Don’t ever settle down.

Linking up with my favorite peeps today! The theme?

 

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It’s Friday. Good Friday, which as might know, is kind of a confusing name.

Last night, we took the boys to Maundy Thursday service (another confusing name – we Christians like to keep things all a kilter), and Red was very spiritual. Seven pm services tend to do that to him. He can get all quiet and sorta pensive.

It’s also possible he was dog-tired because earlier he was running about like a puppy on pixie sticks, but you know. I prefer spiritual.

Anyhow, Red was explaining what Maundy Thursday was all about, and then he launched right into Good Friday. (If you don’t know, Maundy Thursday it’s a commemoration of the Last Supper. Or, if you are Red, Maundy Thursday is about the Last Supper and ALSO grape juice! Grape juice in those little plastic cups! We NEVER drink grape juice at home so there is GRAPE JUICE COMING. Also a very dry small cracker thing. WHICH GETS TO GET WASHED DOWN WITH GRAPE JUICE OH SWEET NECTAR.)

And yes, I have just basically confessed that my sweet boy regards communion as a spiritual snack time of sorts. It’s a process, people.

So. Anyhow, Good Friday.

Red is trying to understand why Good Friday has any sort of Goodness in it. He says, “Jesus did not go into Good Friday all… ‘Hooray!’ Ok? It’s not GOOD. It’s TERRIFYING.”

Quick backstory: We are in line to go up and take communion while this conversation is occurring so it’s all very whispered and there’s a lot of “Shh-shing” in the background.

So, then Red is quiet for minute and I can literally SEE the little tiny synapses firing away, up inside his little Red head. And then, he blurts out:

“BUT IT’S SO GOOD. IT WAS GOOD FOR US. AND HE’S ALL ABOUT US, SO THAT’S IT! THAT’S WHY IT’S GOOD! I GET IT NOW!”

You know, we all get to get them, these little God moments where God comes up besides us and smiles gently and then WHACKS us UPSIDE THE HEAD with a God moment, because we needed it. And it doesn’t hurt, really. I mean, it can make us a little dizzy, but  it’s just really cool and kinda a moment to shout about.

But, back to Maundy Thursday – where we were supposed to be sort of contemplative and quiet and pondering Gethsemane and sad, and here’s Red, completely rocking out his God moment for all the world to see. And hear.

I wanted to tell him to Settle Down. I did. But instead, I just hugged on him and smiled to the little old lady in line with us, and I realized something:

There is no settling in this faith of ours. It’s big and changing and it breaks our world apart. It HAS to. And today, our world is to break. And Sunday? It will break even MORE. And it’s happy and it’s sad and it’s terrifying and it’s good. 

It’s so good. Thank you for Sunday, my Jesus. Thank you for being so brave. Thank you for loving us so deeply.  Whatever in the world would I do without you?

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Provide.

Linking up with my favorite Friday people today at Five Minute Friday. The theme?

Setting: the dinner table. AKA the military zone.

The characters:
Blonde – AKA I Think He Eats Air
Red – AKA He Changes His Mind About Things. A Lot.
Momsie – AKA General Momsie

Momsie sets down a cheesy chicken burrito in front of both boys.
And… the first shot was fired.

Blonde: It’s too cheesy.

Me: You don’t like cheese?

Blonde: I do like cheese. But not when it’s gooey.

Me: It’s melted. It’s gooey. You devour pizza so very often, and it has gooey written all over it.

Blonde: I don’t like gooey when it’s mixed with chicken.

Me: So, it’s the chicken. The chicken is the culprit.

Red: I like chicken! But this chicken is too soft.

Me: IT’S SHREDDED CHICKEN. THE CHICKEN HAD NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER.

Red: Can’t I just eat blueberries and six pickles for dinner?

Me: Red, you ate THIS EXACT meal two days ago and you loved it. And yes, readers I am now admitting that I feed them on repeat. They LOVED it two days ago. I was hoping for a return to greatness. And also, the husband has been out of town for a week on a business trip and it’s been pretty basic around here. I did, however, make home made ranch dressing for them to dip their teensy tiny carrots into, so I am winning in some way here, right? Right?

Red: Wow.

Blonde: Our mother feels guilt about a lot of things. Her ranch dressing is a way to absolve that guilt.

Red: Wow.

Blonde: So, can I just eat tortilla chips? There’s corn in there. Healthy.

Red: This chicken and cheesy stuff is too creamy. I don’t like creamy.

Me: I don’t know who you are anymore.

As God is my witness, someday I will make a meal that they both like at the same time.

I provide for my children. Every day, I make horrible, awful, creamy cheesy things. It’s what I do.
It’s what we do.

Let’s face it. I’m tired.

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This is a List of Things That Make me Tired.

By: Momsie

  1. People who just say, “I’m just sayin'” at the end of an obnoxious statement, thinking that somehow “I’m just sayin” makes it not obnoxious. I’m just sayin.
  2. Instagram pictures that involve abs and something called an Acai bowl.
  3. Commercials during football games. Beer and Viagra. On repeat. It confuses my children.
  4. When Kansas City Royals players just LEAVE us for OTHER teams simply because of MONEY I mean where is your LOYALTY. You must STAY WITH US FOREVER.
  5. The fact that the Royals players make so much money and that they are actually in a place where they think like this: “Well, I make fifty kajillion here, but over there I could make sixty kajillion so it’s actually a negotiating point, that last ten kajillion,” where I am thinking my head would explode if one kajillion just sauntered by and just waved at me.
  6. I need to get off my Royals kick. Sorry guys. I love you, Royals. Hugs!

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7. When my student turns in an entire paper he cut and pasted off of the internet and then insists that somehow he had no idea how that could have possibly happened. (True story. Just happened today. I’m still processing.)

8. Those shirts without the shoulders? They just make me feel cold.

9. When my post starts to double-space without permission and now I’m stuck in double-space land for some reason.

10. Whenever I go a little crazy and say something like, “Hey kids! Let’s make these cookies/craft/happy family project together. It’ll be fun!” because then, within about five minutes, it is so not fun. It’s all a conspiracy.

11. Any sort of situation that involves me calling customer service in any capacity for whatever reason. It doesn’t matter how good I’m feeling, how great my hair is, how wonderful the weather is outside, once I start pushing 1-800 on my phone my life loses all meaning and I no longer feel the will to breathe.

12. When anyone, anywhere, says “I am shook.” Only Beyonce can say that. If you learn anything from this post; if there is any sort of takeaway at all, it’s this: Don’t mess with Beyonce.

13. When I take the car into for an oil change and they ask me if I need my fluids flushed. I NEVER KNOW. I NEVER KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS EXACTLY AND IT FEELS TOO PERSONAL FOR THEM TO BE ASKING ME THAT.

14. When I make homemade macaroni and cheese with butter and cream and all sorts of momma’s love and goodness, and my son says he doesn’t like it because it’s “slippery.” I just nod and tell him, “That was what I was going for, son. Slippery.”

15. Moms who bring homemade cake pops in the shape of ALL the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to school for their child’s birthday. I love you, moms. I do. You go, with your baking skills and knowledge of pop culture. I’m just gonna sit over here with a cup of coffee and my Little Debbie.

16. This post. It just goes on and on. It’s tiring.

17. People who say things like: “The trick to getting up at 5 am to work out is to sleep in your workout clothes.” Like somehow, sleeping in a running bra will make me more vigorous in the morning. Instead, I just feel… constrained. And thus, more grumpy. Plus, I slide all around in the sheets because spandex and that is not proper bedtime etiquette. Unless you’re into that sort of thing. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

18. People who actually try to get away with saying, “Nudge nudge wink wink.”

19. When one of my wee children approaches me and says, “Mom? Do you want to discuss Minecraft? I gotta free hour and a powerpoint presentation here. Have a seat.”

20. Nothing about you. Nothing ever ever about any of you poor darlings, my sweet readers, who actually made it through the randomness that is this post.

 

Today’s post was brought to you by:

  1. Not enough coffee.
  2. Grumpiness and kinda a total feeling of disbelief due to #7.
  3. Kate Motaung and her Five Minute Friday wonderfulness. And yes, today’s theme was:

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Ultimate Chicken Horse

 

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So, there’s this game that my kids like to play called Ultimate Chicken Horse.

This is the world we live in. Ultimate Chicken Horse. It’s a thing, people. And as much as I would LIKE to try and explain how this game works to you, gentle reader, I realize two things:

  1. It’s called Ultimate Chicken Horse. Where does one even start with that.
  2. No adult ever really wants anyone to ever explain a game to him or her. I mean, really. Your son wants to discuss Minecraft? That’s your cue to get explosive diarrhea. Every time. I know how this works.

Let’s just say… it involves farm animals and a raccoon and something called a “Party Box.” It sounds like something that would air on late night Showtime, in my opinion. But, let us proceed.

I experienced Ultimate Chicken Horse, in my own household, Sunday night. And so, let me tell you the story. (Please, really, it won’t take long and I haven’t posted in ages and this is the best I’ve got):

Game players:

Blonde: wee one, moaning on couch because he has horrible Chicken Pox virus that he should NOT have because we DID vaccinate him, so don’t email me.

Red: wee one number two. Sucker for all sorts of punishment.

Hubs: Tall, older one who should really know better.

Cat: gray assorted.

Cat: white assorted.

Dog: neurotic type.

Me: angry and tired. But what is new.

 

So, let’s begin the game, shall we?

BLONDE: MOANING.

ME CALLING FROM KITCHEN: WOULD YOU LIKE A SHAKE?

BLONDE: NO.

ME: JUICE?

BLONDE: NO.

ME: SOME WARM MILK, PERHAPS?

BLONDE: NO.

ME: A SMOOTHIE?

BLONDE: NO.

ME: HOW ABOUT A SHOT OF TEQUILA?

RED: MOM. MOOOOOM. MOOMMMM!

ME: RUNNING TO BATHROOM, RIGHT PAST HUSBAND WHO IS “DOING SOMETHING,” ON THE COMPUTER SO IS UNABLE TO HEAR.

ME: WHAT?!

RED: MY WOUND! MY WOUUUUUND! IT HURTS! IT HUUUURTS! (Red is in the bath. Red also has half-inch scrape on tummy and likes to repeat himself when dizzy with pain). THE PAIN! THE HORROR! THE PAIN! THE HORROR!

ME: WELL GET OUT OF THE BATH THEN. OH, BUT I’M SO SORRY YOU ARE HURTING. BUT NOT REALLY BUT I’M JUST SAYING THAT BECAUSE THE PARENTING BOOKS SAY EMPATHY IS THE THING SO YES, SORRY.

RED: I CANNA GET OUT OF THE BATH THE PAIN IS TOO MUCH. MOVEMENT WILL KILL ME. SO WILL SITTIN HERE. AYE.

ME: YOU ARE USING THAT SCOTTISH ACCENT THING YOU DO WHEN YOU ARE FREAKING OUT. SHALL WE PAINT YOUR FACE BLUE?

RED: NO JOKING. THERE IS NO JOKING WHEN THE PAIN IS NIGH.

BLONDE: MOMMMMMMM.

ME: WAT

BLONDE: I COULD PERHAPS HAVE A MOUNTAIN DEW. WITH A TWIST OF LIME.

ME: NO. SODA IS NOT ON THE TABLE UNLESS PUKING.

BLONDE: I COULD PUKE.

ME: YOU NEVER MENTIONED PUKING BEFORE.

BLONDE: I COULD THO.

RED: MOOOOM. I DINNA KNOW IF I CAN TAKE IT MUCH LONGER. BUT HERE I WILL STAY, TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT.

CAT, ASSORTED GRAY: I THINK NOW IS THE TIME TO PEE IN THE CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM.

CAT, ASSORTED WHITE: I SHALL WATCH.

CAT, ASSORTED GREY: NOW I WILL START SCRATCHING AT THE FLOOR AS IF TO COVER UP THE CAT URINE BECAUSE CLEARLY I AM AN IDIOT.

ME: GOOD GOD WHAT ELSE?

DOG, NEUROTIC TYPE: HERE I AM! I SHALL-

ME: RHETORICAL QUESTION, DOG. GO OUTSIDE.

DOG: I AM NEVER TAKEN SERIOUSLY. THEY WILL RUE THE DAY.*

BLONDE: MOM? MOOOOOOM?

ME: WHAT?

BLONDE: NOTHING. JUST CHECKING THAT YOU WERE STILL LISTENING. MY THROAT IS STILL AWFUL. SO CAN I HAVE SOME HARD POINTY CHIPS AND SALSA?

ME: UH IF YOU HAVE A SORE THROAT THEN SALSA MIGHT- OH JUST FORGET IT. HERE. MAYBE THE CHILIS WILL BURN THE VIRUS OUT OF YOU.

RED: WHY IS HE GETTING CHIPS? I WANNA CHIPS! HE GETS THE BURNING AND I DON’T. IT’S NOT FAIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRR.

ME: GET OUT OF THE $##* TUB. YOU CANNA EAT CHIPS IN THE TUB. NOW I’M DOING THE SCOTTISH THING.

HUBS: HONEY? OH HONEEYYYYYYY?

ME: WHAT.

HUBS: I HAVE THIS FILE FOLDER HERE WITH ALL OUR TAX APPRAISALS FOR THE HOUSE AND I AM DOING OUR TAXES BUT REALLY WHAT I AM DOING FIRST IS INPUTTING THEM ALL IN A SPREADSHEET THAT I WILL THEN FORGET ABOUT BUT BY GOD I HAVE TO DO THIS RIGHT NOW AND SO I AM WONDERING, WE HAVE ALL THE APPRAISALS EXCEPT FOR 2014. WHERE IS THE TAX APPRAISAL FOR 2014? FOR THE HOUSE? BECAUSE IT’S NOT HERE IN THIS FILE AND RIGHT NOW I REALLY NEED THIS. LIKE RIGHT NOW.

ME: YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE TAX APPRAISAL FOR 2014 IS?

HUBS: I NEED TO KNOW. RIGHT NOW.

ME: YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE TAX APPRAISAL FOR 2014 IS? RIGHT NOW?

HUBS:…

ME: IT’S IN YOUR BUM. WHY DON’T YOU GO LOOK FOR IT.

And that is how I won Ultimate Chicken Horse.

 

*DOG HAS SO FAR NOT DONE ANYTHING TO MAKE ME RUE ANYTHING. SWEET BOY.

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Date Night – TBT!

Here’s a little Throw Back Thursday from February of last year. As the Day O Love approaches, I am already hunting down the tippy plastic cups… it’s a great tradition.

Formal dress required. Even on the cats.

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Date Night

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Last Saturday night romance was in the air. It was intense, y’all. It was like we were on the Titanic and I was all Queen of the World, and then I got to make out with Leonardo DiCaprio, not long before I disallowed him room on my totally huge raft in the freezing North Atlantic. Very romantic. And yet, our evening was warmer.

Also, I would never make out with Leo. Nope. I am married, y’all. My husband completes me.

Of course, Leo didn’t grace us with our presence, but we had this blurry pic of another dinner guest:

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There were roses. There were chocolates. Earlier that day, the husband let me take a nap, which is the universal, married I Hope I Get Lucky Valentine. But that is another post for another day.

There were also two small boys who had reservations with us for a night of fine dining. I  informed them that they had to come to dinner in ties. And they reacted as if I had asked them to lop off both arms, and then try to attach their ties.

They were informed, in a heavy French accent (I had to take on an accent. It freaks them out and I get to pretend I’m Catherine Deneuve.) “No tie? No food. Zees is Chez Momsie. Dress code, mes bebes.” They sighed heavily, with American accents, clipped their ties onto their Star Wars t-shirts, and showed up at 6:30 pm on the dot. Right on time.

We had a very swanky affair at our house on Valentines Day, and a tradition was born. I printed out menus (thank you, bad clip art!) Macaroni and cheese was offered as an appetizer. I poured the sparkling cider into tiny tippy glasses and no one spilled anything.

 

It was a Valentines miracle.

We ate strawberries and whip cream, the really fancy kind that you squirt out of a can. I offered table-side service for this, as I offered a shot of the stuff in the mouth to each patron. This was a real showstopper.

And we talked about why we loved each other.

“I love Blonde because he shows me how to play Legos,” says Red. He’s grinning like a maniac. This is all mushy and stuff, which is kind of right up his alley. His smile nearly lifts him out of the chair. He lifts his fizzy little glass with panache. “AND I LOVE THIS FANCY DRINK!” he yells. Evidently he thinks we are all in the other room when he speaks, because the bubbles in the drink had evidently made him quite giddy.

Blonde, the wisened 7 year old, has a bit of a tougher time with the mushy business. He is, in all walks of life, less forthcoming with the mush.

“I love Red because…” We all lean in a little.

“Because he is my brother.”

And there it is. The greatest law there is. We love because we are family. We love because we simply have no choice. We are for each other.

My boys are growing older and finding their own friends, their own ways they want to spend an afternoon. They are, however, still pretty inseparable. And what I have told them, almost weekly, is that they, as brothers, must have each other’s backs. They are the ones going to be left when the friends leave, when the family goes, when we get dementia and go into the home, your brother will be the only one left.

(I didn’t really go into the last part with them as I didn’t really want to stop and have to explain ‘dementia’ because depressing. Also, the one other time I sprang this word on them they kept thinking that I was saying, ‘Philadelphia.” Confusing.)

(As a side note to the side note: This whole dementia thing? Really possible because we had kids late in life and when they graduate from high school I’ll be using a walker and won’t be able to see or hear the thing because I will be OLD, y’all. I WAS AROUND BEFORE EMAIL. That old.)

But I digress.

We spent the rest of the evening looking up the bible verses that the husband had put on their Star Wars Valentines. The husband is super spiritual that way. I just shot whip cream at ’em. But he wins in the Jesus department.

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And then we all tried to massacre each other with a really cut throat game of Go Fish.

And that, my friends, is what I call the most romantic evening I have had in a long time.

I am wondering if it competes with Leo’s?

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Surrender

Linking up with my favorite place today – Five Minute Friday.

Today’s theme?

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When I first decided to walk with Jesus, instead of just waving to him from across the room, I had a few life-changing things that happened.

Ok, that’s a totally wrong. All the life-changing things happened. Like, all OVER the place. But one of  the most immediately obvious was my taste in music.

Dana, Before Walking With Jesus: Christian music on the radio? Isn’t that just Carmen and Amy Grant? It’s dork-city.

Dana After Walking With Jesus: Christian music on the radio? It must be on, all the time, twenty-four seven, dorky or no. I am praising my saviourrrrr all the day lonnnnnnnnnnng!

Still don’t like Amy Grant music though. Sorry, Amy. You are a wonderful person.

Jars of Clay, Chris Tomlin, Watermark, Phil Keaggy… I loved them. Still do. I think I even bought a few of those WOW! ALL CHRISTIAN! cd’s because I needed a bit of variety and their plastic covers were so bright and dorky. I found out something. Walking with Jesus meant I could finally stop trying to be so darn cool about everything and embrace my inner dork, and you know what? The DORK IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE.

And so, one day, I found Sara Groves.

And her music cracked me open, and then put me back together, on a daily basis. I own every one of her albums. We played her song, “Fly” as “our song” at our wedding. I reference her song, “Toy Packaging” every Christmas for those who need to know the struggle is real, with the toy packaging.

I just love her. She is my best-friend musician that I have never met. She writes songs about marriage, and fights with husbands, and family, and the bible, and all of it is threaded throughout with a voice that is strong in faith but still has a lot of questions.

This is me. I have a strong-ish faith. But I have a lot of questions. Like, a LOT.

Long ago, before marriage, before recovery (I am a sober momma, because me and wine broke up long ago and that’s a whole other story), before children, before a lot of things, my heart was broken into a million pieces by life and love that was lost. I am pretty sure that’s a thing that has happened to all of us – heartache so profound it threatens to scoop us up and throw us out with the trash. It’s that hard.

I would lay on my bed, feeling tears drip warm down the sides of my face and pool up by my ears, too tired to wipe them away. Sometimes my dog Norman would jump up there with me and snuffle the tears away. He was such a good pupper.

And I would listen to Sara’s song, Remember Surrender. 

You see, I was walking with Jesus, yes. But I was still hurting. And this song seemed to understand that. And with each listen, I got a little better.

Just so you know, there were ther things helped me get better:

Reading the bible. (Walking with Jesus now, duh)

Prayer. (Double duh)

Reading just about anything by Melody Beattie.

Going on long runs with Norman even when I didn’t want to (He always did, so he would drag me. We made it work).

Talking to friends. DUH.

Crying with those friends. And then praying some more. (Quadruple duh. And thank you, friends, for always listening. And always offering to pray with me. And gripping onto my hands hard while you did so, so hard that it almost kinda hurt but in a good way. I’m looking at you, Katie.)

And so, I would like to share this song with you today. If you walk with Jesus, but your heart is still sore and sad, and you just want something so badly, but it can’t be yours… Listen and get a little better.

This version has some pics with the video. They’re a little dorky. But, as you know, I like the dorky.

Hello Silence My Old Friend

Linking up with my people today at Five Minute Friday.

The theme?

 

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Guys? Do you know why silence is an OLD friend? Because it had children. And they proceeded to beat ever-lovin treble out of it. And now it’s really tired.

The other day, my husband and I were in the car, with the kids in the back seat, as they usually are.

The radio was blaring static because hubs was searching for his football game and, as we all know, we must first listen to a lot of static before we alight upon it. It’s just the rule. Also, once the golden ticket is achieved and we actually CAN hear a football game then we must make sure to turn it UP really LOUD because it is SO important. As football games always are.

And, in the back seat, the boys were discussing something.

Oh, scratch that. They were just yelling at each other.

Meanwhile, back in the front passenger seat, I was slinking slooooowly down, wondering if there were some of those headphones available… the ones that those dudes that help planes land wear? What are those things called? I dunno. I CAN’T REMEMBER BECAUSE THE NOISE IS KILLING MY SYNAPSES.

Also, there was a possibility I had a sinus headache because allergies have it out for me. And everything is awful.

And… I was a little hungry. And tired. So, you know, I was HALT except I am NEVER LONELY I WONDER WHY.

(For those of you who wonder: “HALT” is an acronym that I learned in my recovery circles. It stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired, and basically? If you are over two of these at a time? It’s apocolyptic at a def con level 500. Maybe 600. You get what I mean.)

So, I think I might have yelled.

I ADDED to the noise. Yep. Because that’s logical.

And then, we played the Quiet Game, which is just the BEST game in the whole world.

And I stared out at the fields and the trees and breathed in deep. I used to live in silence all the time. My house was … just for me. I had a dog, but he didn’t talk much. I had a cat, but you know, they’re ninjas with fur.

I used to sit and read, in a bed by a window with a huge tree outside… and sometimes a sweet little birdie would come and alight there and sing to me, sweetly, as I read for hours.

And then, I would go up and get a snack and I WOULDN’T HAVE TO SHARE IT WITH ANYBODY.

And, as I stared out the window, at the clouds skudding across the skyline and the sun that hit the leaves and set them aglow, all pretty and fall and glorious, I heard snickering from the back seat.

And then… someone farted.

And lo, the Quiet Game was all over. And with it? The sweet perfume of my past.

But, I just didn’t mind. I belong right here, wedged in a car with all the windows down and now is REALLY loud because massive jets of wind, but you know. I belong here. My hair is now a tangled mess and both kids are basically yapping in the back seats like puppies on crack.

And it’s the best. It is so freaking loud, but it is just crazy good.

 

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