Wednesday, July 15, 2009

And away we go........


......to the great outdoors. After our big car has returned from a four week stint at the mechanic's, we are packing it to the gills and driving south. Since the theme of our life lately seems to be "living by faith" we thought it was natural to carry that over to our vacation plans. Which means there are no "plans". We hope to do some camping, hopefully crash at a hotel once or twice for a hot shower, and see the Oregon Dunes. Trey is threatening to not return. I better stop blogging and start packing.
Off to follow the "wild goose"!

Monday, July 13, 2009

SOLD


This for sale sign has been in our non-front yard (we don't have one) for the past 120 days. The "sale pending" portion was slapped on there three weeks ago. That's how long it's taken me muster up the courage to post about it.
For the past four months it feels like I've been living in a fishbowl. Having your house on the market stirs something in people that makes them curious beyond belief. People stop you in the grocery store inquiring why you would ever want to leave. Neighbors who would barely wave before disappearing into their garage suddenly want all the details and extend invitations for dinner. Suddenly you're filled with regret over "what could have been". We think "they'll be plenty of time for that" and next thing you know five years have passed.
Since the offer arrived, I have vascilated between relief and sadness. Relief that it finally sold in this depressed real estate market. Sadness that we are leaving a house that I have poured my heart into making a home. Relief that we'll no longer be carrying a debt burden that is too great to bear. Sadness that my kids won't be able to jump on their bikes and ride to school. Relief that I won't have to worry about disgruntled neighbors calling the police over my kids playing in the woods and being boys. (that really happened and, no, I'm not bitter about it) Sadness that I probably won't be within walking distance to my walking partners.
So I know that all of this begs the natural question: "Where are they going?" That's always my first thought when I see a sign appear in someone's yard. And the people usually already know where their next destination is. We don't. We really don't. Nothing has been clear to us so far except that we need a big backyard.
Fortunately (and unfortunately) this is not unfamiliar territory to us. This will be our eighth move in seventeen years and we've never been in the military. It's exciting to see what lies ahead and nerve-wracking to really not know where we're headed. But I know God does. If I really believe that He orders our steps--and I do--then I can trust that He has it all worked out. I just need to trust Him. He's always taken care of us and I'm sure this time won't be any different. Sounds so simple, doesn't it?
I'll keep you posted.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

iTouch: Don't say I didn't warn you



Even though "everyone else has one", we've managed to be unwavering on the cell phone request(s!!) Although there are a million and one arguments from teens and parents alike why my child needs a phone, I'm just not buying it. Sure there have been a few random moments when I've thought "If he had a cell phone, I could just call." However, in those same moments, the common denominator has been that HE was supposed to check in with US. If he had possessed a cell phone then wouldn't the responsibility be off of HIM and instead on US?? Wouldn't I be calling him constantly asking "Where are you?" OK, off my soapbox. For now.


So about a month ago, Quinn had won a mountain bike in a raffle and sold it on Craigslist for $200. As soon as the cash was in his hot little hand, I fantasized a conversation in my head something like this: Mom, can you set aside this twenty bucks for my tithe and put the rest in my savings account? Ha! Instead I heard the words, "Can you take me to buy an iTouch?" Hmmmmmm. I knew it wasn't a phone. I knew he wouldn't have the ability to text on it. I thought it was just an oversized iPod with a touch screen. Little did I know.
Let's just say that upon our return trip from Target the boy didn't resurface for days. Apparently there are about a million and one "apps" to be downloaded from iTunes. Once we logged him on to our iTunes account we received emails with receipt after receipt itemizing every download whether purchased or free. The" 14 different sounds of farts is gross but understandable middle school boy humor. The "stealth grenade" sound that is supposedly not heard by old people's ear over the age of 30 is quite dumb. But then "text free" showed up on the screen. What?? He can text? Oh yes, right here in our own home from our WiFi. Can also hop on Gmail to check messages too. I had it in my head to track down Mr. Steve Jobs and give him a piece of my mind about his non parental control apps. But then again wasn't I the adult who drove the child to the store to make his purchase of this evil device that would obsess my child's world? Yes, that would be me. The mom who barks out orders about homework to her kids yet clearly neglects to take her own advice. Right here.
As I find him in his room frantically tapping on the keyboard playing games, listening to music and perfecting his body fluid sounds I have to remember: this is today's teen culture. The way they communicate is no different than all the hours we spent holed up in our rooms gabbing away on the telephone. You know, that contraption that had a cord and a dial that was (GASP!) attached to a wall????? And it drove our parents crazy. Mostly because they knew they needed to set some limits just as our kids do.
I am no longer ready to accuse Apple of all of their inventions causing more isolation. Because it's more about what we do with these electronics in our lives that determines whether they're a good or bad addition to your family. Still, I wish I would have been more prepared with my research before I had given in to this big purchase. Unlike a cell phone, there is no monthly cost to us and no contracts to sign. It truly belongs to him and was purchased with his own moolah. Now it's our job to encourage responsible use of it while in our presence.
I'm still praying it gets lost by summer's end.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Book Review, Part Two


A while back I mentioned that I'd recently read three books that subsequently rocked my world. The first book I shared last month started me on this journey of questioning how my life was making a difference anywhere outside of my own family. My heart has been stirred over how I'm called to serve the rest of the world. These thoughts came out of nowhere. But I know it's no coincidence that these books have found their way to my nightstand. I'm still not sure where this is all leading but this next book sure gave me a lot to chew on.

Most of you are probably familiar with Rick Warren, author of the The Purpose Driven Life. But, like me, you might not be aware of the lovely woman he's married to. Kay Warren has rarely been in the limelight over the years but, if more people read her book, it won't be long before she's more recognizable than him.

Dangerous Surrender: What Happens When You Say Yes to God is a book that will leave you, as Kay puts it, "seriously disturbed" and "gloriously ruined." It all began with an magazine article about the world AIDS crisis that disturbed Kay to transform from "housewife to humanitarian" in the blink of an eye. She was so bothered by what she read that, next thing she knew, she was on a plane to Africa to see for herself the reality of this tragedy. The manner in which Kay writes makes you feel like you're sharing a cup of coffee at her kitchen table. She's real, honest, challenging, humorous and vulnerable. Yet she's not suggesting anyone do something she hasn't already tackled.

An excerpt from the first chapter:

The word disturbed is often associated with mental illness and instability. We say, "He's disturbed," when we describe someone who reacts in an overly emotional way or appears troubled emotionally. I want to redefine this word, because I believe that God is looking for some disturbed people. He is searching for men and women, students, and young adults who will allow him to disturb them by making them truly see the world in which we live— so disturbed that they will be compelled to do something about what they see. Most of us have grown up in a culture that promotes precisely the opposite approach. Parents tell their children, "Never talk about politics or religion; it makes people uncomfortable." And for the most part, we've obeyed this cultural edict. Instead of tackling uncomfortable topics, we talk about the latest TV reality show or the hot sports figure or the price of gasoline. Believers are just as guilty as nonbelievers! Even worse, we refuse to talk about the painful, disturbing subjects — child prostitution, child labor, rape, poverty, injustice, ethnic hatred, greed, materialism, environmental destruction, HIV/AIDS. These are disturbing topics. But if we're not disturbed by the world in which we live, we will be consumed with the trivial, the insignificant, and the temporary. We will spend our days pursuing all the wrong goals, living by the wrong measurement of success, evaluating our legacy by the wrong standard.
Jesus' words "Much is required from those to whom much is given" (Luke 12:48 NLT) began to reverberate inside my mind, taking their place alongside the disturbing images I had seen. I had been given so much—what was my responsibility in return? God clearly tells us that we are "to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with [our] God" (Micah 6:8). I began to wonder how to apply this truth to my life. How does becoming a seriously disturbed person affect the way I live?

At the end of each chapter, Mrs. Warren poses a question for the reader, another question to share with your reading partner and a website address to watch a podcast pertaining to the discussion. Each chapter is even more heart wrenching than the previous. She makes you want to DO something. Anything.

The pages are filled with anecdotes from her personal journey including two bouts with cancer, literally witnessing child prostitution take place and a woman dying of AIDS while laying on a piece of plastic. In spite of all the setbacks and real-life horror she experiences, she never loses her passion for the calling God has engraved on her heart.


An excerpt from the end:

"SOMEONE ONCE ASKED ME TO DEFINE CHRIS-TIAN-ITY IN ONE word, and after some reflection, I responded, "It all boils down to surrender." Everything I know about a personal relationship with Jesus Christ begins and ends with sur-render -- with saying yes to God. That tiny, simple word initiates an exhilarating, life-altering adventure that will take you places you never thought you'd go-- both literally and figuratively. "

Friday, July 3, 2009

Foodie Friday: Happy Independence Day



Hooray for the Red, White and Blue!! You know I had to do a recipe with these colors. I haven't tried this one but plan to whip it up tomorrow even though we're not going anywhere or having anyone over. I'm hoping that if I make it, an invitation may find its way to us. Wherever you're celebrating, have fun, be safe and God Bless America.

Strawberry-Blueberry Trifle




Custard:



  • 12 large egg yolks


  • 1/2 c. sugar


  • 1/3 cup cornstarch


  • salt


  • 2 c. heavy cream


  • 1 c. whole milk


  • 3 tsp. vanilla

Trifle:




  • 2 1/2 lb. strawberries, hulled and cut into quarters


  • 3/4 c. sugar


  • 3 T. orange juice


  • salt


  • 3/4 c. heavy cream


  • 3 T. powdered sugar


  • 1 tsp. vanilla


  • 24-36 ladyfingers


  • 3 c. blueberries




  1. Place a fine mesh strainer over a bowl and have another large bowl filled with ice water near stove.


  2. Make custard; In a large saucepan, whisk yolks, sugar, cornstarch and a pinch of salt until blended.


  3. In a medium pan, heat cream and milk to a boil. Stirring constantly, add a few tablespoons of cream mixture; gradually add remaining cream, whisking.


  4. Cook over medium-low heat, whisking until hot and slightly thickened but not boiling, about 20 minutes. Remove from heat, strain into bowl. Place bowl in ice bath; let cool, stirring occasionally, for 40 minutes. Stir in vanilla. Place plastic wrap directly on custard and refrigerate until cold.


  5. Make trifle: toss strawberries with sugar, orange juice and pinch of salt. Let stand while custard cools, stirring occasionally.


  6. Whip cream, powdered sugar and vanilla until firm peaks form. Fold one third into custard then remaining cream. Arrange half of ladyfingers in a 3-quart bowl. Top with half of strawberries, then half of custard and half of blueberries; repeat. Cover with plastic wrap; refrigerate for 3 hours.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Who's to blame?


I was offline for a couple days last week during many big news events. To make me even more of a neanderthal, our TV blew up too. Because of this I did not learn of Michael Jackson's death until Friday. I saw the headline on my homepage "Generation 'X' grows up." It was a great article about two celebrities who will forever be etched in our minds from the time period when we came of age: Michael and Farrah. What adolescent boy didn't have the poster or satin pillow of Miss Fawcett? What teenage girl didn't line up at the salon for her coveted feathered hairstyle? Did any of us not have the cassette tape of Thriller? (If you don't know what a cassette is, you're way too young to be reading this) :)


Of course I got sucked in to clicking on the next news piece and the next. They weren't about the news. They didn't even come close to remembering Mr. Jackson in a kind manner. They may have mentioned a sentence or two about his three surviving children. No, the focus of every article was on who was to blame for his untimely death. "Was it the cardiologist?"..... "Maybe the CPR attempt was botched."........ "He was injected with Demerol thirty minutes before he went into cardiac arrest."...... Why does there always have to be someone who was at fault? Why can't we just say "it was his time?" Is it because we just don't want to accept that sometimes there isn't an easy explanation? Or is it just that we can't come to terms with the reality that we really aren't in control? Does it make us face our own mortality with disbelief? For me, it's all of the above. Regardless of the autopsy results, God is the one "at fault" and He holds both of these beloved souls in his hands.


Rest in Peace, Michael and Farrah.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Foodie Friday

I love to try new recipes but don't do so very often. Mostly because my kids turn their noses up at anything that "looks weird". It gets so old. But when we have guests for dinner I relish in making them my "guinea pigs." Last weekend I broke out the "100 Chicken Recipes" cookbook and found this gem. For the kiddos, I poured some barbecue sauce on a couple of extra chicken breasts and everyone was happy.



Smoky Almond Chicken
  • 1/2 cup smoked almonds
  • 1 piece firm white bread torn in small pieces
  • 1/4 t. black pepper
  • 1/4 cup light sour cream
  • 1/2 cup bottled barbecue sauce (I use Sweet Baby Ray's)
  • 4 chicken breasts

In a food processor or chopper blend the almonds, bread and pepper. Pour onto waxed paper. Mix sour cream and 1 Tablespoon barbecue sauce in pie plate. Roll the chicken in the sour cream then the almonds. Place on cookie sheet and bake at 400 for 12-15 minutes. Serve with rest of the barbecue sauce. So easy and delicious!!

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Happy Belated Father's Day

Not to be redundant but I continued to peruse Quinn's poetry book and struck some more "gold". Because we were out of town, I completely missed posting anything on Father's Day in tribute to my sweet husband who also happens to be a fantastic dad. Apparently his son feels the same as evidenced by the poem below. I might need to pull this out again as a reminder to Quinn as we embark on the teen years in six short months and dad becomes a nerd for a while.

This is so darn sweet!


TREY


You dive into the swimming pool

Sweat after a long run

Love your beautiful family

Linger to do good for someone else

Drain all fears from my mind

Load up the car for a road trip

Applaud my accomplishments

Climb the North Twin

Protect me when I'm in danger

Imagine life in Heaven

Praise God in church

Ride the waves in Oregon

Complain about the economy and government

Launch yourself into the air while skiing

Come to my weekend soccer games

Enter the room in a good mood

Lock Christmas presents away from me and my brothers

Who would do anything to just open one



Monday, June 22, 2009

A boy who writes poetry?

Tonight I tackled the mound of papers that came home on the last day of school. Most of it made its way to the recycling bin but you can always count on a few finds that absolutely, positively need to go in the cedar chest (do people even have those anymore?) This little diddy from Quinn's sixth grade poetry book was just begging to be shared. Thanks for indulging me.

I AM
I am an athletic guy who loves soccer
I wonder what I will be when I grow up
I hear the falling waves crash against the coastal rocks
I see presents under the Christmas tree
I want to play professional soccer
I am an athletic guy who loves soccer
I imagine myself winning the World Cup
I feel that I have nothing to be scared of
I touch the soccer ball on a corner kick
I worry about the people who have to starve
I cry for the people that lose family members in the war
I am an athletic guy who loves soccer
I understand that the only way to know God is through Jesus Christ
I say that I'm a good brother
I dream to play professional soccer
I try to be the best I can
I hope to be a loving father like my dad
I am an athletic guy who loves soccer

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Economy Hour

Don't let the post title scare you. I will not be giving financial advice. "Economy Hour" is an event that occurs three times a year at the boys' school. If you're lucky enough, (or unlucky in my opinion) you'll can participate in both fourth and fifth grades. That is unless you get Mrs. R. for fourth grade. She is "old school" and thinks the whole things is unnecessary to learning at that age. My oldest had her and although he was crying when he heard the news, because of no "Economy Hour", she whispered: "you'll be so happy by the end of the year". She was right. Sorry. Major tangent.

Economy Hour is a little trading store of sorts. Each student is to make an item(s) to sell to his or her classmates at the store. Throughout the quarter they earn "economy bucks" by doing jobs in the classroom, displaying good behavior, etc. At the end of each quarter the "store" opens and they spend half of the time selling and the other half buying goods. The creativity and hard work is quite impressive. (I think once a year would suffice but no one asked me.) Nonetheless it's always a dilemma when the time rolls around to apply for the "business license." Shortly after the last store in March, Ian had already decided that he was going to make fuzzy flip flops and have Mimi help him since she would be visiting in May. Yay! No last minute trips to the store or my repeated mantra of "we will not be working on these the night before". Right.


The day before Mimi left, Ian came home and announced that Economy Hour was in two weeks! Yikes! Fortunately Mimi is a "can-do, problem solving" kind of grandma who kicked into high gear upon hearing the news. Before we knew it, the three of us were heading down the hill to the Dollar Store for flip flops and Jo-Ann's for "fun fur". Bless her heart. Mimi stayed up well past midnight knitting the fun fur (which is a total pain) pattern for Ian's ten pairs of flip flops. She finished up the next day and showed Ian how to sew the fur onto the straps and he was on his way to cashing in the big bucks.



Wait. There was one small problem. What about the boys? UGH! After I rolled my eyes, Ian quickly left the room and consulted Dad who then consulted "Google." Thank God for "Google." Ten minutes later my child was going door-to-door in search of dryer lint. Apparently the combination of the lint, in a cardboard eggshell carton, covered with melted paraffin is an excellent fire starter. Who knew? Problem solved. Wrong.




Ian walked in the following day and informed me that he couldn't do the fire starters because they were.........flammable. You've got to be kidding me??? Isn't everything flammable when it gets near a FLAME??? Gotta love public school. Safety over imagination and creativity. Always. I had to draw the line. Or at least Trey had to. He played phone tag with the principal for a couple days and they never connected. Ian decided to take matters into his own hands. (I love that about this kid!) While I was racking my brain for a new idea, he came home and told me "we can do fire starters now". I assumed that the two men had spoken and worked it all out. I said as much and Ian said "No, I saw him today and asked him myself and he said it was OK." Me: "You did? Did you tell your teacher?" Ian: "She was standing right there." You know what I'm thinking so I'm not even going to say it. Smile.




The proud proprietor of "Fuzzy Flips and Pyro Paks"