Family photo 2013

Family photo 2013

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Well Adjusted Jayla and Her Great Big Grace

Jayla, aware of my self induced woeful state wrote me this e mail last night: 
I love you so much mom!! You are a wonderful, kind, generous, pretty, smart, loving, great singer, undiscovered famous dancer, thoughtful, accepting, exceptional, envied, loved completely, understanding, outstanding, worries about her children who she fully loves, board game champion, fantastic cook, efficient shopper, humble, mother and you should never forget or feel differently. I just wanted to assure you that you are amazing and the boys will always be ridiculously naughty and you are not the source of it. This is truly and completely honestly how I feel. 
My Sincerest  love,
Jayla  PS: I know I'm not supposed to be on my iPod at night but I needed time to construct this email and I'm getting off now. Sweet dreams! 
Jayla deutsch
13 years old 
Oldest of 7
Life is great

And my tears turned glad...

p.s. Apparently I was confusing in my last blog post regarding my weeks of pregnancy. Yes, I lost the baby at 10 weeks and I mentioned being pregnant for 6 weeks. It's because by the time I knew I was with child I was 4 weeks along. Get it? Got it? Good!

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

On mom fails and tears and grace.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not that much of a bawl baby. It's just my eyes. Despite my best efforts toward Stoicism they tend to fill with betraying emotion and well, well, well up right to the very the brim. Though the bonafide wetness usually stays tucked neatly beneath the lidded surface. Saved by the blink.

So you can imagine my surprise when Sunday morning found me lying in bed with legitimate moisture legitimately spilling over the edge, easing down, dripping on my pillow,  for no particular reason at all. Tap, tap, tap. I didn't feel like I was, say, crying. It's just that there were tears. Streaking my face.

Not that anything had actually, you know, noticeably happened.

The kids had some friends over to spend the night on Friday. Six of them to be exact. All adopted from foster care, into a family that has a adopted a whole big slew. Like, 10. After they birthed 5. And they have welcomed more than one "unofficial adoptee" into their home as well. Um...rockstars? Yeah, pretty much. Ultimate Rockstars.

I love this family. I love their kids. I love their mom. And their dad is pretty amaze too but I won't say I love him because, creepy. They are the kind of people that make you want to do something better. Yet they are the most down to earth folks you'll ever run across. They're all, "Yeah we've got a BAZILLION kids, but it's not big deal and everything..." (That is, by the way an exact quote. Or not.)

While a mere portion of their flock was here gallivanting with mine, I was struck (for the millionth time) by how incredibly well adjusted they are. To me, their kids appear chatty and confident and articulate and wonderfully at ease.

Meanwhile, here at the homestead, I can.not.get. my adopted daughter to tell me the truth for THE LIFE OF ME. Can't do it. Literally, no joke, every.single.question. I ask her is met with a lie. All of them. Not all the time, but in spurts. Like the one spurt we're in now. Mostly, the girl avoids me (and every other adult on the planet) like the plague. She may be slightly not quite yet well adjusted.

And my son. The biological 8 year old? The boy cried like the dickens nearly the whole 24 hours the precious friends were here. Almost all of it. Over this and that and that and this and nothing at all. His screams didn't exactly scream well adjusted.

Then there was the one who has spent a decade on this earth, also born from my womb. The child who suffers from a few sensory processing issues that make him rather, shall we say, intense. He protested being left out and schemed to be allowed in and may have ruined some of the fun for the bigger boys.

And I couldn't forget one of their delightful daughters sharing with me that the most dreadful word her mother ever uses is stupid. (Only occasionally.) (Plus, she never really yells.)

Me, on the other hand? I was conceived by pirates aboard the dark bowels of a ship and switched at birth. I'm sure of it.

And I do yell. Shout? Raise my voice in earnest every now and again. Because it's the only way to get the deaf little buggars to pay attention when they just aren't listening to my nice mommy sounds. Other than that, I always speak softly.

Oh, and I've been trying to get together with a variety of friends over the last couple of months and just can't quite make it happen. The school year schedule is packed too tight. I'm a bad friend to my friends.

And I gained a few lbs. during my blissful 6 weeks of pregnancy that JUST WON'T COME OFF. I weigh the exact same today as when I came home following my sad, sad D&C. No matter how much I sweat in the midsection while sporting my ridiculously unhelpful new belly band, the scale refuses to budge.

And I'm reading the book Pastrix, by Nadia Bolz-Weber, a heavily tattooed, female Lutheran pastor who freely welcomes the homosexual-and-all-the-other-letters community into their church, under no condition that they change. It speaks to me. In the depth of my being. See? I'm too liberal. I fear my children's friends' parents will no longer allow them to come into our presence lest I pollute their holy, more-conservative-than-those-wild Deutsch people minds.

And signed my kids up for basketball at the local school before I found out I was going to have to drive to and from practice 5 nights a week at 2 different schools with 3 different start/end times for 5 separate teams with 5 separate games on Saturdays and sell my soul itself to the Ravenous Basketball Devil, so I unsigned them. My poor babies. They are forced resign to a life of certain temporary incarceration for petty crimes and the unending bind of leather couch weekly therapy sessions because their mother  couldn't deal with the demands of the hoop.

And then school. I could not possibly accomplish every absolutely imperative item on the long to do list each day. I simply could not. The 6 year old should be writing reports about historical figures, like her peers, by now. She's not.

And my dear jet black poodle. He's almost a year and a half and he's soiling the floor again.

I must have failed a thousand ways before I roused myself from sleep Sunday morning.

So I cried. Pitiful, wet tears of anguish over the woman I am not, over the mother I am not.

And I've felt a bit fragile, vulnerable, weepy ever since.
`
But then there was today. Where I accepted hugs so numerous I could not count, the ones that kept me constrained, still, immobile though I had work to do from the 8 year old who shrieked and sniveled his way through the weekend.

And today I found a glass of ice water with a note that said, "To Mom" waiting for me when I returned home from my sweaty belly band jog sure to produce not a single pound of weight loss.

And today I received a barely-legible-though-I-can-make-it-out love letter from the darling daughter who has yet to write a report of any kind.

And today I remembered that through time and age and friendship-there-isn't-ever-enough-time-for and parenting and good books of those who have gone before me and God ministering to my heart I'm learning to accept a new, gentler, more palatable experience of grace. One where I don't have to perform or measure up or behave myself into favor. One that just is. There. Faithful. Present. Pursuant. Unending.

Liberal in its generous application. Grace I'm learning to afford myself.


I could not ever be mad at a boy who made me a picnic lunch.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Toosday, the day before Winday.

I can hardly correct this girl's work. S E R I ously. How stinking cute is that "cursive" she's "teaching" herself because I am clearly too remiss in the pretty script department to show her how to properly write fancy, twirly letters? I mean. Dream snatcher. That's me.  And Toosday? Of course ! Duh. WHY are the big humans spelling like this: TUESday when it should be like this: TOOSday? *Obviously* People. Let us learn from the little ones. Lead the way, baby. Toosday it shall be. A+ for you, Clover True. If I could type you up some cursive this very minute, I would.
And what about those backwards letters? Fantastic! Marching to the beat of their own drum, they are. Not a thing wrong with a little individuality, sweetie pie sugar cube honey pot rainbow sparkle plum cake. Not. A. Thing. Your mommy will cry big salty tears the day they all turn around to face properly forward from here to forever more. Maybe it will be a Winday. A sad, sad Winday. 
And those TEETH. The new, big ones with the giant gap between. I could eat them up. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Your jack o lantern grin melts my frozen chambers into drippy puddles. My heart rises up big and round and spilleth over sugary gratitude all around the place. Love. Sweet, sweet love. You are my babiest girl.
There aren't words. There just aren't words.
There's only heaven on earth.
******************
I spent a while this morning listening to Christine Moers Youtube videos on therapeutic parenting. Good, good stuff. I needed a refresher! It's been a while since I'd seen them. Years, actually. Practical tools from a MOTHER who has DEALT with this stuff - things I CAN ACTUALLY DO. If you live in the trenches with wounded kids whose behaviors tend to drive you to the brink of batty, you might want to take a few minutes to listen too. Maybe they will lift you the way they do me.

Monday, October 13, 2014

To Myself: A Reminder

A billowy thing, it comes bustling back into our lives ushering in waves of fresh but familiar heart dropping emotions. It often it catches me by surprise. I relax. I ease up and swell lazy with complacency. The daily routine takes over. I observe progress causing me to breathe in the satisfying air of hard earned accomplishment. I want to settle in for a new reality, to believe we have moved past all of that. 

She is such a darling girl, a gentle soul, a speaker of softness.

Things feel normal for a while. Not a We Are The Family I Want Us To Be normal, but an I Can Accept What Is normal.

I forget the pain behind her eyes, her deep seated mournful sorrow, the mistrust she holds dear at all costs, her self protective urge to push, push, push me away, driving me far from her.

Then the behaviors flare up. I am mystified. How can we still be here five years later? It works. She shoves and drives and maneuvers herself into her most comfortable position: undesirable. It's so much more soothing than the alternative: closeness.

All I see is the deception, the hiding, the attempts at manipulation. I want it to stop. Let's just go back to easy. I rack my brain for solutions, offer consequences, parent her like the others. It goes nowhere. We go round and round and round again. More questions met with more lies leads to more anger leads to more hopelessness leads to more distance.

More distance.

More distance.

More distance.

In distance from me - distance from all adults - she is safe and comfortable and defensive and warm.

There is no vulnerability in distance.

There is no abandonment in distance.

I have to remember the distance is a simply a self preservation strategy. 

My job is to love always. To be safe. To not take it so personally. It's not about me, it's not about me, it's not about me.

I can't make it happen for her, I can't will her to choose to open up and love and let go of control.

But I can make a safe, reliable place to come, be her truest self, to fall, to know and to be known. I can love without failing, without condition, no matter what. 

I can make a bridge for her to span the distance, should she decide to.

I chose this life to give the girl the best shot I possibly can.

She has to make her own decisions about how much of me she wants to have.

The least I can do is remember how difficult it is for her take what's given.

Photo credit: Karin Winter Photography

Monday, October 06, 2014

Just Another Sunday Funday

Our clan makes a concerted effort to keep Sunday afternoons free for Family Fun. Period. No ifs ands or buts. Because these young people, they neeeeeeeeeed to have fun. And they still like to hang with the parental guidance portion of the tribe. The Old Folks will take it as long as we can get it! Sometimes we go out on a family date. Other times, maybe due to weather or time or money we stay home, but whatever we do, the hours are devoted to letting go of responsibilites and genuinely enjoying each other's company. Like yesterday...

Which began with this...
(Many, many turns on the mini dirt bike)
And a little of this...
Oh my love children. How cute is this?!?!
Takin my baby girl for a ride...
Then a little square dance...
A game of "Who Can Shoot the Arrow The Farthest?"
Turned into "Who Can Shoot A Moving Target?"
Which evolved into "Who Can Shoot A Bigger Moving Target?"
Which became "Who Can Shoot Dad's Bootie?"
Whatever...
We don't ask questions. We just go with it. Funday Sunday. {Love}

Sunday, October 05, 2014

All the Big Feelings

They well up, bubbling just beneath the surface, rising, rising, rising to the brim, spilling out, splattering and splashing, erupting hot, heavy emotion all over everywhere.

They are all the big feelings.

The ones I harbor over the experience of years spent in unfulfilled longing. The awareness that ultimate acceptance is the only healthy and wise option set before me. The moments spent wishing I could grab hold of it once and for all to never let go. Though my countenance is brighter and my days less laden with the weight of sorrow, there are triggers lurking in all the corners of an ordinary hour. They take me by surprise causing my heart to lurch. I glance over at the car idling beside me during a red light. There is a mother in the back seat next to a baby in a rear facing car seat, stroking his face. I enter my online password for my bank account and the usual security question pops up, how many children do you have? I remember the weeks I spent thinking, hoping, expecting it would soon be one more. The man before me in line at Target buys diapers, tells me he has new twins. I smile, congratulations, blink the burning tears away, willing them not to leak out. A lump rises in my throat. A pit forms in my stomach. Again and again. It's not always forefront, but it seems I can not escape the clutches of grief entirely.

My darling Meadow buries her loss deep inside so she won't have to stare its too painful gravity in the face. Though it rears its head, finding other ways to seep through the cracks and spring forth, sprouting new thorny growth that must be plucked time and again. Deception is her ally, distance her objective. Guard your heart, she tells herself. Don't let anyone near. They will hurt you, leave you, destroy you. Her methods weary me, mock my relational efforts, tearing my labor to shreds. Will I ever be enough to earn her trust? Will she ever unlock the chains around her heart, freeing herself to love? I wish there was a way I could do it for her.

My dear husband, over run with the work that must be done, the brevity of hours in a day, the fatigue that inevitably sets in, the perpetual elusiveness of the final check mark of completeness. The to do list nags long and winding. It won't grow still. At home, at work, at home at work at home at work, the labor is ever there. Waiting. Demanding. Expecting performance. Requiring accomplishment only to begin again on The Next Thing. People are counting on him. Always looking to him for answers, leadership, guidance, progress, achievement, monetary gain. Where a large family resides the quiet respite that refuels the body and replenishes the soul is hard to find.

Our Flint flails beneath the cumbersome tether of school work he faces. It proves more difficult than he is able. He struggles to keep pace. He notices his classmates advancing. His mind won't cooperate with his desire to catch their stride.

Decisions about how to proceed in all the vast and varied aspects involved in this life we have forged together insist on our focus. Where do we go from here? How shall we ease, bear up under, carry the weight of, accept, assuage the tension?

The big feelings arise. They expect, require, demand that our attention to turn all the way toward them, head on, toe to toe. They won't be over looked, glossed over, ignored. They must be engaged.

We are a family. A messy, burdened, loyal, busy, forgiving, flawed, disheveled collective unit of individual people making a go of this existence in unison.

Time and again it proves itself a tarnished tapestry of humanity woven together in love - breathtaking in its tenderly faithful, heart wrenching and otherworldly beauty.


Photo credit: Karin Winter Photography

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Excuse me, please.

I have this friend. In many ways, she is much like me, residing in a constant state of wrestling with the hard questions surrounding her faith, which unites us in this impeccable tension only the self tortured soul, destined to inquire regarding every single divine thing can fathom - not to stand in opposition to God, but to enter into true and honest Communion with Him. Only she is much kinder. Because so often when we talk about how so and so could possibly do or say such and such, while we shake our heads and point our pious mental fingers in judgement, she gently reminds me about herself, "I've been there too. I thought...said...did....the same thing. I used to be in their shoes." And I recall my own experience. I have also. I've been there. Certain. Sure. Blasting the world with The Exclusive Truth I was so convinced I had a firm handle upon. Who gets in, who is left out, I was positive I understood. 

Until I didn't anymore. 


Until the questions just became too loud, the assuredness too quiet, the list of hopeful exceptions for people I desperately wished entrance though they didn't fit the mold too long. 

To me, she is the finest example of what it means to remember from whence you've come. She reminds me to understand their point of view. No matter who they are. 
   
It's the kind of thing that makes me comfortable having my kids address their weakness, while allowing them to freely witness and express mine. 

The way I see it, there is no burying them, they will be with us until the end of our moments spent plodding this luxuriously privileged planet. We will labor to subdue our worst, to contain its effects on our beloveds. Try to hide and cover and squelch and reduce them as we may, the poorest, most base portions of ourselves serve to remind us of a glorious truth. We are all connected. To whatever extent in whatever context, we've all been there. Somewhere. If we are brave enough walk all the way into honesty, we've probably all been ashamed of the unthinkable we've actually mustered the audacity to think. We've likely all surprised ourselves in those moments when we've stared our darkest in the mirror. Most of us have probably startled our very own conscience with a terrible, tragic image that's popped into our mind we would like to think was scrubbed clean. 

To me, it's a wonderful, liberating reality of exquisite unity. We all need blessed pardon, love that covers a multitude. Because if we afford ourselves the grace and space to be real, the majority of us can freely admit, we've been there too. And that makes us a whole lot easier to be around. 

As far as I can tell, if I am able to be like my friend Jen and remember that used to be/could be/ might be me...I can more generously pardon you as you graciously excuse me.

Monday, September 29, 2014

I suck. No, wait...I'm awesome!

No, really. I'm b-a-a-a-a-a-d. Until I'm oh so g-o-o-o-o-o-d.

Flint has been engaged in a series of tests that comprise a complete neuro psych evaluation. We've been coming and going and driving...and...driving...and...driving...(did I mention driving?) back and forth to and from downtown Colorado Springs so he can be quizzed all the day long in an attempt to help us understand the way the grey matter atop his head functions. 

He is being tested on IQ, academic skills, processing speed, language, attention, memory, learning, problem solving, visual processing, fine motor skills and social/emotional/behavioral skills. It should be a very telling set of results that will help us better understand how his mind processes information and what we can do to best serve him, especially with regard to his unique educational needs. 

And so...

It has started a conversation amongst the congregation that comprises the student body representation of Deutchland Academy. Because everyone knows. Flint struggles. A lot of time is spent working to assist him. Mom struggles. Dad struggles. We all struggle, struggle, struggle with the Ethiopian male child. 

But the thing is, Flint has his own personal set of outstanding strengths too. Stuff that sets him far apart, way out ahead of the crowd. Like his pleasant disposition. The boy is full of blessed sunshine down deep in his soul. Complain? He doesn't do it. Ever. Not at all. The child eats whatever heap of vegetable medley tis laid upon his plate, then he says, thank you. With a smile (!) For realsies. His heart? Made of pure, spun gold. It's a big one. Pumping all kinds of juicy gladness through that body of his. He has his challenges, yes. And they often take center stage because we just have to get the business done in a day. We're American, after all. Productivity is our highest achievement and ultimate goal. Let the fine numbers reflect our stellar work ethic...ahem. 

Anyhoo.

Aren't we all in the same boat as dear Flint? Knocking it out of the park, bringing the fans to their feet in certain areas and striking out to the boo of the crowd in others? Don't we all have places where our highlights glisten like golden honey dousing wholesome sweetness on every pure bit of goodness they touch? Aren't there moments where we shine like the star we know simply know we were born to become and we can't believe how fortunate we are just to be in the company of ourselves?  

Then, we go and wreck and damage and mar and ruin and clutter some precious thing up. We realize no matter how altruistic we'd like to pretend we are, we can't escape our own self interests to some small extent. We examine our motives and find them sorely wanting. We stare our selfishness in the face and we all at once understand, we are wretched, wretched souls in desperate need of forgiveness from nearly everyone we encounter. 

Because dear humans, do we not splatter our mire at the exact same moment we spread our sunshine? We're a mess like that. And when you think about it, it's kind of a beautiful thing. We are complex, multi faceted creatures in need of tender mercy and cleansing grace at the very second we are lifted high, just as much as when we are brought low. 

We're in this together. All of us in the same wonderful terrible boat. 

Clover - One of my strengths is dancing.
One of my weaknesses is heights.
Meadow - One strength of mine is sharing. Another is sleeping. I also like running a lot. Reading is something I think I'm good at. Doing math I'm sort of good at. Mostly doing the correct thing. I'm good at getting ready to leave the house. Staying healthy is something easy. Coloring I like to do. writing is not a challenge much. One weakness is stealing. One more of mine is drawing. I'm also bad at communicating. I'm not so good at science. Another one is spelling. Coming up with things to do. One thing is lying I do a lot. Remembering what I don't do well. Those are some of my strengths and weaknesses. But there are many more of both.
Flint - My strengths are building and gazing out the window. Some of my weaknesses are spelling, reading, science. Some more of my strengths are forgetting, drawing, tracing, coloring, and lying. (He's not lying. The boy is skilled at lying.)
Jayla - I'm a great party planner. I love baking desserts. I can get my school work done in two hours. I am a responsible babysitter. I like organizing. I am good at using what I have to make what I need. I'm a horrible speller. I don't always get along with my siblings. I hate breakfast burritos, peas and pears. With my braces I'm supposed to brush my teeth three times a day, but I only brush two.
Tyden - One of my weaknesses is keeping  a positive attitude. One of my strengths is pokemon cards. Another one of my strengths is smiling. My weakness is food. I will eat a lot of it.
Onyx - One of my weaknesses can be that when I am around other people I get angry and hurt people. I also just do not like being around the other kids most of the time. (Um, introvert much?!)
One of my strengths is that I like to try new things and that when I do most of the time I like it. Another one of my strengths is I am good at reading comprehension, spelling and mostly I am organized.

Stryder - One of my weaknesses is refusing to do my school work and my jobs. But one of my strengths is making up ideas and doing dot to dots.
*********
Dude. These kids make me so proud. Getting a handle on their own positive and negative attributes so young. They will make some fine, well balanced adults! I LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE some JOTSCMF! 

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Around the Homestead

**First, answers to a couple questions. 

El numero uno: What makes ME feel loved? I like them all! [The love languages, that is.] Except the gifts. Unless a gift is really useful and kitchen-ey. Those are my favorite. As far as the nibblets are concerned, I enjoy them hanging out with me and telling me about themselves. I try to ask lots of questions so I can really get to know what makes them tick. I like it when they come along side me and we talk as we (mostly I) work together. I also like playing games with them and reading books and we often have a lot of fun during school. Like yesterday when Jayla, unbeknownst to me, recorded my *awesome* rendition of Just Give Me a Reason and sent it to me via e mail. Listening to it later and hearing us all laugh reminded me of what a gift it is to so much spend time with them, even though school can regularly be frustrating. My love tank is filled by their presence. I like them near. 

Regarding The Calvous Man Of the House? Of course, my honey do list is long. Because he is a capable handyman and there is nothing hotter than a capable handyman. I do like it when he checks off those items one by one. So acts of service are big around here. But is that what makes me feel most loved? Probably not.

I need   T    I    M    E. 

Spent together. Chatting, laughing, doing nothing or something or whatever. That's probably my primary love language. But his words of affirmation go a long way too. As does a hug when he gets home from work. So, all in all I'm a high maintenance hillbilly who requires just about all the languages of love.

Just don't buy me lots of gifts. Not with our shared bank account, anyway.

Truthfully, my honey love language speaker is an EXcellENT listener who always gives me lots of room to verbally process and just be completely myself. And he remembers what I say. THAT speaks love to me in a big, big way.

El numero dos: Concerning the ideas for the pictures and writing prompts for the kids? Most of them just come to me while we're doing school or sometime throughout the day based on what we are learning or what's going on with the younger population. I'm definitely known for stopping everything to do a creative writing or drawing assignment.  
************************
Some poor phone photos of what happened down on the prairie over the summer --

Life of a wannabe homesteader is never a bore... 

Onyx mowing to make way for the lookout tower ~
Lookout tower in progress ~
The expanded garden ~
Our first butchering experience ~
The farmer and his wife doing the deed ~
Shooting mice in the hen house with a BB gun ~ 
The garden well under way ~
Almost complete: The tree house in the land of no trees ~
When bad bees swarm ~ (Noooooooooo!)
Reduce, reuse, recycle: Making a mobile chicken run out of an old trampoline ~
Novice beekeepers trying to hive the swarm ~
Cleaning out the stove pipe for a new year of wood burning ~
Bringing wood to the garage to prep for winter ~
Pulled oodles of green tomatoes due to an early, early September freeze ~ Boo!
New clothesline in the works - the old clothesline area is being turned into a dog run ~
The homesteader's Mercedes Benz ~ 

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

I feel loved when...

Recognizing the unique ways my kids register love spoken to their hearts can be tricky. For some of them, it's more obvious. They seek, request, demand attention in a very specific manner with the clear desire for a very specific outcome. Mom, can I teach you to play chess?  Um, let me think about that. Well, no. You may not. Find another method of communicating affection between you and I, mmmmkay baby? (I adore games. But chess. Really? I'm afraid it will snore me to death. Half my life is already gone, for the love of middle age (!) Can't Spend The Rest Playing Chess.) 

With other kids, those who are more laid back and aren't all up in my grill all the day long, it can be tough to determine what it is precisely that translates I am loved for them.

But I want to learn. (Even if it involves rooks and pawns and knights and bishops and queens and kings...who I will undoubtedly come to know...) Because aside from chess oh, babes. I want you to know you are loved. Deep in your soul, where you find all that is you in the still and quiet of the darkest night, I pray you realize your worth and your value and your meaning to us, your parents and your family. That you feel in the depth of your being that if you did not walk this earth at this very moment, it would be a much worse place.

You are valuable beyond measure and because of that reality lived and breathed, you are capable of achieving enormous good. You just are. 

So tell me, what makes you feel loved?
Clover: I feel loved when mom says "I love you, Clover."
Meadow: I feel loved when my awesome mom gets me something.
Onyx: I feel loved when dad lets us drive the mower. 
Flint: I feel loved when dad helped me when I fell down.
Stryder: I feel loved when I help mom in the garden.
Jayla: I feel loved when mom and I go somewhere and we talk in the car.
Tyden: I feel loved when I talk to mom while she is cooking.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

25 things you may not know about me

I love reading these. They are in a magazine I like.
A total narcissistic exercise, but kind of fun nonetheless.
Trying to lighten the mood.
Here we go...

1. I am an enthusiastic gardener, but if I see a pretty weed I won't pull it.
2. In my alternate life, where I have no children, I am a cirque du soleil performer.
3. I can eat a whole watermelon by myself in a day.
4. When I was younger I was sure I would get my Ph.D and become a professional person.
5. I never thought I would marry a white guy. Hispanic!
6. The All Carbs All the Time diet would suit me just fine.
7. I despise being the center of attention.
8. I could not leave my house for weeks and not mind.
9. If the world were full of people like me, no organizations would exist.
10. In other words, I don't facilitate anything and prefer not to be in charge.
11. I like to turn every little thing into a competition, especially with my husband.
12. He still floats my boat even after 19 years together.
13. If I had a baby girl, I was going to name her Flower.
14. I used to be very religious.
15. If I come across a COEXIST bumper sticker, I might buy it for my mega van.
16. I try to maintain few vices so I am most fully engaged.
17. I gave up coffee on Dec. 27, 2013.
18. If there is not some "next big thing" to reach for, I go out of my mind.
19. That drives my white husband out of his mind.
20. I try to convince my daughter to have babies. Now. She resists.
21. It would insult me most if someone called me "shallow."
22. My next tattoo will be 2 swans representing faithful love.
23. Mary Lou Retton was my hero.
24. I can't stand to touch a wooden spoon.
25. I love heights but hate small spaces.


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