OETA, Lemonade, and Regrets June 9, 2010

Time stops for no man.  Here I am, at 11:30 thinking about people.  People in their houses with their children, pets, and T.V.’s.  People on the phone, computers, playstations, and WII’s.   For the record, when television switched over last June to all digital nonsense, I didn’t switch. That’s right- no converter, no cable, no satellite.  My T.V. only receives static.  Don’t write me off as a lunatic yet.  It is the most brilliant thing I’ve ever done.  Yes, I’m probably a little behind on the news, the weather in Oklahoma is pretty unpredictable anyway.  The only thing  I would want cable for is to watch movies anyway.  I am still having withdrawals from Master Piece Theatre on OETA every Saturday night. Alfred Hitchcock and I have shared many Saturday nights together. (I wonder if someone would just pipe in some Turner Classic Movies for me.) Oh yes – and I cannot forget to mention the English comedies that would come on Sundays after 9P.M. also on OETA.  Yes,  I am completely aware of my boring-ness. But alas, I still have no cable or satellite  – just a well used DVD player and a 27″ tv.

I’m only brought to mention this for the sole purpose of letting you know that time didn’t stop because I never saw Grey’s Anatomy after Izzy and George died.  I don’t even remember the girls names from – well crap, I can’t even think of the name of that show now.  I don’t have to wonder if my kids should be watching this- because I choose whats on.  My DVD collection is really not as big as you think.  I do wish I could find more classics on DVD though.  Martin might actually decide some aren’t bad at all.  Classics are masterful artistry at its best.  No computer for special effects or what not.  Just purely creative minds thinking- how in the world are we going to do this, and then doing it.   Now, I think time just flies by when the television is on. I wish I lived then, when time didn’t stop, but slowed to a crawl in the midst of family, creativity, thoughtfulness, and church. When ice cream was churned by hand on the front porches of neighbors and lemonade flowed like milk and honey.  A true regret is that my generation has ruined everything…

Samson and the Apple Tree May 12, 2010

There is a slight correlation of Samson to my husband, Martin.  I have often thought that they share they same passion in life; impulsive -  infuriated quickly(but somewhat for the right reasons)- strong – recklessly stupid and so on.  I suppose Samson should have been Adam in the Garden of Eden for is grave stupidity towards the opposing “un-fairer” sex.  Irregardless of where Samson falls within the bible it is proof that man has remained un-evolved.  I gather Martin is the apple that  has fallen a minimal distance from the tree. Not to be mean to Martin in the least, he’s just more Samson material than other men. Which is good in my eyes…

There you go, thinking I’m being mean.  I kind of am, BUT, my love for my husband runs deep, as well as my fascination with Samson.  If you haven’t read the story of Samson it is most definitely a must read (Judges 13 – 16).  If you haven’t heard about him since you were in Sunday school you should probably take another look at him.  It’s not the same cut and dry story as they let on.

The story of Samson probably appeals to me because he was the ultimate human – over exaggerated emotional reactions – not well thought out plans – willing to do the right thing, but not always knowing which path to take.  He was led often by his feelings. He often didn’t think through his actions or reactions, he just acted. In fact, every time I read the story I think – you stupid stupid man! When I get to heaven and meet him, I may just hit him over the head with a rolled up newspaper – hoping that God’s presence in Heaven has toned down his anger management issues.

He also is the first man ever to have his classification of women as “heifers”  to be put in to print.  Oh, yes, we can thank Samson for that. He’s probably also the first man to say “why by the cow when you can get milk for free.” But I’m just speculating on that one.  That is probably why what happened to him did.  He trusted the wrong heifer.  He trusted her not once, but four times!  A lesser man would have figured Delilah out sooner.  Moron. Its a choice that we have, to trust, over and over and over again; hoping to be proven wrong.  Trust really wasn’t the downfall of Samson though – right?  Actually, I think that Delilah did a very evil thing by creating this horrible nagging, manipulative environment that probably made Samson wish for prison rather than to listen to her.  Yes, men, you can all thank Delilah for that.

However, I am deemed to point out what good Samson had done by being the man he was.  Being a man of action, his final move of impudent glory was actually quite brilliant, such as all gladiator stories of old.   His very purpose he was born to do was bring down the Philistines.  God worked through all Samson’s shortcomings to use Samson for His purpose. Which is not to put a leash on human kind that we are all made for God’s purpose – but we were purposely made as a choice from God.  As Samson, we often lead our own lives with bitter diatribes towards ourselves, others, and even towards God himself.  But through all our misused gifts, God’s purpose can still work in us.

To Martin May 10, 2010

To Martin: Who is asleep in the chair behind me snoring like a freight train

Many thanks for the things that you do.  You have been home for two whole days after working and being away for ten. You spent your day, yesterday spray painting and building bunk beds for those monkeys that we call sons.  Today you sent me away with what little sanity I had left, in hopes I would come back restored- or come back at all.   I came home to the dishes done, and the laundry.  You swept and mopped the living room, and vacuumed the kitchen.  You gave me a few hours to myself – which I couldn’t think of a thing to do.  I feel so blessed to have you.  Thank you for taking the time to notice how worn I was around the edges.   Rest up – tomorrow you are planting a tree…  Love you, Honey.

My “Shack” Review… May 1, 2010

I have found myself engulfed with “The Shack” over the last couple days.  Yes,  I’ve read it before, but I did not like it.  I really took nothing from it.  Its purely a fictional christian book.   I found it incredulous that a man would put his presumptions of how God works into the actual mouths of God, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus – and then give them different names.

This time, I took a little more from it.  Believe me, I still find it a highly fictional christian book.  I thought I would tell you a little of what I took from the book, with hopefully no negatives added into it- hopefully.  Below I have referenced God as He/She as to not offend anyone or their beliefs, so excuse me if I did anyway.  I’m not really good at the whole spiritual sensitivity thing.

Names

Granted we all approach God in a different manner. What we may call Him/Her  is in direct correlation  to how we feel at the very moment. In prayer I often call Him/Her “Father”, “Almighty”, “Dear Lord”, the usual. I don’t have a “pet name” for Him/Her, although to me he is a father.  I never thought about it any other way.  But as long as you are addressing Him/Her, what’s the skin off my back- None.  Its really none of my business what God is to you.  I know what He/She is to me, and its okay to have Him/Her in an image that is easy for you to relate to and talk to.  Everyone is different in how they talk and pray and act, so why wouldn’t God reflect our differences in allowing us to call Him/Her what is most comfortable to us?

Godly Form

Of course to me, like the character in the book, God is Gandolf like.  More like Gandolf-the-white than the gray.  Which doesn’t really make any since either, we all know that God gets his hands dirty.  But we were all made in God’s image, and none of us look the same.  God can be many forms,  I guess to which ever one makes Him/Her more approachable to each one of us at the time.  Or perhaps, God is so wondrous that there is nothing that can describe God appearance, and that He/She is more glorious than any of us could ever dream.  Or maybe He /She is both – approachable and glorious.

Relationship

The main thing I took from this book is not only look for a better relationship with the Trinity, but also with my family. To really see them, hear them, feel with them.  To rediscover my children and learn to discover with them.  To resist the monotonous hierarchy that always seems to loom in a home, a job, even a church.  Which I will admit that Martin and I have done a pretty good job treating each other as equals, but we have our downfalls like all couples do.  We joke like the other is the boss, but in our hearts we know that equality is better than one submitting to the other. To submit to one another in a completely equal way -  to serve one another, don’t create fault in useless, meaningless things. Forgive and ask forgiveness. Respect each others needs and wishes.  To give freely and graciously receive what has been given.  To treat each other this way, and our children. My family is the beginning of community and God is the center.  I ultimately believe that what “Goodness” Martin and I have instilled in our children will cause them loss in worldly things, since an increasing number of children these days are taught little of manners and sharing.  They will continually be trampled on Earth, in their hearts and in Heaven will be the true reward.  With servitude and love they will be more greatly compensated than the rude valueless children of today.

Life

God is limitless.  We are free in our independence to make our own choices.  No matter what we have chosen, we are not alone.  God is never going to leave us, nor ever stop trying to reach us.  As God has opened all roads for us to explore, He/She can climb every mountain, swim every sea in search for our love.  No matter what we have done, nor where life is taking us, we can always turn to him.  If we allow him, he will show us the path to take. He carries the flashlight to lead us home.

Judging

As it is in our nature to judge, and we do so freely – it is not ours.  Justice we may want to seek, but it is not ours to have.  Would I take the plunge for my children – absolutely?  Would I take the plunge for a stranger? Maybe- if I knew that they were good hearted, or on their way there.  Would I take the plunge for all humanity, knowing full well the evilness they flock to?  That’s an easy “NO”.  But Jesus raised his hand and said “I’ll do it”.  He knew men like Timothy, Charlie, and Adolf would exist.  But all sin is sin, he died for mine as well as theirs.  Would he have just died for me? Absolutely.  He would have done it just for you.  Forgiveness is ours if we want it.  Ask for forgiveness, and it will be granted.

Regardless of some of my disagreements with Mr. William P. Young I applaud his over all effort and fabrication of this story.  His effort of reaching and teaching was a call from God.  He opened his mind and heart, he opened himself to ridicule and rejection for the sake of helping God open doors.  Sometimes God uses us as instruments, don’t forget to listen to your call.  There are all different types of instruments in the band, and each one is important for the sake of the orchestra, the directer, and the songs we share together.

The Day I Became “Mom” April 28, 2010

I’ve been called a lot of things in my life.  I have rolled most of them off my back and got on with life. But lately one of my favorite people in the world has been calling me something awful. I think my heart actually stops working for a second, my breathe catches in my throat.  It’s like a slightly elongated sneeze, where everything in my entire body stops working.  Its okay, I probably deserve it…

Lane, my three-year old, whom I know is going to grow up sooner or later, has stopped calling me “mommy”.  James never called me mommy and that’s fine- it’s always been “mom” with him. He’s the hard-nosed crusty son of my husband. He’s got a tender heart, but mostly when it comes to himself.  He is a lot like his father, when he acts from his heart its big and makes you feel wonderful – the acts are not often, but often enough that you remember that side of them exists. They would do anything for you in a second, if you ask…

But Laney-Lou is my sweetheart.  Laney is all heart, nearly every move he makes is from the heart.  Laney is the one that no matter if we are just walking to the garden- he’s going to hold my hand.  He’s sweet and tender; he wipes the tears off my face.  I guess I always thought he would call me “mommy”.  Just as I think he’s always going to want to hold my hand to the car, to the bathroom, to the refrigerator.   My little boy is growing up, but why does he have to call me just “mom”.   None-the-less, I’m still glad that he still calls…

Smartest Animals at the Zoo April 25, 2010

As it turns out – animals are not very smart.  That goes for all birds and mammals – and yes- that includes you.  Yesterday my family met up with my sister-in-law and her husband at the zoo.  James is way into his Aunt Joyce and Lane is way into Uncle Andrew.  Meeting with Joyce and Andrew is always a vacation for me- no “mommy this” or “mommy that”- and I can breathe.

So anyway, back to the zoo… we took a stroll through the children’s zoo, found out children were in line to pet goats. Joyce has goats, pass on the long line to pet the goats; when we can drive to her house faster than we can reach the end of the line.  Okay, Lorikeets – I can do a lorikeet. Its like a parakeet right? I had one of those once.  I also had a duck once, which my dog ate right in front of me when I was two or three. Its one of the good “first memories”.  It also turns out that any bird larger than a duck- like a goose, emu, especially an ostrich freak me out.  Which reminds me of the ostrich they had a the zoo the last time we went – it had one eye.  Yeah- if you aren’t scared of ostriches anyway – the one with the one eye is perfect for the extra freak out.  Anyway – the Lorikeets-  they were alright.  You go in with your little plastic Dixie cup of imported German nectar, like the birds are really going to be pissed off if you accidentally bring in Swiss sugar water or something.  But we don’t want to make the cage of birds mad.  The kids loved it, the birds land on you and drink their nectar, crawl up your arm, land in you hair, poop on your foot – or other things.  Yeah, I got all of that.  Afterward, my husband (my giggling husband) washed the bird poo off my foot in the extremely small sink they provide for a million people to share after they have birds crawl all over them.  It turns out we were the only ones washing our hands – and feet.  I guess people don’t know that birds are gross and that the bird’s feet are completely covered in their own poo while they crawl all over your arm.

On to the bear feeding…bear feeding-3 pm. We have to see this.  We hike across the zoo through the “Oklahoma Trails” section. Which, I think, they did a really excellent job on.  Its a really nice trail, with some really neat creatures in it.  Coyotes, deer, quail, raccoons, possums. Plus of course the “big cats” of Oklahoma – bobcats and such.  Oh yeah – and the really cool bald eagle exhibit.  At least it would have been really cool if they were still able to fly.  These poor eagles have been pretty mutilated by stupid humans.  One was shot by a hunter and most of one of his wings is gone – which pretty much puts him in the same category as the one eyed ostrich.  The other was hit by a semi – which really isn’t the drivers fault I guess.  Like I said, neither were able to fly anymore.  It was kind of humbling to view America’s national bird grounded and mutilated.  It sang in my heart a a metaphor.

Anyway – the bears.  The brown bears of Oklahoma. That’s right folks – we have bears.  Only our bears dance around in circles and wait patiently for oranges and apples to be thrown at them. My suggestion is to throw a hiker into the bear cave every Saturday and Sunday at 3pm and show the crown what really happens when you run into one in the wild.  But I guess that’s why I don’t run a zoo. I get it, children don’t need the violence right, they are only going to go home and watch it with their mommies and daddies when they get home. We might as well educate them with a little violence right? I guess I’ll do it here… Children – do not go into the while with a bucket full of apples and oranges and expect a bear to dance for his food.

We made it through the gorillas, and the cat forest, over to the pachyderm building; in which the elephants are away on a hot date in Tulsa.  We were on the way to the giraffes when it started to rain.  Luckily, there was a gazebo nearby and our herd made it there first.  Some animals were voluntarily seeking shelter, others were being put up by their keepers, others were just being stupid and looking up into the sky like “Chicken Little”.   People passed us, getting soaked by the rain. Gauging by the clouds it should have passed in a just a few minutes.  Just a quick rain to wash the poo off the grass.  My husband decided to take Lane and head to the front gate, and they take off walking in the rain.  A minute or two more pass, and Joyce decides to run to the exit, with James in tow.  Andrew and I, ingeniously wait for the lonely cloud to pass.  Just another minute or two. The sun shines and we walk to meet them.  Martin and Lane were soaked, James and Joyce – mildly, but Andrew and I, hands down, were the smartest animals at the zoo yesterday.

Your Kids Suck….But So Do Mine. April 18, 2010

In today’s world every child is wonderful at everything. Every child gets an award for playing soccer, finishing a test, for just about anything.   Not every kid is going to get perfect scores on tests, or score a thousand points in basketball.  Not every child is good at coloring.  So why are we making a bunch of exceptional children? Aren’t they just going to be disappointed when they get older. Example: someone’s parent insisted that Little Johnny was a wonderful singer.  He practiced in his room. Made himself this great little outfit on his grandmother’s sewing machine. He heads down to American Idol auditions.  The next day he shows up on T.V. singing his little heart out to Lady Gaga, then it spreads to youTube, news channels, talk shows.  Did the parents actually help their child out?  Why didn’t they say, “Johnny, I know that you really enjoy singing, but you really aren’t that good at it.  If you want we can get you some lessons. But what I really think you should do is be a designer. You are REALLY awesome at that.” At least this way he doesn’t show up on the Ellen show doing a repeat performance.

I understand not wanting to make your kids feel bad, especially bad about themselves.  There’s nothing wrong with encouragement.  When James started Pre-k this year he refused to color in the lines.  I kept getting on to him about it.  Finally I just asked him why he wasn’t coloring in the lines. He told me he just didn’t like the way it looked that way, it wasn’t pretty.  How do you argue with that? Its personal preference – right? I then just told him to color in the lines just to show them that he could do it if he wanted, then he could color however he wants. He’s been coloring inside the lines since.  Same thing with scissors, he wouldn’t cut straight, he didn’t like the way it looked.  It looked way cooler all choppy and messy.  Well, that’s great son, but you still need to show them you can do it.  Later down the road if he decides to become some edgy, abstract artist that will be okay with me, because I know he can do it the “conformist” way.  But truthfully I think he was feeding me a line. I know my son, and he was telling me it wasn’t pretty when really he meant, “Mom, I just don’t care about coloring or scissors. I just want to go outside and play.” Which is great, because what he is really good at is sports.  At five he can shoot a bow quite well.  He is a fast runner and a far jumper.

My point is, if we fake enthusiasm on the stuff that they really aren’t strong in; how are they ever going to figure out what their strengths really are?   I will support my children in whatever they think they want to do, because you don’t know what you are good at until you try. But that’s part of our job as parents, to help them sort everything out.  The last thing I want to do is be a flaky mom.  We can’t all be good at everything.  That’s why God made us all different.  Some can paint, some can speak, some can be lawyers, or doctors, and some teachers.  If we all were musicians everything would sound wonderful, but the food would be horrible. And if I were “Little Johnny’s” parents, I would definitely think  twice. Someday he may be taking care of you and try to sing you to sleep every night.  Then you will wish for heaven’s light…

Personally, I’m wishing one of my boys will be a great cook, but if not; I’m sure not going to encourage it. I don’t want to have to choke down that garbage for the rest of my life.

Mom’s Day In April 17, 2010

I’m Jennifer, a stay-at-home-mom to two exuberant little boys. James is five and in Pre-k, and Lane is three.  We live outside of a small town and our closest neighbor is a mile away.  This comes in handy because my boys are insane and I am positive that our would-be neighbors would not survive them.  Some days I don’t even know how I do, like yesterday…

Yesterday, James was out of school, like most no-school days, their dad is away at work.  It was rainy and chilly, the boys were watching a movie in my room.  Of course when I say “watching” I use the term loosely.  The TV was on and they were wrestling around on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head. Unlike the song, it does not take a doctor to determine that my little monkeys shouldn’t jump on the bed anymore. That lasted a minute or two.   James, from the sound of it, did a miraculous flip-and-dive off the side of the bed and scraps the back of his heel.  For anyone who doesn’t have a little boy, or at least a little boy like mine, a minor incident like this requires the roar of a dying elephant to get my attention. Where as an incident that requires an emergency room visit only produces fat tears and minimal whining noises.  I will never figure this one out.  The inside is more of a dangerous place for my rambunctious boys. So, I sent them outside in the drizzling rain to play in the mud and get dirty.

At some point they managed to sneak a tall wooden stool outside in hopes it would allow James the extra height to climb a tree.  James, who has always been known for his five-year-old acrobatic skills that would shame most Cirque Du Soleil performers, has no fear, or shame.  I know- aren’t I a lucky mother.  James, several branches high, doesn’t take into consideration the slickness of the bark from the rain.  He slips through several branches but manages to catch himself with the crook of his arm on the last available limb. He saves himself from having a broken arm, or leg, or skull, but manage to scrap the whole inside of his arm with the victorious catch. Grateful for avoiding another emergency room visit, but knowing that minor injuries come with a louder volume of cries and screams.  The louder the screams the more minor it is.  Lucky for me I had figured his system out a long time ago. Whilst he is roaring like a dying elephant, I slowly move through the house collecting the necessary supplies; q-tips, peroxide, anti-biotic ointment.  I don’t really like to lie to my children, so I say “James, this is going to sting a little.”  Knowing full well that he has had peroxide before, but never on this magnitude of a scrape, I still felt compelled to warn him. Perhaps I should not have. The bellowing of this child from the first swab of peroxide was incredible. It would have put the dying elephant to shame; the banshee who’s wails can turn a man to stone would have been hushed.  At this point I knew that this injury was one of the most minor that he has ever had…

After swathing the wound and clearing up the tears with popsicles it didn’t take long to get back into action.  They continues to run around the recliner- while still eating their popsicles.  “Guys”, I called,” I don’t really want to pull a popsicle out of your eye.”  The footsteps slowed for only a moment, then sped up. Now listen very closely to what I tell you next, it will help you understand the sheer need for speed and hardcore-ness of my children.  They had dropped their popsicles in the trash so that they could continue running through the house.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  It was at that moment I knew that we needed an outing.

We loaded up in the Jeep and went to visit my mother-in-law at work, where she teaches a cosmetology class.  The women there swoon over my boys like they are the best thing since chocolate.  It would give me a break and give them attention-perfect plan-right?   James, playing around, opens a door, in which I am standing on the other side waiting for him.  Not thinking, he slides his fingers into the crease created between the open door and the door jamb.  The door closes, catching two of his fingers between hinge and door.  Smashed completely I run to open the door to release him, and carry him back into the room full of waiting “Florence Nightingales”.  Unlike the previous two injuries, I knew this one had to be a little worse, he was quieter, not wailing, calmer.  Great.  We wash his hands and fingers, apply pressure, antiseptic spray, and band-aids.  He’s still quiet and wants me to pick him up.  He doesn’t say a word, defeated, striped of his immortal pride- blood was drawn this time.  I take him home, build him a bed on the couch, put him on old Scooby Doo reruns, and all is calm for a while.

Dinner time, the dog must go out.  I tell him outside, and he zips past Lane, hurrying for the door.  Lane grabs on to his neck as he passes by.  Those of you who don’t know, our dog is a bull mastiff.  He and Lane are the same height, so when Lane grabs on to his neck he is lifted off the ground and down the steps and barely past the sidewalk before he plops down in my newly tilled flower bed, which is now soft and muddy from the rain.  Couldn’t have hurt, but scared my Laney.  One second he’s in the living room, the next he’s lying on his back in the mud. He needs much assurance that he is not hurt, and also a bath before dinner.

After dinner we settle down, and I need to clean James’ wounds again.  I get the peroxide out, he screams before I even begin.  The banshee scream is unleashed as I clean the wound.  Wrapped up in the turmoil my husband makes his evening call and I don’t hear it.  Lane picks up the phone and all Martin can hear is blood curdling screams from his little boy.  Not knowing what has gone on all day long has no idea that James is not dying but only getting a little peroxide on his arm, thinks the worst.  He calls back immediately and I answer.  I tell him all that has happened that day, and what was happening then.  He was shocked that all that was going on was a little peroxide, and gave James a little talking to.  Finally all is settled for the day. Movie night, popcorn, James still insisting that his arm needs blowing on.  So I sit next to him and blow gently on his arm for a while.  Lane was sitting in the recliner, by himself, with his own bowl of popcorn and blanket.

A little later, Lane calls for me.  I looked over.  He’s holding his arms up in the air.  Handcuffed.  He had found his grandfather’s old handcuffs somewhere, and I have no idea where the key might be.  Thank goodness he’s got small hands, and I had a little bit of butter.