The 3rd of July

Walking down a sidewalk with my at-home kids, my husband and my mom, toting a few meager supplies from our car, down blocks of sidewalks and through a parking lot and then on to the lawn, sitting on blankets in prickly grass, waiting with little ones for the sky show to start.

Wondering why after six kids I still never remember to ask if they need to use the restroom before we leave the house, especially when our destination does not have the facilities to facilitate our urgent and inevitable needs.

Piling up on the blankets watching the fireworks and watching my kids watch the fireworks.  I don’t know which is more entertaining.  Frank’s face turns toward the lights like a satellite dish toward the signal in space.

Making the long trek back to the car with all our stuff that seems to have doubled in size and weight.  Sitting in our car along with hundreds of other lawn dwellers who had the same idea about the “short cut nobody would think to take.”

Singing in the car on the way home and then carrying the sleepy kids up to their beds when we finally arrive back home to our stuffy house.  Open the windows.

Happy 3rd of July!

Note Found On A Post-It

To:  Hannah

I love you so much that if you died I will have all of your stuff if you did not want them.

I love you

Violet

It Smells.

We sold our truck years ago.  I immediately headed to the bank to deposit the Cashiers Check and was able to go straight to the teller window because I was the only person in the bank. The new and slightly timid teller starts the transaction but informs me that she will need to put a hold on the funds unless the issuing bank can verify it's a valid check.

She does.

They can't.

The Boss Teller comes over to the Fledgling Teller and investigates. I'm sweating. Thinking about crying. And how will I explain to Troy that I just gave away our truck for free because they "seemed like nice people"?

Boss Teller informs me that if I can give her the last name of the people who issued the questionable check, she will be able to track it more easily. She assures me that it's probably just because the check was issued on that day and most likely it will show up in the other bank's system the next day.

This whole time, I smell poop. But there's a baby at the window next to me now, so I think nothing of it.

I go out to my car, call my oldest son and ask him to grab the Bill of Sale from the filing cabinet and give me the buyer's last name. I write it down, bring it back into the now PACKED bank and wait in line.

There's that poo smell again. But there's another baby in line behind me so I think nothing of it. Not really.

I finally get to the window after letting the entire line pass me so that I can get the same teller that I had before. The Timid Teller calls the issuing bank. Only, she just gives them the same information that she gave them last time. She never tells them the payor's last name. I am about to interrupt her and tell her that the whole reason I waited in line a second time was to bring her this information that she requested so could she please use it? But then my attention is drawn to the palm of my right hand.

Poo. A portion of my palm is covered in dried poo. What to do, right?  I find a receipt in my purse, lick my thumb, smear the spit on the receipt and try to wipe off the now-petrified offense. Eventually, it relents. Only now, with the friction and the added moisture, it TOTALLY smells. Like, before, maybe only I could smell it, but now it's emanating from my body like a Glade Plug-in: Death Edition.

So when she tells me that I have to come in again tomorrow to find out if the bank would have a record of the check by then, I don't complain and instead just say, "Oh! Okay, thank you! Bye!"  Because when you're at the bank with your baby's dried poop on the palm of your hand? You really need to just go home.

Soul Print - Discovering Your Divine Destiny

In Mark Batterson's latest book, Soul Print, he sets out to remind us that God has made each of us unique and that our uniqueness is a testament to God, our Creator.  However, "Few people discover the God-given identity that makes them unlike anyone else."

Seems fine, at first.  Not ground-breaking, but fine.

It didn't take me too many pages to start talking back to the book.  "No, that isn't right."  "Does he mean to say...?"  "Did I accidentally pick up a pop psychology book?"

I hadn't even made it to Scene 1 in the book before I read things like, "God isn't going to ask, 'Why weren't you more like Billy Graham [...]?  God is going to ask, 'Why weren't you more like you?'"

I don't know about that.

The book asserts that we need to find out who we are so that we can know who God is.  It sounds fine, I suppose.  But it doesn't have that satisfying ring of truth.  1 Corinthians 2:2 has Paul saying, "For I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified."  That's it.  We never see Paul or Jesus or Moses or Noah looking back into their past memories so that they could find their soul print. They kept their eyes on the Lord. 

When we walk closely with God, we become who He made us to be. 

I did find the book easy-to-read and the author's writing style is engaging.  Even when he delves into the question of whether Saul was dealing with a #1 or #2 (yeah, you read that right) when he was in the cave "relieving himself".  I have to admit, I've never heard anyone get quite as deep into that passage.

I won't recommend this book to anyone. If someone asks me about it, I'll probably tell them that it isn't heresy, but it isn't going to help your walk with the Lord, either.

This review brought to you by me, the letter C and from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group, who gave me the book for free in exchange for my book review.

Gold Bond Is Cool

A short while after applying Gold Bond medicated itching cream (with menthol) to a bug bite on my arm, I became suddenly aware that I must not have gotten all the lotion off of my hands after application.  And as the menthol-induced coolness at the new and shocking location intensified, so did my wish that it was customary to wash ones hands before using the restroom.

Dreaming of Toast

This morning I woke up slowly. And during my trek to wakefulness, I heard weird noises. Some kids playing outside? It seemed sort of muffled or far away. It was more like a whine or a moan and I thought maybe my kids were playing house and someone was mad that they had to be the cat again.

I kept hearing it and my curiosity was enough to make me decide to wake all the way up and investigate. I sat up and listened really carefully for the noise again.

And then I heard it. And I knew.

And I reached under my bed and grabbed my two-year-old daughter's ankles and pulled her out from her below-bed prison.

Now, I don't know how she got there. I asked her of course. She was either hiding and got stuck, or she came in and laid on my floor and fell asleep, only to roll under my bed while dreaming she was bread going in the toaster.

Upcycling Like A Pro

I got these two giant tubs of arts & crafts supplies from the office of my old church.  They're doing a Spring cleaning of sorts and they're tossing or donating a bunch of stuff. 

It was like Christmas!  Who could know what I'd unearth in the next layer of kid-friendly fare?  Pom-poms, foam sticker shapes, a rocket kit and the makings for a pinewood derby car were near the top of the heap.

And then, underneath the sheets and sheets of construction paper, I found something brilliant:  A clear VHS case filled with crayons.

Now, I don't think the people who stashed the crayons in there were trying to be awesome. I bet they were thinking, "Where am I going to put these crayo...oh hey!  There's a video case!"  But I thought it was a stroke of genius.  For many reasons.  One, because what else are you going to use those cases for?!  We've moved on to Blu-ray and those things are from, like, six generations of technology ago.  Two, they're just the right size for an on-the-go coloring kit. The flat sides make them easy to fit into a shoebox alongside some small notepads or activity books. Three, they're clear so there's no wondering if the case is filled with just crayons or crayons and poo (I've had toddlers). 

I feel a little smart, too.  Like maybe I could run a site like The Upcycle Blog.  You know, if having one good idea (that I really didn't technically even have) qualified me to do that.  If that counted then yeah, I could totally do that.