Been in my head...

These lyrics have been on my mind a lot over the past few days:

Atheism is the wedge under the foundation of our faith

Trying to topple our relationship with Christ

When the fool says in his heart 'There is no God'

He rejects the truth God painted on the canvas of the night.

Atheism has never created an artistic masterpiece,

Never healed a fatal disease or calmed a fear.

Atheism has never still given answers to our existence,

Peace to a troubled mind, or even dried a tear.

For it's GOD Who created heaven and earth

And flung the stars in space

And breathed in the handful of dirt that became a man.

It's GOD Who sits on the circle of the earth

And measures the mountains in a scale

And holds the seven seas in the palm of His hand.

It's GOD Who sent His only begotten Son to the cross of Calvary

To save our souls from Hell and the grave.

It's GOD Who creates, GOD Who delivers, GOD Who heals

And GOD Who is worthy of a thundrous ovation of praise!"

Finally a room I can love

Slowly, very, very slowly, we are re-doing each room in our little old house. When we bought our little 1940's bungalow seven years ago, it was habitable, and while not the ugliest decor we had seen it certainly wasn't my taste. And I didn't even know what my taste was. I'm still not sure, because as soon as I figure it out, it changes. At first, I wanted everything tan and red. It took me many paint jobs to find the "right tan" (I think it was called "Dune"). Dune went everywhere. Walls and trim in the kitchen and living room. And I added a dark red wall in the kitchen and cranberry colored curtains in the living room.

Well, after a few years of "Dune", I got bored with it. And the red. Everything was just too dark. So, I painted again. Paint, I am quickly learning, is the poor decorator's best friend. I will (and have) painted just about anything.

Being the wise person that I am, I knew I'd probably change my mind about accent colors after about 30 seconds. So from the neutrals I opted for a grayish color called "Roman Column", which has now covered every inch of "Dune", except for the trim which is now white. I like it much better, as it's much brighter and makes our little house feel bigger.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to remove all traces of tan and red, since things like furniture, rugs and drapes are a little more expensive, but thanks to Ikea, those things are on the list. This is probably a good time to mention that I heart Ikea for all things home-related. And their salmon meal in the cafe. Delish.

So while the living room will remain in decorating limbo until I save up some money and my children destroy what we have beyond repair, the kitchen is well on it's way to being DONE. I now love my kitchen. Which is odd because up until about a year ago I loathed my kitchen and thought surely it would never change due to cost. But I got creative and managed to change everything on a very (VERY VERY) small budget. Like, next to nothing. I'm not kidding. It does my heart good not to have pink countertops anymore. I painted them black. Yes, you heard me right. And they are awesome now. So now, when I'm sitting in my living room casting evil glances at the red-filled rug on the floor, I can glance into the kitchen and see this:


And this view calms me, especially when I forget that around the corner there are dozens of dishes waiting for me on the counter.

My advice to any new homeowner/extremely poor/decorator wannabe is to...all right, I have no advice because I'm really not that great of a decorator. But I can attest to the power of paint. And Ikea.

And there will be no photos of the bathroom anytime soon.

It Ain't Easy Bein' Two

My dear son, whom we affectionately refer to as "Thing Two", has entered that beautiful stage of life where one leaves behind the adorable sweetness of babyhood and enters a world that I am convinced inspired the movie "The Exorcist". He is my second son, so one would THINK that I was prepared for this stage. My firstborn, (Thing One), was by no means a treat at this age. He inherited his mother's stubborn streak and his father's sensitive streak, so you can imagine how delightful he was at two. But this one, he tricked me. He stayed in his "sweet baby" stage much longer than his elder brother did. He turned two without throwing tantrums, yelling "NO!" in my face, or launching toys into the air forcing parental units to always keep their hands up in self defense. I naively thought that perhaps Thing Two was just an easier child than his counterpart, and I wouldn't have to face those long months of emotional turmoil (my own and his).

Yeah. Right.

It's as if those extra months of baby sweetness that I got were his plot to lull me into a sense of confidence in my mothering skills. And then, WHAM. Thing Two has now become a swirling ball of conflicting emotions, vacillating between hyperactive giggles and wailing at the top of his lungs. And he's quite a tease. He will pick on anyone available, usually Thing One or the dog.

Today has been a special day for Thing Two. Last night, we set up "The Bunkbeds of Doom". Our eldest nearly had a coronary over the wonderful-ness of the bunk beds. He's been asking for them since he learned of their existence. Naturally, being the oldest, he gets the top bunk for now and spent a pleasant evening using his flashlight to make his glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars shine with brilliance. Thing Two, however, has made it his life's ambition to be on the top bunk. There are several problems with this, the main one being that he tends to exit furniture head first (on purpose). So we took the ladder off the bed and told our five year old to climb up without it, which was no problem for him. There, we thought. We are smart parents. Now Thing Two will stay safely on the ground. Meanwhile, Thing Two was thinking, "Nice try", and in no time mastered climbing to the top on his own, despite repeated interference from alert parents. I'm expecting a trip to the emergency room any time.

We also had an interesting lunch. Between the time change and the bunk beds, Thing Two has been sleeping far too little in the past couple weeks. And today, his foolish parents decided to go out to lunch with extended family. And we also foolishly chose a sit down restaurant. Thing Two took issues with several things: the high chair we squeezed his chubby body into, and the long wait for his food. Everything was fine for awhile, as he was distracted by the blue balloon tied to his seat. After about twenty minutes, exhaustion and hunger said to his two year old brain, "Enough waiting. You must scream now." So he did. It was a noisy restaurant, but we still got some death glares. Those always amuse me. You know when people start staring at a child-in-tantrum in public that they either 1) have no children or 2) have only female children. It's not that only boy toddlers freak out, but I'm convinced that girl ones do it less in public, only because of the reactions I have gotten from parents who only had girls. Boy toddlers are a special brand of...fun. And to tell you honestly, I never notice young children freaking out in public. It's sort of become my default background music, sort of like a pilot grows accustomed to the hum of jet engines. Anyway, we ended up having to flee the restaurant, which is something anyone with a (male) toddler has probably done at least once.

I guess we can't just stay in our home until he turns three (or if he's like his brother, four). And I'm trying to remember that this is just a phase. Surely, I can recall the hours of mental anguish and praying I did with Thing One, who now is starting to resemble a functioning member of society. It's so easy to focus on the now instead of remembering that each stage of life comes with trials and blessings. And all the embarrassing moments of public parental scrutiny sorta fade into fuzziness when I hear in broken toddler-ese "Lah-loo, Mommy." (Translation: Love you, Mommy.)

Get Ready World

I've decided I'm going to blog more. Aren't you excited? Maybe I could even become a "blogger", ya know, the kind that has daily updates, and photoshopped photos, and ads and a million followers like Ree Drummond. Nevermind that I can't even get my dishes done daily. There are serious things going on in my head that I MUST SHARE or it will be the death of me. Like today, I was shopping, and I kid you not, I had a blog post running in my head about what I was doing. Is this a sign of mental illness? Please tell me I'm not the only writer who "writes" about stupid things in her head all day. A lot of times, these brilliant essays never get written down, let alone posted, and that is such a shame. Technology has afforded our society a way to record every mundane thought we have, and it's a travesty that I'm not taking advantage of that. So this is my announcement (warning?) to the three people who read my blog to get ready for some serious blogging. Although, you should know, I suffer from perpetual laziness and I tend to lose interest in my projects pretty fast. So...maybe not. Or maybe. Who knows? Now, if you'll excuse me, the dishes await. Or maybe some more internet browsing. That's just how I live my life.

Pizza Rolls and Mints

One of my earliest memories is of my Grandmother. I must have been about two years old. I remember waking up in the crib in her spare bedroom (the piano room) and calling for my mom. Grandma came. I remember the sweet tone of her words, the smell of her perfume and the happiness I felt as she lifted me out of the crib.

Going to Grandma and Grandpa's house was always something I looked forward to. It was never a perfunctory visit. My sisters and I eagerly anticipated pulling into the driveway of the little red house on Southport Road. Grandpa would be out in the yard or barn, tinkering with an old car or mower or playing basketball. Grandma would be in the kitchen awaiting our arrival.

I'll admit, as a child, my love for Grandma was "encouraged" by her spoiling. As soon as we got through the door she'd be smothering us with hugs and insisting we turn on cartoons and eat ice cream. Oh, the food. As an adult, I probably wouldn't like it as much as I did then. Grandma had a huge freezer that was always FULL of microwavable junk food and popsicles. This was before our family had a microwave, so for the extent of our visit, I would pig out on pizza rolls, fudgecicles, french fries and glazed donuts. And pop. LOTS of pop. My poor parents.

When we got a little older, my sisters and I would take turns staying at Grandma and Grandpa's alone for a week during the summer. I remember the first time I stayed alone. I admit, I spent the first hour after my family drove away stealing into the bathroom and shedding some tears. I would have been mortified for Grandma and Grandpa to know I was crying. I was kind of a private, awkward kid. They never said a word, though I'm sure they noticed that I kept leaving the room and would come back with red eyes. By dinnertime though, I was comfortable. Grandma won me over with her famous spoiling. And that week was so much fun. All of her Grandma love was focused on me. She took me shopping, bought me toys and clothes, fed me constantly, let me watch whatever I wanted on tv. I spent hours playing outside in the huge yard and woods or exploring the treasures I'd find in boxes in her attic or "utility room". I'd scour her photo albums and books. I'd write ghost stories (something about that house and those woods inspired ghost stories). I'd go to church with them and she'd give me a whole roll of mints for the service. They took me out to eat and swimming. It was bliss.

And underneath all that initial attraction of spoiling, I got to know my Grandma during those trips. She'd tell me stories from her childhood, of her parents and brothers and sisters. When I was a teenager, I wanted to hear of how she'd met Grandpa in her teens. I was sure I'd met the man I was going to marry when I was thirteen and hearing about a romance that began in youth gave me hope that my love would make it to adulthood. (I was right.) She would encourage me to memorize passages of Scripture (there may have been monetary reward involved). She'd make me laugh with her sarcastic banter with Grandpa or her practical jokes, or the way she'd pretend to be ditzy when we explained our music or tv shows to her. She was not above pulling a downright dirty prank, like sneaking up behind the rocking chair when I was in it and jerking it backwards suddenly so I screeched like a banshee, or setting off the smoke alarm and hollering "Fire! Fire!" (Okay, that last one was in response to a prank we'd pulled on her. Guess the apples don't fall far from the tree.) There just wasn't a way to not like Grandma. She'd pull you in, make you feel like the most important person in the world, do whatever she needed to make you comfortable, all the while making you laugh.

It's been a couple months now since Grandma went home to Jesus. I know she was ready. Life for her here was getting more and more difficult. I remember a few years back when we were visiting, she showed me a picture of her brothers and wept that her lifelong friends and family were all dying. Then we lost Grandpa, a heartbreak that she would relive over and over thanks to Alzheimer's. I'm grateful for the time we had with her. I get choked up when I think of her holding our babies, kissing them and playing with them, even when she couldn't remember their names or which grandchild they belonged to. She just exuded love and warmth. And now she's home. She's not sick. Her mind is whole. She knows exactly where her husband is. And she's with her Savior.

Not a day goes by when I don't think about John and Nellie Hubble. I may have "adjusted" to them no longer being here, but that doesn't mean that I don't carry them with me throughout the rest of my life. In the weeks after Grandma's funeral, my husband and I had many conversations about my grandparents. My heart was so touched when my husband said "Let's be just like them someday."

I can think of no greater way to honor them.

My Reading Pyramid

I've dissected my reading into a handy, inspired-by-the-government's-food-pyramid pyramid. Because I'm weird. And I like to make lists. And I like to do book reports. However, I don't have a pyramid graphic. So you'll have to use your imagination.

Grains: These are the things I read to keep my interest in reading alive--things that are easily consumed and interesting, like blogs, facebook notes, wikipedia articles, and fanfiction. Grainy Faves: thepionoeerwoman.com, gossamer.org (beware: only geeks who like X-Files go here), kazooisms.blogspot.com, Mandy's blog, Jenny's blog, Dad's site, and Marissa's blog.

Vegetables: These are the things I have to read, whether I like it or not. They are generally good for me, but a little bitter going down. These include bills, bank statements, insurance policies, and 'Your Books Are About To Be Due' e-mails from the library. I would also include non-fiction in this category, although there are some that I do like (people can like vegetables, right?). Some non-fiction "healthy reads" I like are Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey, A Praying Life by Paul Miller, and others by Max Lucado, Beth Moore, Phillip Yancey, James Macdonald and Chip Ingram.

Fruit: Stuff that's good for me AND sweet. Things I read that make me feel like an intellectual to some extent. I like biographical fiction, and Nancy Moser is an excellent writer in that field. Some of hers include Just Jane, a novel about Jane Austin, Mozart's Sister (wonder who that could be about?) and Washington's Lady about yes, Martha Washington. I also include classics in this category. I'm trying to read more of those to compensate for all the "sweets" I read. Currently I'm working on To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I've enjoyed works by Charlotte and Emily Bronte, Jane Austin, Charles Dickens, Louisa May Alcott, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Pearl S. Buck and L.M. Montgomery in the past.

Dairy: Oh, do I love dairy-reads. These are the books I get fat on. These reads generally stay with me a bit after I read them too (like an aftertaste--are you enjoying all my food analogies?). Most often, my dairy reads are secular books that are well written and for whatever reason stay with me. All time dairy faves: The Twilight Series (Stephenie Meyer), The Harry Potter Series (J.K. Rowling), The Time Traveler's Wife (Audrey Niffeneggar) Lake of Dead Languages & The Ghost Orchid (Carol Goodman), The Wedding & True Believer (Nicholas Sparks), A Painted House, The Summons & The Last Juror (John Grisham), Four and Twenty Blackbirds (Cherie Priest), Fear Nothing, Sole Survivor and False Memory (Dean Koontz), The Lovely Bones (Alice Seibold).

Meats: The Good Stuff. The books I have to chew on for awhile. The ones that teach me something while I'm being entertained. The main meat course is the Bible. It's like the savory steak of reading. I don't really have a favorite book or story from the Bible, because that's like comparing apples to oranges (and this is the meat section, mind you), but I do have parts that I read over and over. I love the symbolic stories of the Old Testament, especially those of Ruth, Esther and Hosea. David is another character that has lots of layers to dissect. I also love the Gospels--this is where we really see Jesus, where we can look at his every action, word and motive and find a practical guide for our own choices. I love to put myself in the story with Jesus, to imagine that I'm the Samaritan woman, or Martha, or any of the Marys, and watch the scene unfold before my eyes--watch the Savior speak to me. Someday, I won't have to use my imagination! There are fiction meat books too, ones that have changed me in ways I didn't know fiction could. Of course, I've mentioned Redeeming Love before. I love how at first glance, this book is a simple love story. But then you get into it and you realize this book is about you. You are the broken, abused, sin-hardened prostitute and Jesus is the tender, loving, perfect man binding your wounds and washing your feet. I really appreciate all the symbolism in this book. Just about every character, every scene, every plot twist represents something else--a Biblical story or truth. I read it yearly, lest I forget what a horrid sinner I am and what a perfect Savior I have. Another very meaty Rivers' read is her Mark of the Lion series, a trilogy about the early church and martyrs. Not an easy read by any standards, but it really made me think about the cost those early believers paid for their belief. How easy we have it today, where we can share our faith in relative safety. But the boldness of those Christians, who shared Christ's love regardless of the physical pain, slavery or even death. Amazing. Favorite Dairy authors: Francine Rivers, Julie Lessman, Lynn Austin, Linda Nichols.

Sweets: The guilty pleasures. I definitely have a sweet tooth, but I'd like to think it's a "refined" taste. I admit to having a love of historical Christian fiction. I'm somewhat embarrassed by that because there are a lot of options out there that are pretty lame. But I can't help but love a good love story set in the 1800s. I learned the art of unresolved tension between the sexes from Mulder and Scully, and I've found that I appreciate that theme tremendously. I like the historical settings because it's much easier to master tension in an environment of high moral standards and societal decorum. While I don't like fluffy fiction where the pioneer girl marries the cowboy in the third chapter and they have a new baby every thirty pages or the same ol' plot of the Amish girl falling in love with the non-Amish guy (there are about 4,323 of these available), I do not require high story standards for my dessert fiction. Just high tension between the two characters. And there had better be angst all over the place. These are my easy reads that take about two days to get through. I should point out however, lest some of these authors google their names and find them mentioned in the "sweets" section of my pyramid, that some of these novels do more than satisfy that craving for a good, tense romance. They usually contain nuggets of Biblical truth and sometimes a deeply emotional story, but I confess that I seek them out for the chocolatey outer shell, and the nuggets inside are bonus. Sweet Tooth Faves: Anything by Deeanne Gist, Tamera Alexander, Cathy Marie Hake, Julie Klassen, Kristen Heitzmann, Siri Mitchell, Jamie Carie...I'm sure I'm forgetting some. While I haven't loved every book these women have written, more often than not, they deliver the sugar I'm craving....that may be the weirdest sentence I've ever posted on the web. Oh well.

There ya have it. If you've made it this far you must be REALLY bored. Or have insomnia. Or just really, really like me. So...um, thanks for that.

P.S. I want to try new foods. I think I'd really like a book that combines mystery/crime/romance/faith, but as of yet, the few I've tried have been rather bland or incredibly cheesy. Any suggestions?