture tells me that he takes all seeds of prayerful faith and does with them what he will. I do trust him. I do believe he wants to help me with each concern, worry, fear, need. <br />
I suppose the best prayers are prayed as I go along. And so I will. Moment by moment, day by day.<br />
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<em>In faith, I'm looking forward to the harvest.</em></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">massive mustard tree</td></tr>
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LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-50018910226770461452013-12-31T18:53:00.003-08:002013-12-31T19:05:34.287-08:00<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want to make an arrangement<br />
from my garden like this.</td></tr>
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Today is one of the last days of 2013 and I am reflective. So indulge me a bit, won't you?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNyqSngN1qaW0_K7pyppIiPyvMG0OuhZmkm8dfFROAUyREQPfS3n1vSiO_13UUfsQP0S7HWnoZ4KFnviE0tyQqEQJhQvn51uGn0cB4w7vz0ogDlN2U-eQHmws2uFGDumVMEe1uREOfnok/s1600/ranunc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNyqSngN1qaW0_K7pyppIiPyvMG0OuhZmkm8dfFROAUyREQPfS3n1vSiO_13UUfsQP0S7HWnoZ4KFnviE0tyQqEQJhQvn51uGn0cB4w7vz0ogDlN2U-eQHmws2uFGDumVMEe1uREOfnok/s200/ranunc.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love ranunculus flowers!<br />
I planted 18 of these.</td></tr>
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Last night I attended Elena's church and as I was standing and worshipping, moved by the music and the Spirit, I saw a picture of me standing and raising my arms like I was at that moment, but instead of singing, I was praying. I had this clear picture that this next year was to be a year of fervent intercession with a very proactive stance - literally standing and asking God for mighty and bold things, powerful and obvious displays of his nearness, and definitive answers to prayers for deliverance for the people he would bring my way...<br />
...As I was kneeling forward in the balmy, breezy intoxicating sunlight this morning and digging dirt out of holes to plant my bulbs, I was pondering how prayer is so much like planting. The intentional times and thoughtfulness required to bring people and circumstances before the Lord often takes effort., much like planting does as well. When I planted my bulbs I had to clear and level the ground, lay out fertile soil, lay out the bulbs, dig the holes, add fertilizer and the bulbs, fill the holes back up, water and clean the whole area up afterwards. I soaked in a hot bath after I was done and took a well-deserved, needed nap. Ahhh...that was delightful! And as I placed those ugly bulbs in the ground it was with the hope that they will blossom into beautiful flowers that are fragrant and lovely to behold, displayed on my dining room table or given away to others.I thought about how so often times of intense, fervent, passionate prayers this last year were accompanied with tears, pleas - desperate at times. Prayer can look so ugly, like those bulbs I wedged 6 inches into the ground this morning. And yet, there is God, in the midst of it, summoning forth my honesty, my heart, the truth of the matter. Somehow, in the midst of all that sowing of tears and words, God hears my prayers.<br />
<em>And he answered so many of them.</em><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daffodils are delightful!<br />
I planted about 20 of these.</td></tr>
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He answered this year in surprising, delightful and unbelievable ways. Why am I surprised? This is the God who created the Heavens and the Earth! It is no difficulty for him to move people's hearts, their circumstances, their attitudes...<br />
<em> </em>Of all the things that I have delighted in the most with a depth of soul-satisfaction, it is the answered prayers on behalf of others. I recall those precious moments where God exposed the heart of the matter and brought forth love, kindness, healing, understanding....<br />
I discovered something astonishing and so fun! <em>It can be only <strong>A FEW WORDS</strong> spoken in truthful, loving sincerity that can totally change </em><strong>EVERYTHING. </strong>Now, I am not a person given to just a few words, and it is an area that I can grow in. But in this matter of prayer before my Savior, many words are just fine. So, I am listing my goals and desires below. We shall see how this year plays out!<br />
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GOALS FOR 2014</div>
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1) I want to get down to the weight on my driver's license (!) which is about 12 pounds lighter than I am now and maintain that weight consistently by September.<br />
2) I want to work up to consistently running 3 miles in 35 minutes at the gym by June.<br />
3)I want to get help developing several good weight workouts and build upper and lower body strength consistently.<br />
4) I want to get straight A's in nursing school 2nd semester.<br />
5) I want to get a 3.5 GPA in nursing school 3rd semester.<br />
6) I want to work this summer as a student nurse in labor and delivery at Huntington memorial hospital.<br />
7) I want to wipe out all credit card debt and stick to a monthly cash budget.<br />
8) I want to give regularly to at least one charity.<br />
9) I want to take each of my daughters out once a month, talk and pray with them and keep a notebook of issues they are dealing with and how they've progressed.<br />
10) I want to visit at least 5 very beautiful, luxurious, architecturally spectacular buildings this year; hotels, houses, stores, office buildings, etc.<br />
11) I want to hear a live, full string orchestra in a large music venue. <br />
12) I want to see a professional ballet at the Music Center this year.<br />
13) I want to go snorkeling with Tim in Laguna Beach this summer.<br />
14) I want to go camping and rock climbing at Joshua Tree this spring.<br />
15) I want to spend focused time (at least 5 minutes - this takes real discipline for me!) before the Lord each day quiet, still and waiting on God.<br />
16) I want to hear God speak hope into my heart everyday and remind myself that he has promised to help me in all circumstances. I want to write down at least weekly what he speaks to me.<br />
17) I want to be committed to hug each of my children and husband everyday.<br />
18) I want to listen twice more than I talk in everyday conversations.<br />
19) I want to host an all-out, over-the-top tea to bless some very special people. I have no idea who these special people would be, but God does!<br />
20)I want to go sailing! This is a long shot. I have never been sailing before, but I really want to learn. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope...<br />
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<strong> </strong>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-74533572467853414072013-06-08T07:56:00.000-07:002013-06-08T08:02:15.819-07:00On White Robes and a Mother's Private Boast Commencement exercises for Elena's high school graduation were rapidly approaching. She was studying for her final exams as talk about graduation ceremonies was making its way to my awareness: location, tickets, letters and official calls from school about the details regarding time, clothing requirements, seating specifics, etc. And this announcement from Elena: "So, I was chosen to wear a white robe because I'm in the top 10 of my class, but I'm not going to." Then she elaborated about how she didn't feel she deserved that special designation because in her words she "hadn't earned it." My reaction:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i>!!!....HUH??!!??!! <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPUjCv1lK3obP1mxWhVGtPa2kwtJ0NIn_G_5IAe9NcdZ25pQpiWqt5NV9AbdjIFw2Ifiy2zkq8QOCBub67awfYXwqze98YYMm1juwgUKtPXUDovA1QDD5MsmOMujlogoHCuFSoeS8BD97/s1600/elenas+grad+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPUjCv1lK3obP1mxWhVGtPa2kwtJ0NIn_G_5IAe9NcdZ25pQpiWqt5NV9AbdjIFw2Ifiy2zkq8QOCBub67awfYXwqze98YYMm1juwgUKtPXUDovA1QDD5MsmOMujlogoHCuFSoeS8BD97/s320/elenas+grad+picture.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tim and I so proud of our graduate</span></td></tr>
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"Mom, they don't weight the grades."<br />
(That is, a student earning a "B" in an Advanced Placement college level English class would have the same GPA as a student earning a "B" in a regular English class. No acknowledgement would be given that the AP English "B" is a significantly larger amount of work than the regular English B. Other schools do weight grades to acknowledge the rigorous nature of AP classes. So, for example, all things being equal between two hypothetical students, one with the AP English "B" might have a 4.0 and the one with the regular English "B" would have a 3.8. Furthermore, GPA's are what determine your class rank.)<br />
"So?" I argued. "If the school determines that you have earned a special academic designation according to their guidelines, then take it!"<br />
"But I know students," she countered, "that have worked really hard in AP classes who are not in that category and other students who took regular classes all throughout high school and they are. It's not fair that they don't weight the grades. I really don't think I earned that distinction. I've only been at that school for a year and I only had one AP class." On and on the impassioned discussions proceeded with not just me, but her friends and classmates. When the time finally came to pick up her cap and gown, she approached the counter to speak with the gown attendant. "So, it says here that you get a white robe?"<br />
"I spoke with my counselor about it last week. I don't want the robe because I really don't think I earned it. You really should weight the grades." She began a strong, but respectful appeal for a more fair grading system that accurately represented student effort and achievement. In the end, the bewildered administrator looked at her and said, "So you don't want the white robe?" Elena politely declined and was handed her red robe and mortar board.<br />
Graduation at the grand and impressive Pasadena Civic Auditorium arrived. As I walked into the facility I noticed all the graduates lined up and ready to proceed into the auditorium. But I especially noticed the white robed graduates at the front of the line. I winced in a small heartbreaking moment of reality: my daughter was not among them. I had accepted her decision and was supportive of her convictions. I had told her earlier in the week that if she felt strongly about not wearing the white robe, then she should stick to her conviction. After all, her Dad and I knew the truth. Still, seeing all the students lined up and not seeing my daughter among them was rather painful in a surprising way. Furthermore, as all 474 graduates filled the seating area on the stage, complete with the requisite brass band playing "Pomp and Circumstance," Elena came in almost last because of her last name starting with a "T."<br />
In an ironic twist, she and her fellow friend and choir member sang a duet that not even they knew they would be singing. She and her friend were the only ones who had shown up for the rehearsal, and now they both were singing a fun, celebratory duet in front of about 3, 000 people. Here was the catch for me: her friend had a white robe.<br />
Her friend had been number 11 in the line up. <i>How proud her parents must've been.</i><br />
My private boast is this: my daughter <i>had</i> earned that special designation. She had worked tremendously hard in very rigorous writing and physics classes taught at her home school academy classes. She had also taught herself algebra and geometry with excellent textbooks during her sophomore and junior years. Her score on the CAHSEE in mathematics was a perfect score. More importantly, though, is that my daughter cared about fairness and justice and was willing to forego the outward appearance of success in order to stand up for principles that she felt strongly about. I was very, very proud of her. Even if no one would see it from the outside.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elena's duet with her friend</td></tr>
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LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-88544724783185483762013-03-08T18:03:00.002-08:002013-03-08T18:03:35.501-08:00"Woosh woosh" goes the heart...<br />
It was one of the most engaging topics I studied in last semester's Anatomy and Physiology course: the pathway of blood through the heart. Unlike the daunting nervous system with different pathways and mechanisms for making my muscles move, with that complex brain and all of its centers added in, the heart has a predictable, (sort of)simple path. We won't talk about reading EKG's with their QRST pattern. I'm not so looking forward to that in nursing school, but I'll get through it. I have to. But I digress.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-BElhBDofhqFWQK9WxKDL6nNAdXRoCo0cyyiV1w_FqC1rdXITJhjy_cRWhDKBkgYZDE2jnYb0ZQQEEkrKR0TzPZg4k6B_HAvHXbgldlc9A6vzKssHU8A1NEYq30UOFEgY5cgujZFkuG0/s1600/heart+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-BElhBDofhqFWQK9WxKDL6nNAdXRoCo0cyyiV1w_FqC1rdXITJhjy_cRWhDKBkgYZDE2jnYb0ZQQEEkrKR0TzPZg4k6B_HAvHXbgldlc9A6vzKssHU8A1NEYq30UOFEgY5cgujZFkuG0/s320/heart+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Additionally, one of the more unique aspects of my volunteer work on different units at various hospitals is the ob/triage unit at my downtown hospital. I've been on telemetry, couplet (postpartum) care, and the emergency department. But on OB triage as I walk through the halls to the resident's lounge to assemble patients charts, I hear that distinct <i>whoosh whoosh whoosh</i> sound by the nurse's station. I see the monitors with their blue and red squiggly lines and I know that somewhere, a baby's heartbeat is being recorded and monitored for safety and informational purposes. If that heart rate changes and the line tracing becomes concerning, information can be gained about how that baby is tolerating labor. (Although, Electronic Fetal Monitoring is not an exact science and is rather subjective in the "gray areas.") If a baby does not appear to be tolerating labor well, various things like re-positioning the mother can be done to improve the baby's heart rate. Sometimes a cautious "wait and see" approach is appropriate. At other times, a c-section is performed to avoid what could be a deteriorating, life-threatening situation.<br />
It's the baby's heart beat that indicates these decisions.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWNSNjDluUbHC7JIj5CGDNH19Haf-hOG6ZptKn3IGnBYneCe7VOHYCz0CHOiFzAeIVGobsprL4OjkVxfz3-TfnHDMDFZsK3YpMrsW2dDxbEdrRidKFlv0gEcULz0hvNUHvHvoz_FAeYcj/s1600/heart+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWNSNjDluUbHC7JIj5CGDNH19Haf-hOG6ZptKn3IGnBYneCe7VOHYCz0CHOiFzAeIVGobsprL4OjkVxfz3-TfnHDMDFZsK3YpMrsW2dDxbEdrRidKFlv0gEcULz0hvNUHvHvoz_FAeYcj/s1600/heart+4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fetal monitor "strip" that records a baby heart beats<br />
and the mother's contractions.</td></tr>
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A baby's first heart beat begins about day 22 after fertilization. That's about three weeks from an egg and sperm meeting to that first historic, significant, tiny <i>whoosh whoosh whoosh</i> sound. I have begun to ponder this incredible event. God starts that heart beat and programs exactly how many times that heart will beat until it does not beat any longer. This is an incredible thing to ponder. It sounds so simple - the opening and closing of heart valves that gives that <i>whooshing </i>sound is pre-programmed with a distinct beginning and end. Of course, some people's hearts do stop and they are revived. Eventually, though, every dead person had that last, pre-determined <i>whoosh.</i><br />
Oh....the reality of this is <i>soo</i> painful. It seems most painful when that apportionment of heartbeats is much smaller than the average. I looked up some information and did some calculations. The "average" person has about 42, 075, 840 heart beats per year. If someone lives to age 70, which is young compared to the increased average life span in the U.S. being in the early 80's, then that heart will beat approximately 3 billion times. If this is a hard number to wrap your brain around, imagine being given $3 billion dollars to spend however you wanted. That's a lot of money! Those are a lot of heartbeats.<br />
Sadly, though, with my two miscarriages that number was much smaller. My first miscarriage ended at about 11 1/2 weeks. I don't know when that baby's heart stopped beating, but at around 6 1/2 weeks pregnant we saw her (I'm sure it was a girl - what else?!) heart beating. I don't know the exact number of beats, but at 9 weeks gestation her little heart would have beaten about 4,320 times. And there was a moment when it didn't. When the obstetrician (not my regular doctor) did the ultrasound she keep pressing the transducer around my belly and stated, "Are you sure you saw a heart beat? I don't see any heart beat now. Are you sure?" This woman was seriously lacking sensitivity and compassion - UGH! With my next baby the pregnancy ended shortly after it began and there might only have been a heart beating for a couple of days. Everyday however, was precious to me and to God. For whatever reason, God gave me a little life and then He took it. I do have much peace about those losses. It is particularly helpful that God generously gave me so many more healthy and happy babies after those two that departed before they saw the light of day. Now, they see the glorious light of their Creator and my sweet Savior, Jesus. But I digress.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqxkuetIWqLEVPpvDa38NJofnZ0Ps9YaxJBR_Lld7BpK2I2Z2YnLYTrrEAPiKZiOYM3o2IgdfhdqQblh2xCx_SBoaE_8Rbbi0icaxVG8k9hkxXYDzvuvPBK7tMOnbI_8pLK8l4s-KJ4aX/s1600/heart+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqxkuetIWqLEVPpvDa38NJofnZ0Ps9YaxJBR_Lld7BpK2I2Z2YnLYTrrEAPiKZiOYM3o2IgdfhdqQblh2xCx_SBoaE_8Rbbi0icaxVG8k9hkxXYDzvuvPBK7tMOnbI_8pLK8l4s-KJ4aX/s320/heart+3.jpg" width="242" /></a> Several weeks ago a young man in our community shockingly died of complications from a sudden heart attack. It has devastated our little town. He was a popular, well-liked young man. I remember him serving me coffee on a study outing one evening in late fall. He seemed very sweet. He was 23. And he is gone. I calculated the average heart beats he was given and it was around 967, 744, 320. Being so young, he didn't even hit the 1 billion mark.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidO_NAKY44nQE-CVhyggvJZSUsYFJs5A2mBE4pV_dAFZKHY0ktuqVgN126E3BCfLIcCM4-rdw1gdbuYZgLE5pxdaBR9APVExXD5AalrQhDgpo-Z6KdOhTHgaYtoeAlk3leUjERCn8NY7Ua/s1600/heart+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidO_NAKY44nQE-CVhyggvJZSUsYFJs5A2mBE4pV_dAFZKHY0ktuqVgN126E3BCfLIcCM4-rdw1gdbuYZgLE5pxdaBR9APVExXD5AalrQhDgpo-Z6KdOhTHgaYtoeAlk3leUjERCn8NY7Ua/s320/heart+5.jpg" width="315" /></a> I'm not exactly sure where I am going with this post, only that I am trying to tie some strings together and find comfort in this young man's premature demise. As I proceed with my nursing career, eventually working on labor and delivery, I will have the pleasure of hearing that trademark <i>whoosh</i> sound many times. In fact, I will go through rigorous training to view those heart and contraction patterns to detect any possible problems that will require me to consult with an obstetrician to promote the best outcome for mother and baby. What a weighty calling! And I feel like I am being primed for it - one heart beat - <i>WHOOSH</i> - at a time.LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-78788055874178700822012-10-27T07:34:00.001-07:002012-10-27T07:34:11.955-07:00Compensation and Craftsmanship<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvP4oE1ZWjMGh7XOfHqF-Yiq0A-tHE-NRCDBn10z5rvNUtnemCaSLo6UcyPIV_2n9Xytb4fiZD5uSg0LWqrQfOLbCvp7Oh9BnQOGbqZTujHjl1eAHOExldjzujCwkF9NP1kpXHeTeDbp8/s1600/003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvP4oE1ZWjMGh7XOfHqF-Yiq0A-tHE-NRCDBn10z5rvNUtnemCaSLo6UcyPIV_2n9Xytb4fiZD5uSg0LWqrQfOLbCvp7Oh9BnQOGbqZTujHjl1eAHOExldjzujCwkF9NP1kpXHeTeDbp8/s400/003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my crazy crew in early July (and my crazy hair!Yikes!).</td></tr>
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When I was in grade school, I was taller than all the other girls. I had a nervous, dry-lip licking habit that created chapped, red, ugly lips. I had an embarrassing sssttutter, too. I was just weird. And I knew it. I was treated accordingly so. The other girls and boys at school used to tease me, call me names, and exclude me from their birthday parties. It was very painful.<br />
Don't feel sorry for me, though. The reason I bring up this painful part of my childhood is to magnify a beautiful display of God's kindness and handiwork in my life.<br />
You see, I have many, <i>many</i> friends who love me, cherish me, and laugh <i>with </i>me now. And how we laugh! The silly, funny, goofy jokes that have me laughing at 5:00 am the <i>next</i> morning (my current wake up time), hours after the joke was told because it was <i>that</i> funny, are priceless to me. When my friends say, "Oooh! I have you all to myself!" Or, "I don't care where we go, I just want to be with you," can I tell you what that does to my soul? What those comments do to those memories that are still sort of tucked down in my "CHILDHOOD MEMORY BANK OF SNOTTY GRADE-SCHOOL TEASERS"? It washes over those memories like crashing waves on rocks that have been smoothed down over the years and made available for eager little children to traipse across near the water to simply explore and have fun. Yes, like that.<br />
Isn't it God's marvelous craftsmanship in my life to take what was so painful and turn it into something so pleasurable? Yes it is. That is what God does. He compensates us in that what was such a source of pain and loss he makes such a source of abundantly more joy and gain than what we lost in the first place. I'd much rather have all these wonderful, loyal, kind friends during this season of life than when I was younger. These friendships are just <i>that much more precious </i>to me because I know what it's like to not be wanted or included.<br />
I see other evidences of God's lavish and loving handiwork in my life, too. When I was twenty, my mother died of breast cancer. I was half way through college. I had never suffered the death of any one close to me before, other than our beloved family dogs. Oh, my, was it p--a--i--n--f--u--l. When I graduated from college two years later, she wasn't there. When I married 2 years later, she still wasn't there. When I had my first baby 5 years later, she wasn't there, either. And then there was baby number 2, and 3, and then 4, 5 and then the last one, 6. Yep, still not there. Ouch from the bottom of my heart. The fact that she had been a labor and delivery nurse and loved every minute of it made it a much, much bigger OUCH in my heart.<br />
But don't feel sorry for me. You know why? Because even though God took my mother from me at a fairly young age, he made me a mother 6 times over! God graciously, generously and humorously gave me 6 delightful daughters. I am lucky, blessed, and all those great adjectives for someone who is very, very happy with her maternal treasures.What was such a loss for me, my mother, he created me to be many times over. God is g--o--o--d. And the compassion and insight and comfort I can offer to others is, well, appreciated by those whom I've cried with and reached out to when their loved ones have passed on. I get it. I really, really get it. "Grief can be tormenting, " I've been known to say. "But you'll get through it. The hole in your heart will never really close, but life fills in around it and you will find your grief manageable in time. You will feel joy again."<br />
I see this tendency of God's to redeem and compensate, in an extraordinarily beautiful way, in Scripture, too. Just recently I re-read the biography of <i>Paul: A Man of Grit and Grace</i> by Charles Swindoll. The author was describing the letters he had written to his "son in the faith," Timothy. The books I and II Timothy are those letters. The fond affection and love that Paul uses to communicate with his "son" had me in tears when I realized something very profound. I remembered that Scripture described Timothy as having been raised by his God-fearing mother and grandmother. Timothy's father is not mentioned at all. I assume his father was not around, as in dead or gone, or simply not a God-fearing man. But God, in his kindness, gave Timothy this affectionate, loving father figure in his later years who was perfectly fit for what Timothy needed. How Timothy must have loved and cherished Paul's care and instruction. And how painful Paul's execution in Rome must have been for him. How good and kind of God to have given Timothy those words of love, exhortation and comfort that have been preserved in the Holy Scriptures forever. This is the father heart of God.<br />
I see the beginnings of more areas where God's compensation and craftsmanship are being displayed in my life. It gives me faith to trust my heavenly father for more evidences of his kindness. I also trust more readily that my present sufferings, deficiencies and pain are being worked out for a greater good someday, too. It also helps me to see that as my children suffer for things that are beyond their parents' control, I can point to the hope we have in God's redemptive and wise kindness through it all. God is "ahh..some." Thank you, Lord.LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-46655055123861703872012-10-11T20:24:00.006-07:002012-10-11T20:29:43.085-07:00Broken!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsirOkjt8_2XlGslWm41d60OKOqgRHgDSRRlJdihWPVu1VeYDfL53qbsT8OZpGa_YxtdBlhxgYGAnEDcSQoXT0ux4aQiiTBYiyvTBuOuAepwuXM1MDFPRESMVPsPpXiSVQK-Siy29CCPpQ/s1600/imagesdishwsher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsirOkjt8_2XlGslWm41d60OKOqgRHgDSRRlJdihWPVu1VeYDfL53qbsT8OZpGa_YxtdBlhxgYGAnEDcSQoXT0ux4aQiiTBYiyvTBuOuAepwuXM1MDFPRESMVPsPpXiSVQK-Siy29CCPpQ/s1600/imagesdishwsher.jpg" /></a></div>
I'm almost at the midway point in my Anatomy and Physiology class. Phew! It's been intense, although I have a strong A currently. This has been the most challenging semester so far, but it's also been interesting. I am so encouraged that I have a professor that is helpful, fair, and excellent at communicating difficult information well. She is a truly gifted teacher and I am so grateful! These topics, especially physiology, are quite challenging. So, onto the rest of the semester where I am aiming to finish with a strong A.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTuxTLpfDpBdBUzPvjSJ22z4_Ah4GXvzjV9Z0G-cjKaMU9f8sYkxC4Y9z67ksJB7Zi_HiATQy5KLFwzWhtM2DjnVRc1NnZRGMvLewZJrXqMvTxn-2NxDHvwZI2Te_eFanfTFHftn_qupH/s1600/cinn+rolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTuxTLpfDpBdBUzPvjSJ22z4_Ah4GXvzjV9Z0G-cjKaMU9f8sYkxC4Y9z67ksJB7Zi_HiATQy5KLFwzWhtM2DjnVRc1NnZRGMvLewZJrXqMvTxn-2NxDHvwZI2Te_eFanfTFHftn_qupH/s1600/cinn+rolls.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No more of these for awhile...</td></tr>
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In the meantime, my oven has broken down. My stove top works, thank God! I also have two crock pots that have been in use a lot lately. I'm also trying new dessert recipes in my crock pots and bread recipes in my bread maker. It's been an adventurous culinary challenge, to say the least. Goodbye homemade pizza, cinnamon rolls, bread bowls for chili, granola, bread sticks, chocolate chip cookies and brownies and all sorts of other yummy baked delights. Oh well, it's just food.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnz4ZYJZPfy8wYhB4cdGIf7pVqXlf0GG0Dlr42TwExeJiYPN6_EYeQKmDrW9VrSNmFm-9Lg5ox1zYzCB2VYMdshf8m4yfV7ERtfvocdPEwOemAvnXxSlV49aQdZHNPkj2TUY9CpnQRnkWH/s1600/pizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnz4ZYJZPfy8wYhB4cdGIf7pVqXlf0GG0Dlr42TwExeJiYPN6_EYeQKmDrW9VrSNmFm-9Lg5ox1zYzCB2VYMdshf8m4yfV7ERtfvocdPEwOemAvnXxSlV49aQdZHNPkj2TUY9CpnQRnkWH/s1600/pizza.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...or this!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEy3pAiJDI_7iNCQB767Xn6aYmSRWynijXp0oeoKXVD7Rb5hYnDb-ur-EmtYaUOsR0uzjsjgHM_rz8n00bVQtVjzVcwsZfwZalbaprDKjjvH1pD_sttC8bwlk73mHvioykST7fpKSnGAdp/s1600/dog+and+dishwsher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEy3pAiJDI_7iNCQB767Xn6aYmSRWynijXp0oeoKXVD7Rb5hYnDb-ur-EmtYaUOsR0uzjsjgHM_rz8n00bVQtVjzVcwsZfwZalbaprDKjjvH1pD_sttC8bwlk73mHvioykST7fpKSnGAdp/s1600/dog+and+dishwsher.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe we should get a dog! (JUST KIDDING)</td></tr>
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However, the truth of the matter is, we don't have the money for repairs or new appliances. Both appliances are fairly big ticket items, and we can live without them. However, Elena needs a choir dress, car registration is due as well as broken brake lights that need to be fixed, we haven't broken our kids of that pesky eating habit and, of course, our property tax bill is due in several short months. If we're careful, we will pay for everything we need without too much debt incurred.<br />
On the school front, my girls have had several challenges as well. Math classes have been difficult for some of our girls, requiring extra tutoring time with Tim and their teachers. My younger girls require hands-on homework help as well. I enjoy doing homework with my younger girls, but I need to be disciplined to make sure we do it after school in a timely manner. Then there's the evening routine of reading, chores, toy and clothing pick up, and school lunch prep. Did I forget to mention the logistical challenges of managing two teenagers' social, sports, work and academic schedules, too? And, oh, the fact that they both have lots of friends in several different social networks, including some "cute and really nice" boys?...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That being said, their conversations about school, classmates, and teachers are always entertaining and the highlight of my evening. Those oldest two of mine are funny girls!<br />
I won't lie to you, though. At the end of the evening, I am e#x#h#a#u#s#t#e#d. Even when I get into bed, I don't find sleep particularly gratifying. I've been able to go back to the gym, though, and slowly get back into my fitness routine. I'm not running yet, and even rigorous extended walking is painful to my still-tender toe, but cycling is ok. It's just helpful to get back to lifting weights and doing some sustained cardio workout. When I start running again, I should sleep much better. Soon, hopefully soon....<br />
And then there's that charming and handsome man I live with. Hmmm....what was his name?!<br />
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<i> </i>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-1099586269479848262012-09-19T22:04:00.001-07:002012-09-19T22:04:53.080-07:00I'm Procrastinating on Studying...So Why Not Update My Blog?! The Fall semester is in full swing for everyone. I'm in school 4 mornings a week and on Fridays I get to clean my house! (Do you feel my joy at this end-of-the-week activity?!) Elena is a Senior at Pasadena High School where she has met entertaining and wholesome-seeming friends (phew!) and is adjusting to her classes slowly but surely. Camille is in 10th grade and really enjoying AP European History. She's gearing up for water polo season and overseeing Elena's social contacts at school (what's a little sister for, huh?). Leanne started middle school with a - rip! Her plaid madras shorts ripped at the back pocket, exposing her monkey underwear - (they were on sale! What can I say?!) about two hours after she arrived at school. Her friend loaned her her sweater - despite the 100 degree weather - and all was good. And then the carefully laid out plans to walk home with friends ended with her being stranded ALL BY HERSELF at the front of the school. After a misguided wild goose chase, she burst into tears when I finally arrived to pick her up. I felt soooo bad for her! I told her, "Oh, honey, you got all the yucky middle school stuff out of the way on the first day of school! It just gets better from here on out!" After making copious jokes of a monkeying sort, Leanne was all giggles shortly after.<br />
Daisy started first grade "with the prettiest teacher in school." Chloe is all about the serious business of being a third grader and making detailed plans to work on her miso soup Halloween costume with soon-to-be lawfully legitimate uncle, David. And that brings me to other happy news - my sister Ann is getting married in December sometime. We are all very excited and, although I've been reassured it will be a very small wedding affair, I'm preparing for something of the medium-ish size. It will be a fun party!<br />
My anatomy and physiology class has been challenging in the best sort of way. I have an exceptional teacher and I have made some nice acquaintances in my classes, too. The amount of studying I have to do for this class is super intense, prompting me to take a leave of absence from volunteering at both of my hospitals. I was sad, but had to make cuts in time expenditures where I could.<br />
And speaking of cuts, Tim's paycheck keeps getting smaller and smaller. The cuts to his teacher salary are increasing with very few extra job prospects available like he's had in the past. It was a rough few weeks of realizing that I had to be very careful and disciplined in<i> every penny I spent</i>, but it is a beneficial discipline. I'm amazed at how little money I now spend and how little I miss quite a few things. The challenge, in some good ways, is that to save money on food, our largest "negotiable" expense, I bake and cook many things from scratch to save money. But, the dishes I do! The prep and clean up and hours upon hours of time I spend in the kitchen is unbelievable. My girls do help me, but they are so busy with their school work that I simply do quite a bit, while training my middle girls to do more.<br />
And then there is Julia, who is at pre-school. Just this morning I heard her at around 6:00 am padding through the house towards the kitchen where I was, giggling in anticipation of seeing me. I waited near the corner that she rounded and jumped out and scared her. She giggled all the more and I hugged and kissed her good morning. Ahh, yes, the best things in life are truly free!LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-34690474867123594102012-08-14T13:48:00.002-07:002012-08-14T13:48:51.080-07:00The "If- You-Can't-Afford- to- Travel- to- Europe, -Then- Bring- Europe- to- You" Summer and Other Adventures<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqa6H1flfJ75nLG4r3FMBDVV3MxasyrqIsrVWkiNnKdwYWeE4FIDBl5R_tUGxfdFA25ED-wAjqrGSfm68hEfm4s2Y6YBGxG0HYPJwYlu9HUC67OC9mNQbZ7Qc9cA2zWSMeaZYqkDGLlDg/s1600/026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqa6H1flfJ75nLG4r3FMBDVV3MxasyrqIsrVWkiNnKdwYWeE4FIDBl5R_tUGxfdFA25ED-wAjqrGSfm68hEfm4s2Y6YBGxG0HYPJwYlu9HUC67OC9mNQbZ7Qc9cA2zWSMeaZYqkDGLlDg/s320/026.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my girls with our 1st French student, delightful Caroline</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRmt-c2bWXZ20GTwu3F5YKIH61xhcPsLp9Z3XSvwtfU3J_iDmooHUHHZLKhyLOijWYe2ANBoImqSaVivuCoRBKcPw6AAVCNfWPvEIIgmG305tW3co5Q1ZJRmPo7YHhVsIN0Px70C_b26_/s1600/078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRmt-c2bWXZ20GTwu3F5YKIH61xhcPsLp9Z3XSvwtfU3J_iDmooHUHHZLKhyLOijWYe2ANBoImqSaVivuCoRBKcPw6AAVCNfWPvEIIgmG305tW3co5Q1ZJRmPo7YHhVsIN0Px70C_b26_/s320/078.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaux, our 2nd French student, and my girls at the Americana</td></tr>
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I said "bon jour" to my 3rd international student of the summer 2 weeks ago. She was a surprise addition to my roundup of international students. She was not happy with her first family and was bounced to different families till she ended up with us for her last week. Her parents came to pick her up and we had lunch. They were lovely people and I was intrigued to learn some interesting things about France and the different regional differences within that country. It was a lovely lunch.<br />
Then I had a "quiet" home with just four of my kids here. Tim and our older two were at a church retreat. Quite honestly, my four younger ones, even with their fighting, is a welcome break. The daily logistics, with Tim being off work this summer, of managing the needs, interests, schedules and "situations" among 9 people (11 people 2 days a week when my niece and nephew are here) is daunting, exhausting, frustrating at times and just wearying. I keep thinking I'm doing something wrong, that I shouldn't be this worn out and tired. I have battled laryngitis all summer long. I then realized that this is the season I am in and this is normal. And it's okay for now. Soon enough, school will start in 1 week and a new season will be upon me. I'm looking forward to it in many ways.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCxXvphC5AJOuD_iJjtroWHeAFojnbabKnbHB8LAislxTCdZhzc9wt8Jq3ZHkpJ4GmY46S6TJOnHIZURgMzGOYoM-cI1kbay0aCabSupiixaPSHiuV-dNxXBKaHAl2VXR712A3U4Fl6dW/s1600/009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCxXvphC5AJOuD_iJjtroWHeAFojnbabKnbHB8LAislxTCdZhzc9wt8Jq3ZHkpJ4GmY46S6TJOnHIZURgMzGOYoM-cI1kbay0aCabSupiixaPSHiuV-dNxXBKaHAl2VXR712A3U4Fl6dW/s320/009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Italian student, Vittoria, with Julia and Daisy. She was an absolute gem. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYOTdGOP5gQwCgDJWm6P_-Vwm6MrhzDZkEXGwb2D3aHyPJX-ZiWgS7CfcSqXXHmKGmWaCXIgX3t1Xn0pZGOewQIQ8zkj0oiwzVQI5VxPdb0JH5xFHxFP4Vx0Jbej_2YRZ0i9qd0IR0PPZ/s1600/014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYOTdGOP5gQwCgDJWm6P_-Vwm6MrhzDZkEXGwb2D3aHyPJX-ZiWgS7CfcSqXXHmKGmWaCXIgX3t1Xn0pZGOewQIQ8zkj0oiwzVQI5VxPdb0JH5xFHxFP4Vx0Jbej_2YRZ0i9qd0IR0PPZ/s320/014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 4th birthday, Julia!</td></tr>
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We celebrated Julia's 4th birthday in a very low key way. Nothing is ever that low key around here, though. The kids were noisy and silly as we sang happy birthday to her. My 1st French exchange student, Caroline, had been here for less than a week and she looked eager to be done with the whole birthday ruckus. Several weeks later, we celebrated Camille's 15th birthday. Her sweet friends, Madeline and Olivia, made this adorable and delicious cake. We had a large, impromptu gathering of girls and we sang happy birthday. It was memorable in the best sort of way. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCmwO5rpANg5IlyXesUn_fEKQ8bgZFHWzDgNxAdW0WQdXGpFn8fXa-aBCAlTaYuyytc6nKMsC-ZM9PEpV1nxWnC67uS5OsVwWNB164M_jAQy33imBzTieE_DPJQGqJh9OQ2I3Cn3i6DTG/s1600/075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCmwO5rpANg5IlyXesUn_fEKQ8bgZFHWzDgNxAdW0WQdXGpFn8fXa-aBCAlTaYuyytc6nKMsC-ZM9PEpV1nxWnC67uS5OsVwWNB164M_jAQy33imBzTieE_DPJQGqJh9OQ2I3Cn3i6DTG/s320/075.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet 15!</td></tr>
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Tim's family reunion was short and sweet. It was near his mom and sister's house an hour east of Sacramento. It was very enjoyable reconnecting with Tim's aunts and uncles and spending some concentrated time with my nephews and niece.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TmUgXee_ZccaLrMJtrqzO0DDUEctIWKsipGVNLP8_lwDDi9E9TWd6wiq05NZHXJmIAkU4rgw4tCYU1i_jl6CIzwkLl7Tdf8M0FXNE9ml2Lo-2ioBZVsokglINZSVvRHYBJtQbZev9Tst/s1600/031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TmUgXee_ZccaLrMJtrqzO0DDUEctIWKsipGVNLP8_lwDDi9E9TWd6wiq05NZHXJmIAkU4rgw4tCYU1i_jl6CIzwkLl7Tdf8M0FXNE9ml2Lo-2ioBZVsokglINZSVvRHYBJtQbZev9Tst/s320/031.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leanne, cousin Dani, and Chloe</td></tr>
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The day after our last student left, our German student arrived. Within 12 hours, she had decided to leave. She was aiming for an America vacation with lots of vodka in Vegas. It didn't take her long to figure out that she was not going to get that at our noisy home. She left soon after. It took several hours of processing the painful loss of anticipated income and the sting of being rejected to get over it. It brought about an effective time of prayer and God met me. I was over it the following day, although I did wander around aimlessly for about two days with my plans for the entire 3 weeks having just been derailed. The mental preparation of three weeks of lessons and activities was now replaced with...well... lots of free and unstructured time with my kids and no money to do anything with them. It was depressing at first. Free things are abundant in Los Angeles during the summer, but that takes work and time to find out what, when and where with such a span of ages that comprises my family. I rallied several days later and have a loose plan for the rest of the summer.<br />
And my sewing machine is beckoning me with some couldn't-imagine-having-time-for-these projects. Now, if only I could find the plug in pedal for my sewing machine...LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-58586969018206855372012-06-03T20:29:00.000-07:002012-06-03T20:29:40.981-07:00"A"n Update On My Summer Checklist<br />
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All of these have to be <b>done by June 1st:</b></div>
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1) take big microbiology test on the immune system and common bacterial pathogens</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Grade: A-</i></span></div>
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List of things to do before mid-June 2012:</div>
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2)take final exam in microbiology on viruses and everything else I studied the whole semester</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Final grade:A (96% in the class!!!)</i></span></div>
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3)take last developmental psychology quiz online</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Final grade: A</i></span></div>
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4) help Leanne prepare her science project complete with photos, research, computer graphics and typed-up information on a huge display board</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Grade: A+</i></span></div>
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5)register for Fall 2012, which includes hoping and praying I get the 8 -unit mega anatomy and physiology class at the right time to coordinate school pick up for 4 girls at 3 different schools and speech therapy for Julia in the fall</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Result: registered for 2nd choice class, but prospects for switching to the morning lab I need is highly likely. My fall schedule should be fairly smooth.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>Thank you Lord!!!</i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now on to the rest of my projects and plans. Success sure is a great incentive to keep going! (That is, after a much-needed nap....)</span></div>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-91850220636371784142012-05-26T22:28:00.000-07:002012-05-26T22:28:53.736-07:00Free the Hairbrush! Free the Hairbrush! (And return it to the bathroom!) This spring, my 4 older girls have been going to pre-season swim team every evening. My youngest two have been taking swim lessons. Each of my older girls has their own bag with shampoo (the cost savings on my water bill are worth all the hassle of swim team!), a towel, and their jammies/change of clothes. About a week after swim team started I noticed a panic-laden crisis emerging every time I went into the bathroom and reached for the hair brush: it was gone! No hair brush anywhere to be found <i>in the entire house</i>. The Veggies Tales song, "Oh, where is my hairbrush?!" would melodically wind its way through my hollering:"Where are all the hairbrushes?!?!" My frustration was readily apparent. I had assumed that each girl took a hairbrush in her swim bag to brush out her freshly shampooed, hopefully-dechlorinated hair. The problem was, not every bag had a hair brush in it. Every now and then, if I was lucky, I would find a hairbrush mixed with the wet towel and swimsuit wadded up on the floor of the entry way. One day I brushed my hair once. ONCE. This is a problem because my aging hair is getting rather frizzy and needs to be tamed with a hairbrush SEVERAL TIMES A DAY. I had to reason my way out of my frizzy hair that day: it was a good opportunity to work on, <i>ahem</i>, vanity.<br />
Tim was pretty good-natured about the vanishing hair brush situation, too. He uses a round, curly brush to "do" his hair every morning and even this was gone. And this is the hair brush that he puts way up high in the bathroom. Alas, one day as I was tripping my way through our back room where the girls have their toys, like, um EVERYWHERE (home pick-up has been a little lacking since I'm nearing Finals week in school), I came across one of the girls' American Girl knock off dolls (to the tune of about eighty dollars cheaper!) and lo and behold, what did I find? THIS!!!!<br />
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Do you see it? Tim's curly-q brush horrifyingly STUCK in one of those doll's heads! I couldn't help but start laughing. I walked the mess over to Tim and said with resignation and a chuckle, "This is what life is like with 6 daughters." My sympathies went out to my husband, whom I had noticed has a slightly more "ruffled" hair style lately. Leanne piped in, "Oh, don't take the hair brush out! I've been working on untangling it."<br />
"Uh, huh," I replied. "We'll see." Astonishingly, I put the doll and her matted, tormented, mangled hair down and was going to give Leanne a chance to untangle it. Who am I kidding? Leanne lives with slightly tangled hair all the time! If she can't comb her own hair, how can she have a chance with this nasty, pathetic mess? About 3 days later, I had become desperate after not finding any of the 5 (yes, you read that right) new hair brushes I bought a week ago (I really need to buy stock in the Goody Company), found a pair of scissors, and started to snip away. I wrestled it this way and that, and then I freed the hairbrush! Cheers please! I pulled the fake reddish doll hair out the hairbrush and it was then fit for service.<br />
Ah, yes, life with 6 daughters has many hairy discoveries. Next post....Tim's 10 pm trip to Wal-Mart with a crying teenager to find "modest shorts"...Stay tuned!<br />
<br />LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-33426489662584345872012-05-16T18:24:00.004-07:002012-05-16T18:24:33.869-07:00My Prepare-For-Summer ChecklistList of things to do before mid-June 2012:<br />
All of these have to be <b>done by June 1st:</b><br />
1) take big microbiology test on the immune system and common bacterial pathogens<br />
2) take final exam in microbiology on viruses and everything else I studied the whole semester<br />
3)take last developmental psychology quiz online<br />
4) help Leanne prepare her science project complete with photos, research, computer graphics and typed-up information on a huge display board<br />
5)register for Fall 2012, which includes hoping and praying I get the 8 -unit mega anatomy and physiology class at the right time to coordinate school pick up for 4 girls at 3 different schools and speech therapy for Julia in the fall<br />
All of these have to be <b>done by mid-June:</b><br />
6)plan summer activities for my 6 kids and niece and nephew (two full days a week) and coordinate swim team, swim lessons, summer school, and small family vacations we are taking.<br />
7)Prepare lessons and activities for three exchange students I am having beginning in late June and ending in mid-August.<br />
8)Figure out if and when I can volunteer at my 2 hospitals I so enjoy working at, schedule the times and communicate with my volunteer supervisors.<br />
9)Prepare my summer garden and then plant, maintain, and harvest vegetables and fruits throughout the summer and fall months.<br />
10)Plan with Tim something to do for our 20th wedding anniversary in late August that doesn't stress me out childcare-wise or budget-wise<br />
11)Finish painting projects in my girls' room and the bathroom.<br />
12) Try to wrestle to some sense of order the many bookcases and closets, drawers and cupboards that are in hair-pulling DISARRAY.<br />
13)Ahh....my lucky number....pray for God's grace, wisdom, and strength before, during and after, um...EVERYTHING!!!!!<br />
<br />LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-46281890318825382372012-02-20T18:46:00.000-08:002012-02-20T18:46:36.973-08:00Maslow and Me<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I just submitted this assignment for my online Developmental Psychology class. It was an interesting and enjoyable assignment.</span></span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Laura Thomas<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">2/19/12<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Personal Timeline Assignment<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs has always settled so well into my thinking over the years. It makes sense to me on so many levels. So, my life story starts out with my most basic needs being satisfied: my babyhood where I can rightly assume that my parents fed me and cared for me. My parents had four children and I am the third (and apparently the only one “planned”). My father is a retired rheumatologist who met my mother while doing his internship at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Chicago. He saw her walking down the hallway in her starched nursing uniform and immediately fell in love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They married four months later. After spending three years in Germany during the Vietnam War, my parents settled in Southern California where he finished his residency at County USC Medical Center. I was born in Pasadena and have lived in Southern California my whole life. You couldn’t pay me to leave this diverse, intense, crazy beautiful part of the world for anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I sat down to color with my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crayola Primary Colors</i> over-sized crayons I will always remember seeing my name, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Laura</i>” written neatly in kindergarten-teacher perfect handwriting on my coloring worksheet. Those are among my first memories of school. My beautiful, young teacher with over-sized, blonde <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clairol</i> curls was the epitome of 70’s style and loveliness. And she thought I was retarded. “But,” she told my concerned mother, “She’s tall so we’re going to pass her onto the first grade.” My mother didn’t believe it for a second. And so began my mother’s persistent search for answers to what would be the diagnosis of “dyslexia.” Yep, classic: “t’s” shaped like “x’s.” Years of “vestibular therapy” followed where I would do exhilarating activities like ride down a ramp on a belly board and spin in a hammock swing this way and that way many times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This stage of my life would be considered the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">safety stage</b> where my educational needs were met and my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">need for organization and stability</b> greatly improved as all my letters straightened out. (My lefts and rights still confuse me, embarrassingly, to this day).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the elementary and junior high school years I experienced teasing, exclusion, and painful, abusive family dynamics at home. I was angry and lonely. After graduating from high school, I started attending a church where I am still an active member. It was there that I met Jesus Christ. Nothing in my life, delightfully, satisfyingly and magnificently, would ever be the same. Pivotal moments occurred in which <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">my need to be loved, to belong and be accepted</b> were beautifully and wholeheartedly met as several Christian friends frequently prayed for me and accepted me right where I was at. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my mother’s early demise from breast cancer when I was 20, I found my loving church family to be very supportive.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What can you tell me about Master’s Programs in Education?” I asked a friend after a Singles meeting. “You should talk to Tim. He’s a teacher.” That is when I met the man I would marry. Our first date was 5 or so months later on the 3<sup>rd</sup> of July. We attended a Dodger’s baseball game and have never been to Dodger Stadium since. However, we married 7 weeks later. That was 19 ½ years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a couple of babies, a few miscarriages, some more babies, and intense arguments over having more children or not. Throughout this process of being a mother and a wife, without a mother myself, I struggled terribly with my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">success and esteem</b> in my primary roles. I was a stay-at-home mom after many years of school to complete two teaching credentials. I chose to home school my children and spent many enjoyable years doing that, but was greatly challenged by those demands. At times I felt anger and frustration at my children’s needs which exposed fear, laziness, inadequacy and selfishness in me. It was painfully humbling and I never felt like I was doing a good job consistently. My marriage was also a constant source of conflict and heartache. I wrestled through many “maturing” years of learning to take responsibility for my part in our conflicts and follow strange-sounding “wife advice” from the Bible. That Biblical advice worked in the most unbelievable and astonishing ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After marrying a man from a painfully broken family after only 7 weeks of knowing him, and coming from an abusive family myself, the fact that our marriage is better than ever is amazing in the most deliciously wonderful way. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t come without a huge price tag, however. I will never forget the sheer panic I felt as I lay in the hospital bed with the right side of my body numb while my left side was radiating with intense pain and frantically asking the nurse, “Where is my husband?!?!” After being shooed away during my epidural, he left the hospital to get dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ready to deliver our 5th baby soon after. My husband arrived 5 minutes after she was born to a room of gawking, insensitive hospital staff and an insensitive doctor. I had never felt so vulnerable and alone in such a crowded space. It was a profoundly upsetting experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years later, much to my own surprise, I wanted to have another baby. This time, I wanted a more compassionate doctor and a better childbirth experience. After much research and careful consideration, I went out of my way to ensure a better outcome for my last baby’s birth. Horrifyingly, it ended up being far more traumatic than my 5<sup>th</sup> delivery. My church had prayed while I was in labor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am convinced that alone is what protected my daughter from being injured as she got stuck coming out of me. I fired my absentee doctor the next day, the crazy nurse who yanked my daughter out of me was also fired, and I filed a 13 page grievance <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a year later detailing “negligence and unprofessional conduct” by the hospital staff and my doctor. I won’t ever know what impact my grievance had on anybody but me. Thankfully, it lessened the victimization I felt to a small degree.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Maslow’s Hierarchy <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">self-actualization</b> occurred in a redemptive way with that last baby’s birth. Over the past several years, as I heart wrenchingly tried to make sense of all that happened, I emerged 60 pounds lighter, in great physical shape, more settled in my soul, more committed to enjoying my marriage and my children, and envisioned with a goal to become a midwife someday. I also discovered in intensely intimate ways that His comfort has been unmatched by any human being. I have since put all my children in school, except my 16 year-old 11<sup>th</sup> grader who will be graduating next year. Enrolling in school and preparing to enter the work force in the next several years would have been unthinkable to me so many years ago when I had all my babies and toddlers underfoot and in my arms. The<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> self-actualization </b>part, at this juncture in my life, is quite sweet indeed. I look forward to the years ahead with the flexibility and<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>“open-handedness” I have toward my plans. The future looks very bright indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-90594691085264865562011-12-27T19:49:00.000-08:002011-12-27T19:49:30.789-08:00I Knew I Was In Trouble When I Got to the Gas Station Without a Screwdriver and Other Tales of Recent Woes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_5BmVJ5w1sreDqs9ct9kYcaA4e5oNd1b-yVTf3TteTlbmWH8wOYgQsm1hX6freFRs8BYOv7NRWFPk2XpWhwHYefmxuSrYlO9_x6kynNiGWDF2UV0Lag0_uLnVzbzVOzaCfqipG6fhb5u/s1600/scredriver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_5BmVJ5w1sreDqs9ct9kYcaA4e5oNd1b-yVTf3TteTlbmWH8wOYgQsm1hX6freFRs8BYOv7NRWFPk2XpWhwHYefmxuSrYlO9_x6kynNiGWDF2UV0Lag0_uLnVzbzVOzaCfqipG6fhb5u/s320/scredriver.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Well, not exactly recent "woes" because that sounds so self-pitying and whiny. Now, to be honest, I can be self-pitying and whiny, but desire NOT to be. So, let me clarify: woes should be characterized as "hardships." Sounds more biblical, huh? So, onto the screwdriver part. Our newer used car Tim and I recently purchased I call the "Wannabe Lexus Camry" because it has fancy Lexus hubcaps but is a dented and scratched up 12 year-old Camry. It had very low mileage and we were thrilled with the deal we got. We needed the car to save gas and wear and tear on our almost 9 year-old Suburban and because Elena will be driving independently soon. So, I made the painful discovery several weeks back that the lever next to the driver's seat does NOT open up the gas tank door and neither do my keys jammed into it. I needed a screwdriver to jam the door open. I had put one in my car, but couldn't find it and forgot about it besides. When I realized, with an empty tank of gas, that I needed a screwdriver, after having gone out of my way late at night to get gas, I was NOT HAPPY. I was also too embarrassed to ask the gas station attendant if he had one. So, off to my house on fumes I drove. I did get gas the next day and all was well. I have since discovered that if I stick a tube of lipstick to hold the lever up then I can open the gas can door just fine. Who would have thought how many uses I could get out of a tube of lipstick?!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-RhSMFZHuYGtnEHRSyZ1nGarWhr9fvrQv-FOhdt8vUSBdQAlT_UnEEMbHEGHuTSmLtWLjUDtyz9ePfjpIBvNNus3TQZ1qwBYigPpBO5R-JBXSElHrhNmyuGx6bbqw2slgNSyWn-wjyJgY/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-RhSMFZHuYGtnEHRSyZ1nGarWhr9fvrQv-FOhdt8vUSBdQAlT_UnEEMbHEGHuTSmLtWLjUDtyz9ePfjpIBvNNus3TQZ1qwBYigPpBO5R-JBXSElHrhNmyuGx6bbqw2slgNSyWn-wjyJgY/s320/017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the beginning of the semester....</td></tr>
</tbody></table> And then there was the situation with my Sadistics professor....Yes, you read that right. Let's just say that this paragraph could be titled, "I Knew I Was In Trouble When I Arrived At My Statistics Final ON TIME and All Nine of My Classmates Were Already There Getting The First Part of A Two Hour Lecture That We Would Be Tested On Later That Night." Let me add something about a picky professor who seemingly delights in tormenting people, my utter exhaustion, and him failing me on the spot. I will say, in a word: injustice. I had so prayed that I would pass this class and, even though I cried on all three trains on the ride home from that nightmare final, I felt a peace that God would come through and that I would be awarded the paltry "C" I had rightfully earned.<br />
And I was. After two e-mails and many prayers, my Statistics professor called me 2 days before Christmas to inform me that I had earned a C. He had some negative remarks about my class work the last three weeks of class, too. I pressed him on my most recent test scores and they were an A and a B. I bluntly told him that I felt I had done rather well recently. There was one area, and in his mind THE MOST IMPORTANT part of statistics that had confused me. Whatever. He also thanked me for making the class enjoyable. Yes, I was a bit of a class clown because that man tormented us at times with his teaching style and making jokes and good-natured fun of HIM was a coping mechanism. He happened to like it. Good for me. Good for him. He was actually rather sweet on the phone. I hung up, relieved and grateful that God had come through for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaw07LLN-t4MMJIWfzhpIg7liV_KLc-8ZsKH0JIiM-IqR8QonP9xJZEEQbMf6Q2djvnvScq7eftL7209ZI46r4LpGivt8HcBKN_Vqm997LUfp_D8DIg9ABbci-FkrYUDcxqPYSGDoYthyphenhyphen/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaw07LLN-t4MMJIWfzhpIg7liV_KLc-8ZsKH0JIiM-IqR8QonP9xJZEEQbMf6Q2djvnvScq7eftL7209ZI46r4LpGivt8HcBKN_Vqm997LUfp_D8DIg9ABbci-FkrYUDcxqPYSGDoYthyphenhyphen/s320/018.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....at the end of the semester</td></tr>
</tbody></table> And then there were the windstorms. This paragraph could be titled, "I Knew I Was In Trouble When News Reports Indicated A Prediction of DAYS Without Electricity, 'But We're Working On It.'" The cold, the DARKNESS, the groping around, the discouragement of life being interrupted, the struggle to figure out where I was gong to charge my iPod and my phone, the rotting food in the fridge, the expense of eating out, trips to the laundromat, and on and on and on. Not to mention needing to study in a quiet, warm place with lights. Where was I going to study?! That was a pressing question and I had a hard time getting in the studying that I needed to do. I think it did affect my grades. But what was I going to do? It was challenging to be without power for 5 days. We had never been without power for more than 12 hours or so. There's a first time for everything, right?<br />
But the lights and the heat and the power sources did come on. There was something awe-inspiring about seeing that line of massive Edison work vehicles slowly making their way through the streets to restore power. It was cool, even as I waited for heat.<br />
And so, the Christmas season has just about passed. It was a strange season. I don't think I wrapped one Christmas present. My girls did all the wrapping. I was the least excited about this Christmas than I had ever been. I don't know why. That was kind of discouraging. Yet, I enjoyed the hymns and Chistmas carols at church more than I ever had. Perhaps my focus is cleared and the "fluffy" things of the world are less appealing?I'd like to think so.<br />
So I have a week or so before the New Year begins. Time to rethink, re plan, regroup and ask God for a fresh vision and a new supply of grace and encouragement. I know he won't disappoint me. I just need to ask Him.LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-2560258688198427822011-10-20T13:50:00.000-07:002011-10-24T09:03:43.673-07:00Madonna & Child and a Covered Belly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDW_TAGr-K27RMFkTW1IbOdmhskGpRBZH3apc7lH4CCGAVqRUFm8BkN0v5492u6w44_IjEo1v_CyOhVm6AFms771EtlqbJng_1K5drD_tHEY6pr7Vt2j01UvRgFJMLumbP58RWqSjtj_Ld/s1600/Madonna-and-Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDW_TAGr-K27RMFkTW1IbOdmhskGpRBZH3apc7lH4CCGAVqRUFm8BkN0v5492u6w44_IjEo1v_CyOhVm6AFms771EtlqbJng_1K5drD_tHEY6pr7Vt2j01UvRgFJMLumbP58RWqSjtj_Ld/s200/Madonna-and-Child.jpg" width="140" /></a></div> I was in Costco this morning having my groceries rung up for me when the man standing in line behind me says, in a thick foreign-born accent, "You look like a madonna." I looked at him and said, "Well, I do have six kids."<br />
Shocked, he replied, "Madonna has six kids?!"<br />
"No," I replied, "I have six kids. You know, like a 'Madonna and Child'"?" He looked at me, puzzled. I went on to explain, "You kow the portraits from centuries ago with the mother figure holding a baby? She was called a 'madonna with child.'" Both he and register clerk looked confused and puzzled. I dropped the issue, mumbling, "I was trying to deflect the compliment."<br />
Not that looking like Madonna is a compliment. I don't even think it's true, except that I do have a hair color and style that is similar to some pictures I've seen of her. That woman changes her hair style and color so frequently that I have no idea what she currently looks like. She also, at least in the past, would frequently bare her belly. I DO NOT bare my belly. It isn't attractive to view stretch marks, cellulite, fat, and extra flabby skin on a 41 year old woman who's had six big babies.. That is the view you'd have of me if I pulled a classic Madonna wardrobe attempt. Even if it wasn't immodest (which it most definitely is), it would be gross.<br />
In fact, I had to tell a disappointed Tim that, despite all my weight loss, the belly flab is here to stay, short of liposuction. Part genetic inheritance from my mom and grandma, bearing lots of big babies, and too much weight gained over the years and you have my unsightly belly. Oh well. I don't really care. I have shrunk it with MUFA's (mono-unsaturated fatty acids) foods described in the <u>Flat Belly Diet</u> and I certainly do care about the health risks of belly fat. I do abdominal exercises everyday. There's nothing more I can do. So, it is what it is.<br />
It triggered a weird memory, though. While waiting for my doctor during my 38th week pregnancy appointment, I got up to pick up a magazine. While reaching for it, I heard his "tap, tap" at the door. I put the magazine down. As my doctor entered, he picked up the magazine and said, "Do you want to read about Madonna?" On the cover of Vanity Fair that month was, you guessed it, Madonna. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "No." Because really, I didn't. He tossed the magazine on top of the others and said, 'Yeah, who cares." Oddly enough, she was an OB patient of his for both of her pregnancies! I suspect she returned from London just to see him again for her prenatal care with her second baby. What's ironic about that scenario is that he is one of the few non-family people that she should have bared her belly to! Anyway, I am positive that he cared about Madonna Ciccone, the patient, but not really Madonna the celebrity. And I certainly did not look like her then, nor have I ever tried.<br />
Weird. Really weird.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSKVu4zU4MWWJJFf2CUUkg_3JifhmdwbAmI5gEZ88mKmSZzeYBzZ9MRUu1Kce3UYNRCl-pFumiXQcEBP6JtepwG1CRSiHoXR2V9P4yZ3GthR-Dt0ZJHoRB3mGkenDPLco-DgMPp1Wu_Z9/s1600/madonna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSKVu4zU4MWWJJFf2CUUkg_3JifhmdwbAmI5gEZ88mKmSZzeYBzZ9MRUu1Kce3UYNRCl-pFumiXQcEBP6JtepwG1CRSiHoXR2V9P4yZ3GthR-Dt0ZJHoRB3mGkenDPLco-DgMPp1Wu_Z9/s320/madonna.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Madonna - the real one</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsiDCExOSiuNAKe0VfwxjJb-_k-KZ2DpijUN1rbvdof6cq-HdmqJC_8XszjOLp6HJ4PaczJURJQt_8uvtPg3x6p9F_iV5lLeJAlmUWAeVT7A2fGYh1t9NWETb2VwmCEWngM9g9byoXz91/s1600/062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsiDCExOSiuNAKe0VfwxjJb-_k-KZ2DpijUN1rbvdof6cq-HdmqJC_8XszjOLp6HJ4PaczJURJQt_8uvtPg3x6p9F_iV5lLeJAlmUWAeVT7A2fGYh1t9NWETb2VwmCEWngM9g9byoXz91/s320/062.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, the real me (Yeah, I didn't think so. Perhaps the guy was new to the LA area and was on hyper-alert for celebrity look-alikes.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-19796440672628633062011-10-10T22:43:00.000-07:002011-10-10T22:43:21.086-07:00Smoothing Out A Rough Start On the last day of August school began with a bang for all of us, except Tim who started at his new school several weeks earlier. Among the eight people in our family, five of us started at new schools. Being math minded these days, I calculated that that is over 60% of us making adjustments that have been, well, rather rough at spots. Daisy, new to kindergarten, has fared well. Camille, surprisingly at Pasadena High School this year, has also adjusted remarkably well, too. She has new friends, is doing well in her studies, and has said, "I'm so glad I was home schooled for as long as I was, but I'm glad to be in school now." However, the rough spots for her were managing a sticky locker, a really crowded school with long distances between classes, and figuring out that she can't eat small snacks throughout the day like she used to at home. Having an ornery, mean English teacher who scolds students for sneezing too loudly has been an interesting adjustment as well. Her Spanish teacher is an absolute blast, however, and her stories of his off-the-wall ways have me in stitches. (I think I might need to bring him home - or ban him.) All in all, she loves school and I'm pleased with how diligently and responsibly she has approached her school work. She's also made some really nice friends which has been a source of comfort and encouragement to her as well as relief for me.<br />
Tim has had some rough times with his new job location, although he did pick up an extra hour of teaching and extra pay. Thank you, Lord! He's had an adjustment to his classes, too, which has proven to be better overall. I am at Los Angeles Trade Techincal College in downtown Los Angeles just blocks from Staples Center. I think I've had the roughest adjustment in figuring out traffic patterns, length of commute, parking, location of my classes, and pick-up and drop-off arrangements for my girls, childcare for Julia, and overall time management regarding when I can carve out time for studying. I've struggled with anger and resentment at how hard it's been to adjust to all the changes and the tremendous stress and pessure I have felt. I had to acknowledge that my bitterness was towards God and that I somehow blamed him for these difficuluties. As much as I felt he directed me into my current season, I also made these choices. All that being said, I'm confident I'm where God wants me.<br />
For starters, I love being away from home for a couple of hours a week and away from dishes, laundry, errands, and monotony. I cherish the academic learning environment because for so many years that intellectual part of my brain was on a bit of a break. I also feel envisioned with specific, measurable goals and a loose time frame that brings comfort, anticipation, and ambition. I have lacked a clear vision for so long that part of me struggled with depression and discouragement. And yet, being home and having babies for the last 16 years has brought me to the place I am and has made me the woman I've become. Those precious, challenging, beautiful and trying babies have been the change agents God has used to refine me and mold me and bring about the vision I feel he's given me. Those years and my precious daughters, along with my hardworking husband, are undeniably the most important people in my life and will always hold front and center in my heart. Most of my ambition comes from a desire to serve them, provide for them ,and be an example for them.<br />
Lastly, Julia has started pre-school two mornings a week last week. She loves it and is so excited to go. This pre-school class is taught by a wonderful, experienced pre-school taecher in an affordable co-op situation. Two mornings a week I have almost three hours to myself to do...what else? Study at the library. (Although I must confess, I have gone on a couple of shopping trips, too.) Julia needs an environment with her same-age peers for her speech therapy and I need a block of undistracted time to study. It is nice to know, though, that I can run errands, clean house, go out to lunch with a friend, go to a doctor's appointment, or do "whatever" without Julia while giving Elena plenty of time to study.<br />
Regarding Elena, her physics class is very rigorous. She also had intense lifeguard training the first few weeks of school which resulted in her certification as a lifeguard. I was so proud of her! She will be applying for a position at the Rose Bowl in the next few weeks. Also in the next few weeks she will be starting her driver's license classes and training. It is a very full season for her as well. She remains a tremendous helper to me.<br />
And....drum roll please...I finally have Julia's speech therapy sessions scheduled at the girls' elementary school which coincides perfectly with me being able to help out in each of my three girls' classes. Amazing! Astonishing! Everything has fallen into place so beautifully! Yay! <br />
Now that I've been in school for over a month and slugging my way through Chemistry and Statistics, I've felt more settled with my school routine. Now I just have to persevere through the semester and finish well. So, at this point I'm ready for a nap!LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-25756709849333557972011-08-27T12:03:00.000-07:002011-08-27T14:40:55.887-07:00Growling Belly and Gurgling Bubbles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6lWHU8j4912l5TR0312vH_YZ9hijZS7bKiCnHyUR3SOlwlHfH7hPRWZPSlWZB4WP90SZ92b7OZR8g4rsdbEJXn5lnLqO8equK8xRkieealFXitsbgaANShoRYVnwqS6LMCD4T3kbWnfe/s1600/bubbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6lWHU8j4912l5TR0312vH_YZ9hijZS7bKiCnHyUR3SOlwlHfH7hPRWZPSlWZB4WP90SZ92b7OZR8g4rsdbEJXn5lnLqO8equK8xRkieealFXitsbgaANShoRYVnwqS6LMCD4T3kbWnfe/s200/bubbles.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> These last few weeks of summer have been challenging and amazing in a variety of ways. I'm almost at the end of my 20 day fast with the Lord's Table II and I've lost just under 15 pounds. Wow! I'm thinner than I've been in 6 years and I feel so much better. It hasn't been without its unique hardships, however. Planning meals and cooking for a family of 7, and having the audacity to try new recipes...what was I thinking?! And yet, I was told they were tasty. Hearing the *crunch* *crunch* of my little Sunday School students munching their Saltines almost made me grab the whole sleeve of crackers and inhale them like Cookie Monster does with cookies on Sesame Street. I refrained, however. Or lying in bed at night and hearing my belly growling and churning and finally surrendering to sleep despite the discomfort. Oddly enough, waking up not so hungry, though. It has been a juice and smoothie fast, so I haven't struggled with low blood sugar. In fact, I've had more energy than normal and have been able to get in a fairly rigorous swim workout every morning.<br />
Ah! The return of my first-love sport - swimming.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlJE9Ph20giPKvzrq04ukhHy5HAHmDlJE8t_Dq4aRgE86U_XHzt4vvOy7j2rmC1jO3GThu_dp_1SxmvmPf7oqZIERBy9CQUTU3tx3CqYDj5yR0PAS4ecH5AFra6gK668ayQUHuugjqgJPs/s1600/IMG_0951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlJE9Ph20giPKvzrq04ukhHy5HAHmDlJE8t_Dq4aRgE86U_XHzt4vvOy7j2rmC1jO3GThu_dp_1SxmvmPf7oqZIERBy9CQUTU3tx3CqYDj5yR0PAS4ecH5AFra6gK668ayQUHuugjqgJPs/s320/IMG_0951.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before: July of '10 just before starting The Lord's Table I</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I swam competitively as a child. I have vivid memories of weekend-long invitational meets and waiting for my race to be up. I remember the nervousness as I got to those blocks and then *pow!* the gun went off and so did I. I wasn't a fast swimmer or particularly talented at any stroke, but I enjoyed it. In high school I began to swim competitively again. The exercise throughout my high school years was so helpful to me. I still wasn't a very fast swimmer, but I had fun.<br />
And so now, in my early 40's I've found a way to start swimming again and oh, how soothing and invigorating it is! I delight in watching the bubbles I exhale in the water gurgle up to the surface as I pull my arms through the water. One particular and lovely memory I will always cherish occurred last week. I was in an outdoor pool and doing back stroke kicking with a kickboard. I stretched my body out as straight as I could and pulled my tummy muscles in. As I kicked, I felt myself floating and gliding through the water. I gazed at the gauzy clouds above and the blue sky and breathed in a sweet, enchanted breath. "Oh, Lord, how beautiful the sky is this morning!" I sensed God looking down at me and smiling, keeping close watch over every breath I took, every move of my muscles, every wet hair on my head swaying in the water....and lovingly enjoying my pleasure in the beautiful morning he had created for me.<br />
Oh, what a glorious and precious Creator who calls me by name!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBb-72ZJ9NJYb7QHZlgJHeGfWDd6he5S9XZgF_ibhlSPqI7QjSUOxRLC5xxwCkbswUUm03Jupb_03D6aMd1xgt92j-alu5HQY392GzwyyAZEFrcmjQ56CFoI23U3zKYrPz-bbJfL9ftMb/s1600/230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBb-72ZJ9NJYb7QHZlgJHeGfWDd6he5S9XZgF_ibhlSPqI7QjSUOxRLC5xxwCkbswUUm03Jupb_03D6aMd1xgt92j-alu5HQY392GzwyyAZEFrcmjQ56CFoI23U3zKYrPz-bbJfL9ftMb/s320/230.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After The Lord's Table II - August '11 - 40 lbs. lighter</td></tr>
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</div>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-32267783675899606332011-08-12T22:44:00.000-07:002011-08-28T13:53:30.362-07:00Funny People Should Be Banned or Move in With You Let me explain the title. This last week, I was observing one of my daughters' swimming classes. Her instructor is F*U*N*N*Y. His energy is over the top. In the spring, Daisy had this same instructor and I remember hearing him clear across the pool. I then saw him run around in circles on the pool deck yelling, very loudly, "Okay kids! Let's jump in!" and then seeing him jump in the pool with a loud splash. He would enthusiastically teach the kids their requisite swimming skills and his instruction was very thorough, enthusiastic, and energetic. Daisy later called him "crazy" because he "runs around and then jumps in the pool." I thought he was a great instructor. He got Daisy swimming her "scoops" with her head face down and not holding her nose. Yeehaw!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXTZcYySpHGoGeBM-4IBOwmVFob6elAr4g-J8DP_eMDymOLXcd_ZLJjfwZAMi9w8dWveoFPoxgyFC8RVZVwJaGa60DMU_GxZaozbhFATEhxNct-MrzceT8beBEWa62LOeHE-sYdVcyp7C/s1600/2011-08-11_11-33-35_868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXTZcYySpHGoGeBM-4IBOwmVFob6elAr4g-J8DP_eMDymOLXcd_ZLJjfwZAMi9w8dWveoFPoxgyFC8RVZVwJaGa60DMU_GxZaozbhFATEhxNct-MrzceT8beBEWa62LOeHE-sYdVcyp7C/s320/2011-08-11_11-33-35_868.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daisy's swim teacher "coaching" her class on their win!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Fast forward to a couple of days ago. The instructors and students of several classes joined together for a rambunctious, splashy game of "sharks and minnows." He carefully instructed his "Advanced Tiny Tot" class to stay near him against the wall so that his whole class got safely across. He then proudly and loudly exclaimed, "MY WHOLE CLASS GOT ACROSS!" When one of the other instructors made a move to tag one of the instructor's students he jumped on her and dunked her in the water. She came up laughing as all of his students made it across. I couldn't help but laugh at his antics. That just scratches the surface. There are various other amusing things he does and says that make me chuckle. His energy and sharp wit combined make an entertaining person to watch. In fact, he would be fun to take home. He would probably have our whole family laughing on a regular basis. And wouldn't that be a scream?<br />
But, of course, how would I explain the 25 year old man who suddenly started living with us? He's our family comedian that we feed so that he'll make us laugh? No. That wouldn't work. And what 25 year old man would ever want to live with our crazy family of girls and Tim's quirky ways? Yeah. I didn't think so. That would be too weird. I don't set out to be purposely weird. Really. I don't.<br />
The next option would be to ban him. When someone is that funny they shouldn't be around. It's too hard not to see them on a regular basis because the laughter becomes addictive, sort of. I remember one person years ago who had me in stitches on a regular basis. I don't see him anymore and quite frankly, I miss him at times. He should have been banned way before I met him because I don't like missing people. It hurts my heart in this raw, gushy spot.<br />
My sister's boyfriend, Dave, is another very funny person. His humor is d...r...y... and quick. He says the wackiest, funniest things so quietly and quickly, that if you're not paying attention, you'll miss it. I usually catch it and am laughing myself an aerobic workout. He hasn't moved in with us, but he comes over regularly enough so that it keeps me in a funny fix. I make sure I feed him tasty food so that he keeps coming by.<br />
I don't know why I like funny people so much. I just do. I appreciate the intelligence behind many styles of humor. I don't know many people who are funny without being very intelligent and perceptive as well. Perhaps I so appreciate a good laugh every now and again because it offsets the gloom I feel at times. Or, perhaps I sense it's a foretaste of what I know eternity will be like. And how how I long for that day at times. People erroneously say that hell will be fun because they will be partying with all their friends there. No, not even close. Heaven will be that deliciously wonderful place filled with laughter of all different kinds; the kind of laughter that bubbles from your mouth and fills your entire being with deep, penetrating <i>JOY </i>and magnificent delight<i>. </i>In fact, when I think of those I love that have passed on, I remember their laughter quite clearly. And of course, I then miss them. That's why they've been banned. And at the right time, I'll move in with them!LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-66519332474877089532011-07-30T22:47:00.000-07:002011-07-30T22:48:41.175-07:00Soothing Swinging and Seasons of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwBVk4PC0kSUaqcYlxJJoCqeFYA-Oq8wBdO5dXZs8cTJvMJ2A4HAVsehHVa-YRbGnIxotMueZzsHNCzflhXgj6Df-2Jt6EDiT_5kfnq4IbDSJw6z7c3iAAmRRlVC3y_OkKh9eePGQTmD0/s1600/large_montz_swings.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwBVk4PC0kSUaqcYlxJJoCqeFYA-Oq8wBdO5dXZs8cTJvMJ2A4HAVsehHVa-YRbGnIxotMueZzsHNCzflhXgj6Df-2Jt6EDiT_5kfnq4IbDSJw6z7c3iAAmRRlVC3y_OkKh9eePGQTmD0/s320/large_montz_swings.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> I went out to my backyard tonight to swing. Yes, you read that right - swing. In my childhood years my mom had a hammock swing hooked up in our family room. She would swing me so many times one way, and so many times another way. It was "vestibular therapy" to straighten out the crossed wires in my brain, or something like that. I don't know how much benefit was gained, but it was fun! Throughout my childhood, I loved to swing on swings. In my adolescence I would swing on the swings at the little neighborhood park down the street from my house. One particularly sad Christmas night stands out now as I'm reflecting back. I was lonely on Christmas night, so I walked down the street in the dark and swang for about an hour or two. Quite a sad sight....but the swinging was therapeutic - once again. Somehow, strangely, I didn't feel so lonely anymore...<br />
<br />
A tense, painful conversation tonight-<br />
Embarrassing, yet tempting, glances I noticed earlier today (for crying out loud! What's wrong with you?! I'm an old lady with 6 kids! Please do NOT look at me like that young, handsome boy-man!)-<br />
And the loneliness - still there....different expectations, different situations, different people....same feeling<br />
And so, off to the swings I went to cry and pray and talk to my Friend. As I swung higher and higher and relished the dark night sky and bright, white stars, my soul was stirred and drawn to Jesus, my BFF - truly and amazingly. I discussed with him various things, I cried, I felt my tears drip down my face and wondered what my makeup looked like now....The swinging was so soothing to my jerked up, raw emotions.<br />
It seems to me that swinging can be quite helpful to many people. I think it might hearken back to the moving, rocking and calming sensations a baby experiences in its mother's womb. At night, as I would lay down for the evening, my babies -all of them -would become wakeful and start moving all around. The lulling movement of the day had ceased for a considerable period and they were now awake! Yee ha! And I was trying to settle down for the night. Preparation for that newborn period I'm sure.<br />
Maybe, just maybe, the loneliness and struggles I face at times are the stilling period of the night during various seasons of my life. Perhaps God is calling me to "stir" during those periods toward Him, toward his word, his promises, his truth. A birth is impending, perhaps into a new season, perhaps into a new life that he is preparing me for. Babies need healthy muscle tone and all that activity in the womb prepares them for health and vitality after their birth. Perhaps my night swinging and praying, crying, "having it out" with God is preparing me for this next season. Okay....so who knows? I seem to liken so much to pregnancy, childbirth and mamas and babies that perhaps I'm taking the analogy too far. But I can't help but wonder if those pictures and correlations are how God speaks to me....how he knows the language I understand....LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-44277414689421648992011-07-22T15:51:00.000-07:002011-07-22T15:51:51.583-07:00With Sympathy....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWd6BNQMwFf6gtd7qZ8OYW4en8Iz0H9NpU9hRNXexceSNV51FoDJfDkfyyNEYd2FJySXL88syprFeJfkIggONueRPSPHCtrRokad1cRlKlqN6ijrd0wfpz7qezm2-KEXqd0bBg7mept5-W/s1600/with_sympathy_card-p137489535433544703yh5u_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWd6BNQMwFf6gtd7qZ8OYW4en8Iz0H9NpU9hRNXexceSNV51FoDJfDkfyyNEYd2FJySXL88syprFeJfkIggONueRPSPHCtrRokad1cRlKlqN6ijrd0wfpz7qezm2-KEXqd0bBg7mept5-W/s200/with_sympathy_card-p137489535433544703yh5u_400.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> So, there I was. I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. My stepbrother, oh so tragically young (not even 50) passed away this week. Tim and some of our girls were heading out later that night for the long drive to where the funeral would be taking place. I needed to purchase a card to express our condolences. My plan was to send it in several weeks when perhaps the initial flood of cards, flowers, meals, and calls had lessened. I wanted my card to be one more reminder that there are relatives who cared and were sorry for their beloved's loss.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDvu4uOWTQRWk7w6xzxFFOxh5nask4YSoDNyJyv1-g07w6SnYS_3PCahlmqRJ72ChdeLjg7Gsn2pWWJbOs2YKjdPsoL1zTBS6YX8LCHQYemUTzYcOcURmCoZjjesMBrMAt05EKCuhdKsu/s1600/Sympathy_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDvu4uOWTQRWk7w6xzxFFOxh5nask4YSoDNyJyv1-g07w6SnYS_3PCahlmqRJ72ChdeLjg7Gsn2pWWJbOs2YKjdPsoL1zTBS6YX8LCHQYemUTzYcOcURmCoZjjesMBrMAt05EKCuhdKsu/s200/Sympathy_4.jpg" width="135" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> In the greeting card section at Target, I warily started looking through the cards. <i>Sending wishes your way that you find comfort in knowing how they are in a better place now....</i> or <i>So sorry for your loss, words can't express how much he meant to us...</i> and <i>I'll never forget his smile, his laughter...it will live on in our memories...</i> There were cards that were religious, like <i>With sympathy...praying that you feel God's comfort in this time of loss.</i> I definitely wanted a card that included that I was praying, not just wishing, that they would find <i>God's</i> comfort, not just "comfort." How do you adequately express how sad you are and how much you want to bring them some measure of comfort, even with a silly card?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> As I browsed through card after card, finding one or two I liked, tears bubbled up and trickled down my cheeks. I was so relieved that I was alone in the aisle. I couldn't help but feel the stinging sadness, yanking at my heart, of losing my stepbrother. I imagined the effort it took for his wife and kids to sort of momentarily put their grief, shock, and pain off in a corner in a massive box labeled with a jagged and precise pen that said: GRIEF-OPEN LATER AND WRESTLE WITH AND PROCESS FOR YEARS AND YEARS ON END. In my troubled spirit I couldn't push away an </span>irreverent<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> desire to find a bold, brutally honest card that read something like this:</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>With Sympathy...</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Death sucks!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate it!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">All that is wrong with the world has to do with death!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I'm so mad that you lost this man you so loved, A man that had one of the kindest hearts ever!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>And when you feel angry, too, or just want to cry - I'll be here for you</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i> </i>Something to that effect. However, Leanne showed up after several minutes of my card-perusing and popped a card into my hand. "I like this one," she declared. That Leanne of mine has such a perceptive, discerning mind that as I looked at the card, I noticed it was one of my top choices. I immediately placed it into the cart and off we were. "Mom," Leanne inquired, "why were you crying?"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Oh," I muttered, "just because." I really need to get better at explaining things.</span><br />
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</span></div>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-33444176548070277482011-06-27T19:17:00.000-07:002011-06-27T19:17:06.652-07:00It's All Those Q?U?E?S?T?I?O?N?S !!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> Want to know what one of the most wearying parts of my job is as a mother of six girls ages 2 to 15? All their questions! Yikes! I actually try to give intelligent, thoughtful, educational, and appropriate answers to each one of them, mostly out of habit. Sometimes I find myself muttering, "I don't know....Huh? What was that you said?"<br />
My youngest child says, "WHY?!" to everything.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxb5i4kSfIjkIUqpsi3SJT6yyOR8uRsMkgXcqNj3M-_C7awdLHNkFUR1SnuCokzptAZ3xju9kIax-QPKE4-kLh78ddOHcvv9oAGIF2qSp-uxtru84dN_z-14gCEf3ngDWdzLQw_Udos8Q/s1600/1257838623wz9YE2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxb5i4kSfIjkIUqpsi3SJT6yyOR8uRsMkgXcqNj3M-_C7awdLHNkFUR1SnuCokzptAZ3xju9kIax-QPKE4-kLh78ddOHcvv9oAGIF2qSp-uxtru84dN_z-14gCEf3ngDWdzLQw_Udos8Q/s200/1257838623wz9YE2.jpg" width="200" /></a> "Julia, please come here for your bath."<br />
"!Why?!"<br />
"Because it's time for your bath. You need a bath tonight."<br />
"!Why?!"<br />
And then I have another daughter who notices <i>EVERYTHING </i>and feels the need to comment on my decisions in question form.<br />
"I thought you said we would go to the mall today. Aren't we going like you said?" and<br />
"So and So and So and So took the last of the M&M's and you told them not to. Are you going to do anything about it?" and<br />
"Didn't you say we were going to have pizza for dinner tonight? Why are we eating chicken?"<br />
I have yet another daughter who is uber-curious. I've just answered the phone and am engaged in a new conversation. "Who is it?! Who's calling? Who's on the phone?" To which I answer with irritation and a harsh whisper, "So and So! Now stop interrupting me!" Sometimes I find myself purposely not answering her questions because she never stops wanting to know everything there is to know about anything and everything that is going on around her.<br />
And there is the frequent line of questioning that goes something like this: "Where is my purple thingy?"<br />
"What purple thingy?"<br />
"You know - the purple thingy that we got last week at that place we went to?"<br />
"What place?"<br />
"Oh, never mind!"<br />
<i>OKAY.</i><br />
Yet another oft-heard conversation in our house: "Where are my shoes?"<br />
"Where you left them." <br />
I have yet another daughter who will say something like, "Why is the moon white?" to which I reply, "Go ask your Dad!" Tim has lots of questions referred to him because he is Mr. Smarty Pants, really and truly.<br />
<br />
UGH! and SIGH...I'm sure I'm doing something wrong by either 1) being irritated by all my daughters' questions, or 2) raising daughters that have so many questions! I'm not sure which one it is, but I suspect I'm doing something wrong by feeling irritated. I find it mentally fatiguing to always be "on" and having to answer questions, though. When my girls were little their whining was really challenging for me. Now that they still whine, but can do it articulately, and with questions, I'm even more challenged!<br />
I think it boils down to the fact that I really like my own space to keep my thoughts to myself and not have demands made of me. I want to be selfish and self-absorbed and all those questions interrupt my own internal dialogue, forcing me to think and consider and attend to their inquiring minds. Sometimes I feel that they need correction for asking questions out of rudeness or challenging authority, when they should accept the situation they are faced with and not question so many things.I take some of those questions as a sign of discontent and an attitude of ungratefulness and complaining. Not always, though. Sometimes they are just curious. And being curious is a very beneficial quality that I hope they maintain for the rest of their lives.<br />
I myself am a curious, question-asker. There is almost no subject that bores me. I learn so much from asking people questions and engaging in fact-finding missions with complete strangers. The stories I hear! The people I meet! The things they tell me! Wow! It really is fascinating. Everyone has a story and as I listen and observe and discern the heart and spirit of a person I've just met who is sharing their story, I discover evidences of God's imprint on them, his hand on their life, or their need for his compassion and wisdom. And there I am. Sometimes I reflect his care for them , and sometimes I don't.<br />
Now if only I could remember that my girls have their story, too, and that I'm called to reflect his compassion, patience, and gentleness to them, too. Oh, Lord, give me wisdom, the right answers, and mental endurance! Oh, and <i>please</i>, add in a heavy dose of humor, too!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-P0PEo7VCkob2jaaBscfZ2nN0XDbuTXQ5aoRkosBIavEKDrzQMCGRidpKkpZ1u9vzU8i1jOOzDTH9orlp5Suit2jbdhhU1l3rfn6OWabsAx075MAqB_jfs444K5vT2wQ3Or3iuUjkbWVZ/s1600/Punctuation-marks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-P0PEo7VCkob2jaaBscfZ2nN0XDbuTXQ5aoRkosBIavEKDrzQMCGRidpKkpZ1u9vzU8i1jOOzDTH9orlp5Suit2jbdhhU1l3rfn6OWabsAx075MAqB_jfs444K5vT2wQ3Or3iuUjkbWVZ/s200/Punctuation-marks.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> As a side note, have you ever noticed that boring people are NOT curious?<br />
LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-19915229566368516672011-06-16T22:45:00.000-07:002011-06-16T22:45:50.435-07:00I Hate Goodbyes I am really bad at goodbyes. I'd rather just not say goodbye and leave while the "leavers" don't notice. I don't mean to be rude, although this certainly can be viewed as quite rude. I just hate goodbyes. I'm still trying to figure out why. Last week presented an opportunity at getting better at goodbyes. My neighbors from across the street were relocating to their retirement home in Arizona after having sold their home.<br />
Only a few short weeks ago (almost unbelievable in this real estate market - and yet, their home is fabulous and showed extremely well), I first noticed the "For Sale" sign appear in the front yard. Tim hadn't told me he had a conversation with Tom weeks prior in which Tom had mentioned that they were going to be selling their home.<br />
I saw the sign. I started crying.<br />
Needless to say, I chatted with them throughout the weeks that escrow liteally ripped by. I kept going over the friendly conversations with Kathy, who had lived in the neighborhood for over 50 years. I recounted all the talks we had on the front lawn about various things. She was so direct, yet kind and thoughtful. She was a godly woman who was devoted to her husband. I saw her as a kind of mother, although I have never tried to replace my mom. How could I? She was one of a kind! And I mean that in the most positive way.<br />
I was helped in the gradual process of saying goodbye to Tom and Kathy by meeting the new neighbors. And when the neighborhood goodbye party beckoned, I went and scoialized with all my neighbors. But I didn't say goodbye to Tom and Kathy - yet. I knew they were leaving early the next morning. Sure enough, I noticed the huge moving van out in front of their house by at least 7 am. I kept making excuses as to why I couldn't go over just then to say goodbye. Eventually, as they were about to leave, I was able to get some pictures and say goodbye. It wasn't so bad. It was satisfying to say goodbye in the right and proper way.<br />
There have been other goodbyes this springtime, too. I had my last MOPS meeting a few weeks ago. Those women at my table were very sweet and fun to get to know. With school plans for this fall, I don't have any extra time for MOPS next fall. Besides, I'm really eager to volunteer at a nearby hospital starting in the summer. So, this was my last MOPS meeting. I was a little sad, but not terribly so.<br />
One last goodbye awaited me several weeks ago. I droppped Elena off to babysit near my friend Doris's home. She was leaving the next day for the suburbs of Las Vegas with her three children. Her divorce is very close to being final and she had finally found a job and a place to live. I swung my car around the corner and was pleased to see her children playing outside. I parked and asked her kids if their Mom was home. I then got Julia out and went to where her car was parked and surpised her. We talked for about 10 minutes and then I hugged her goodbye and wished her well. "I'll be praying for you," I mentioned as I departed. And I will.<br />
I had met Doris when our children started preschool together in the fall of 2007. When I first met her I was struck with how vivacious and beautiful she was. She was so friendly and upbeat. I would later learn of many trials she had with her husband and children in regard to extensive medical issues. (She could practically be doctor at this point!) We became better friends through my last pregnancy and then through her last pregnancy. We talked about all sorts of stuff and she always remained warm, kind and fun to be with. I am going to miss her a lot.<br />
And then my favorite librarian left my favorite library. Boo-hoo. It's just so sad.<br />
Although I relish the balmy weather and bursting blooms of springtime, there are usually too many goodbyes during this time of year. I wish I didn't get so attached to people so that saying goodbye would be easier. But I do. And it really is better to have those treasured friendships, even from afar. I felt God reminding me, ever so tenderly, "They may leave you, but I will never leave or forsake you." I was comforted. Thank you, Lord, for being that ever-ready fountain of comfort and security. Please be with and bless my friends.<br />
And "Goodbye Springtime!" Summer is upon us! Maybe I'll make some new friends and strengthen the ones I have.LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-42785104051322755882011-05-14T08:54:00.000-07:002011-05-14T08:54:31.859-07:00Getting the Right Ticket This Time<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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I've been a blogger dropout lately. I've been posting pictures on my newer <a href="http://laurashappysnaps.blogspot.com/">Happy Snaps!</a> blog and chronicled the GREAT GARAGE CLEANING FEAT on <a href="http://thedomainofdelightfuldomesticity.blogspot.com/">The Domain of Delightful Domesticity</a>. On my other blog <a href="http://childbirthcheerleader.blogspot.com/">Childbirth Cheerleader</a> I detail new developments regarding possible schooling and career pursuits. But those posts fits with those blogs, and tangentially to this one. With this blog I share perspectives on things I experience, but rarely specifics about plans. I like this blog to focus more on my thoughts and experiences that punctuate my days. So, without further adieu... <br />
I went back to junior college these last few weeks. I first went to my local one - it had been about 23 years since I had last been a student on this campus - plus several near downtown LA. Crazy! The impacted state of these colleges is unbelievable. It does seem, though, that the classes I might be taking are at some of those large junior colleges near Downtown. I'm not eager to drive down there every week, but it looks like the only option at this point.<br />
The one college I was at this week was quite exciting actually. It was between USC and Staples Center. Massive construction projects were going on, some big career expo was occurring in the quad area, and I finally found my way to a very impressive, modern looking building that looked newly built. I walk in the huge doors to see students milling around near computer stations. I look at all the signs trying to figure out if I'm even in the right building. I attempt to use the computer to get some help. It doesn't work. I then see a line of students and stand in it. Why not?I arrive at the counter guy, ask a few questions, and then am handed paperwork to fill out. "When you're done with that, get back in line and I'll give you a ticket to speak with an admissions officer." I follow his instructions dutifully. He then hands me the requisite 3 X 3 inch flimsy paper ticket. Within about 8 minutes my number is up, I proceed to the admissions clerk and am given very helpful information, instructions, and yet another ticket to head up to Matriculation to clear my pre-requisites. "Third floor," I'm told.<br />
I proceed to the third floor and keep walking around wondering which room I need to go to. The building is so new they barely have any signs up. I walked in one door that says "Assessment" and see a huge, intimidating sign that says, "NO STUDENTS BEYOND THIS POINT." OK. Wrong door. I go out to the hallway and enter the next door. I then realize it's the other side of the room I just left. Only I see a couple of students waiting. I whisper to them, "Do you have a ticket?" Some did, some didn't. I'm confused again and wonder what to do. So I wait. Mercifully, a short time. Some incredibly efficient matriculation lady asks about my ticket. I wanted to scream out, "Yes! I've got the golden ticket!" (I maintained my composure; I really am maturing.) She asks what I need, what paperwork I have, and then types in my vital stats into her computer and officially clears me to register for my much-needed chemistry class in several weeks. "It rarely happens this easily," she mutters. "Oh, thank you <i>so much</i>," I effusively respond as I touch her shoulder and ask her what her name is (just in case there are problems, you know, so that I can get back to her since we're on a first-name basis now....) She smiles and I depart towards the elevator with a much more sprightly step.<br />
I head back to the parking lot and notice, much to my relief, that my meter had not run out yet. Some lady was angling for my parking space. I motion to her which car is mine and, as I open the car door, I smile and whisper with great jubilation, "Thank you, Lord!"<br />
It had been an exhausting, albeit very providentially productive day. I am hoping and praying for many more such days to come. Whatever God has determined I will embrace as time unfolds.LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-54945022924817468872011-04-04T15:03:00.000-07:002011-04-04T15:03:58.800-07:00Speeding To Tie Up Loose Ends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-vv6N-yyuZQQsLVkNNPzbKTGYomtdgO3KPv4rVS_z-RpFPk6y60bRM0IRLj5NSKg_PsAX7MfvhiIlAOS9a-FnjWENETcqZwRiVkZ4UbKjEQknrCOiMQSw73TnQyYXO3B_7H74zBalILa/s1600/images+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-vv6N-yyuZQQsLVkNNPzbKTGYomtdgO3KPv4rVS_z-RpFPk6y60bRM0IRLj5NSKg_PsAX7MfvhiIlAOS9a-FnjWENETcqZwRiVkZ4UbKjEQknrCOiMQSw73TnQyYXO3B_7H74zBalILa/s200/images+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> Many years ago, newly pregnant, sick, and with two toddlers in the back seat, I drove to town to pick up 8 year-old Camille from art lessons. Only, the parking spaces were blocked off, a crowd of people had gathered, and I was promptly informed by a brusque police officer that I was illegally parked and needed to move immediately.<br />
"But Officer, my daughter will be coming out into a crowd of strangers looking for me, and she won't find me. There's no place to park and I'm worried about her safety."<br />
"You should have come earlier. Now move right now, ma'am, or I will write you a ticket."<br />
"But Officer, what do I do about my daughter about to enter a crowd of strangers all alone? It'll take me quite awhile to find a spot, and I have little ones in the back of the car."<br />
"You should have gotten here a little earlier. I'm going to write you a ticket right now, ma'am," the officer said with a cruel resolve as he walked away to his patrol car to write me up.<br />
"But, but-" I stammered in utter shock and concern. I waited there, filled with anger and helplessness, all the while looking for Camille to exit the art studio. Ah! There she was! "Camille! Over here." She got into the car safely and I was relieved. I exited the car and began to talk with the officer's partner, pleading with him for mercy.<br />
"How fair is it that I get a ticket when these parking spaces are shut down that normally aren't?! I had no idea it was movie night tonight. This isn't fair not to at least help me with this situation. I was willing to move my car, but what about my daughter?" The mean officer's partner had a kind, concerned look in his eyes, but he had to back his partner up. I sensed his reluctance in doing so, however, and for that, I was slightly comforted.<br />
I took the ticket from the officer and promptly drove home. I wrote a detailed letter outlining my experience with the rude officer, and then drove down to the police station to file my complaint. The sergeant on hand was very understanding and caring. Weeks went by with multiple conversations from the interim police chief, who issued an apology on behalf of the officer who treated the concerned mother caught in an unforeseen circumstance with an unfair $30 parking ticket. I was told that in a department meeting officers were encouraged NOT to treat decent citizens like criminals. I was also informed that the officer got a talking-to about how he handled the situation with me.<br />
I never got an apology from the officer himself. I never expected it. For years, I had been bitter about the experience. God was aware of this, of course, and had purposed to take care of this unfinished business, these "loose ends" weighing down my soul.<br />
Six years later, this last week, while looking at my new April calendar at my kitchen table one morning, I realized that I had an ENT appointment for Julia in 10 minutes. It was at least a 20 minute drive to the doctor's office. So, I rushed down my nearby hilly street, forgetting that I had been so mindful of watching my speeds and trying to drive more safely recently. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an officer in his patrol car watch me whiz by. I immediately slowed down and watched behind me. Was he going to follow me? Several minutes later, yes, he was.<br />
He pulls me over and lo and behold, it's the officer I had the run-in with six years earlier.<br />
"Do you know why I pulled you over?"<br />
Yes, I replied. I told him I was late for a doctor's appointment. He would have been blind not to have seen my toddler in the car. As I fumbled for my registration and insurance I mentioned that I had remembered him from several years ago. "You were really rude to me. Some people you just don't forget...." I knew I was going to get this ticket.(I have never tried to get out of traffic tickets. But, on too many occasions, I have not received ones that I deserved.) He took my paperwork and walked off, having informed me that he was going to prepare my ticket.<br />
<i>Of course you are</i>, I thought bitterly. And then I started crying. <i>This ticket will be almost $500 with traffic school and court fees. And I really have been watching my speeds lately! Of all days to be running late and forget about my resolve to slow down, obey the law, drive safely....And from him of all people!</i> And the memories of feeling helpless and worried about my daughter and this officer's harsh, calloused treatment of me came flooding back as my tears flowed. Some memories, with their accompanying feelings, seemed seared and branded in time, unchanged by the calendar. I prayed earnestly that God would help me to do the right thing, whatever that was.<br />
And then he arrived at my car window with the ticket to sign. I looked at it and then looked at him. "I want to say something to you first...." And then I began to describe what had happened 6 years ago, how he had treated me, and what steps I took to address the situation. It was evident to me that this man was enduring my speech, hardened and unconcerned. He hadn't remembered the incident. "But," I finally got to this point, "I'm a Christian and I forgive you. I wish you well and I'm sure that you're a different officer now." I avoided snide, sarcastic comments and spoke from my heart. I did wish him well. I still do.<br />
As I was driving away, I continued to cry. I so wanted to remind God that I had been trying to drive the speed limit and that this ticket seemed so unfair. I resolved, however, that I was going to thank God for this situation. Somehow in all of this God was at work for my betterment and his glory. "Thank you, God," I said passionately and sincerely. "I trust you." Moments later, I felt his Spirit impressing upon me that the time had come to acknowledge this bitterness, this ugly cancer in my soil, that had been festering for years over this issue. This ticket forced me to confront this man face to face and forgive him. My assignment from God, if I choose to accept it, is to pray for this man as an evidence of forgiving him, despite his lack of remorse or acknowledgement.<br />
I choose to accept it.<br />
And ironically, my doctor got called out on an emergency 10 minutes before I arrived at his office. The appointment had been cancelled. Had I entirely forgotten about the appointment till much later it wouldn't have mattered. Except to God, who obviously had a different plan for me that day.<br />
<i>Thank you, Lord Jesus. </i>LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-33359770891430291662011-03-20T22:30:00.000-07:002011-03-21T21:30:34.403-07:00It's Been Awhile... I don't even know where I'm going with this post. I have been overwhelmed with helping Leanne and her friend, "C" work on their History Day LA poster with "C"'s mom for the last few weeks. S*t*r*e*s*s*f*u*l. The big day was last Saturday, March 12th. I'm relieved and happy to be done with it.It was a helpful learning experience for Leanne. She was disappointed she didn't make the team to represent Los Angeles County in San Jose in May. "Oh well. You win some, you lose some," I told her. She got over it pretty quickly.<br />
I haven't been very inspired to write about much on this little blog of mine. Spring weather has been marvelous lately. I've been planting some flowers and bulbs recently. We'll see what comes up. I'm hopeful. Spring Break is coming up in mid-April for us. I'm planning some day trips here and there. Really, though, life is rather "ho-hum."<br />
And then temptation begins to sneak in like one of my kids scurrying out of my room while trying to hide their chocolate-smeared face after they found and pillaged my "hidden" chocolate stash. (Why oh why can't I find a kid-proof chocolate-hiding place?!) They think they're getting away with it but chocolate drool is brown on their white faces! "Gotcha' ya!" Most of the time, though, I find the wrappers left on the floor or in the drawer or beside the couch.<br />
Sigh...<br />
But I digress. The temptation that I face these days is d#i#s#c#o#n#t#e#n#t#m#e#n#t. I begin researching my next career and how to get there from here after my kids are in school. Let's see....what strikes my fancy? And then I think more clearly about how much I really want to home school my younger children and see Elena and Camille through graduation from our church homeschooling academy. I think about the engaging and enriching curriculum I want to do with Leanne. I wrestle about which year I'll bring her home from school. Sixth grade? Eighth grade? Next month? No kidding. She has told me about name-calling girls at school and girls who are apparently stealing, too. I will be bringing it up to her teacher early this week. Oh, the drama.<br />
And the restlessness in my soul. I really must discipline my thoughts to focus on "today" and be faithful to what I need to do in this moment. My mind wanders toward the past and ponders the future. I'm missing out on today. I know this is true. So, I must be present with my kids, doing my housework, making dinner, in conversations with my older girls or Tim.<br />
More than anything, though, what I think is key is to remember to keep looking to Jesus. To be honest with him. To realize I probably have the Springtime Blues. <i>It's such beautiful weather and everything is in bloom. I should be happy. Why am I not deliriously happy? Why don't my moods match the beauty I see around me? </i>Or something like that.<br />
My plan for tomorrow is to ask God first thing in the morning: "What's my assignment for today? Who and what do I need to focus on? What tasks do I need to accomplish? Which child or friend needs extra encouragement and care today? What words and gestures should I share to encourage and build up someone else today?" Nothing like looking outside myself to be reminded about what's really important.<br />
And it's really not about me at all. What a relief!LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953914174344690718.post-85817484521302482792011-02-24T22:16:00.000-08:002011-02-26T20:49:13.179-08:00A Curious Mystery So, here's a puzzling fact I've discovered. Since realizing a couple of months back that I could check my "stats" with Google Blogger, I've been very intrigued to observe a couple of trends. I've discovered that, as of yet, there are three posts on my main blog, the one you are reading now, that are the most viewed. After clicking a button, I stopped tracking times when I would re-read a post. So, the current numbers reflect other people who have read those posts. I'm entirely aware that some of those page views might have occurred accidentally and that people who clicked on the post might not have actually read it. Still, the numbers are interesting. When I looked at the traffic sources I see mostly facebook and google leads. Not very revealing. To date, my three most popular blog posts are http://halfdozengirls.blogspot.com/2010/07/<b>responsibility-and-restitution-part-2</b>.html, http://halfdozengirls.blogspot.com/2010/06/<b>formula-bag-for-success</b>.html, and coming in at #3 http://halfdozengirls.blogspot.com/2010/12/<b>christmas-morgue</b>.html.<br />
The number one spot in this blog is my embarrassing description of my temper tantrum in Sears over the summer and my attempt at making restitution. That post still affects me in that I try to make my "sorry" mean something by making restitution when I've wronged somebody. I'm still working on that. The second most popular post about Tim's choice of "briefcases" (a diaper bag!) was apparently quite intriguing to at least 58 people. And then, most recently, my description of the dead-looking nativity scene in my front yard seemed to be quite popular, too.<br />
I usually place on my Facebook page a link to my latest post knowing that that will generate a few hits. Really, though, I write this blog for myself. It's therapeutic and entertaining for me. The fact that <i>anyone </i>could read it motivates, inspires, and challenges me to think carefully how I present any information, stories, or feelings. I am honest and truthful in all my blog posts, but also quite careful to protect people's identities, steer clear of divisive political or social commentaries, and put forth a post that might inspire and inform, or at least amuse in some way. When people tell me that they find a particular post funny, I'm always curious as to what exactly made them laugh."<i>What </i>is funny to you?" I might ask. Overall, if I've even brought a smile to someone's face then I feel that all my writing efforts have been worthwhile.<br />
The most curious stat I've come across so far, however, has been on my least publicized and worked on blog http://childbirthcheerleader.blogspot.com/. Astonishingly, between http://thedomainofdelightfuldomesticity.blogspot.com/, Childbirth Cheerleader, and this blog, the most viewed post of all time remains http://childbirthcheerleader.blogspot.com/2010/09/<b>writing-activity-to-help-with-closure.</b>html. I have not advertised this post and barely do much on this particular blog.<br />
The post itself was helpful to write. I wrote it awhile back and really wrestled with how to make it express what I had desired <i>could've </i>happened around Julia's due date. I worked with quite an emotional ardor to bring forth a vision of what I truly desired for my last baby's birth. This was the therapeutic part. I then left it in my editing area to clean up. I didn't publish it till weeks later. It is much longer than most of my posts and really and truly meant for me. I liked some of the elements in it so I decided to publish it.<br />
This is the mystery: why is it my most viewed post of all three of my blogs?! I find it rather curious. Who would really be that interested in a lengthy, rather personal post about what I <i>wished </i>had happened with my last delivery? Kind of strange. I'm thinking that perhaps my story- writing abilities, fiction writing, might be a better avenue for me to go! "This is what I imagine my life was like...." That would be far too unhelpful for me, though. I am a realist to the end.<br />
For those of you who read my blog, but might not know many details about Julia's birth, you would never be able to figure out where I had her or who my doctor or the nurses were. I've strived to keep all those details out of the public eye in every possible way. I'm not quite sure why, except that I don't feel that making people's mistakes public with their names attached to them is fair or kind. It's not who I am or what I want to do. What if I messed up in a professional way? I wouldn't want that knowledge made public for anyone to see. (Unless I choose to write a blog post about it -and I have!) I have never gone to a doctor's rating site to give an honest evaluation of any of my doctors, except the Birth Surveyhttp://www.thebirthsurvey.com/ This particular sight I absolutely and completely recommend that every woman who's given birth in the past 3 years go to. It's well-done and informative. I feel that it is appropriate to inform women about birth providers in the right setting. I did put a review of the hospital in a rating review website some time ago, but left names of individuals out of the post. Again, not the right place. However, I wanted to inform people about that particular hospital. But I'm getting into an area that I reserve for my Childbirth Cheerleader blog.<br />
I don't think I'll get an answer as to who is viewing that particular, rather obscure post. I suspect that when people type in certain search words that are in that title, my post accidentally comes up. If the post helps anyone, other than me, then I'm glad for them. This new world of blogging is fascinating, mysterious, and international. I have people from Russia, China, and even Slovenia (where is Slovenia?) clicking on my posts. Imagine that!LauraThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15986846093055282121noreply@blogger.com0