Choose Your Own Adventure

You may remember this post from nearly two years ago and have been wondering what happened with those plans. Well...this ain't the Vietnam War Era any more. Now, if you change your mind after enlisting, they don't hogtie you and throw you on the back of a flat bed truck that's headed for the frontlines.

Yes, Tobias decided against becoming a 92M in the army afterall, but recently he signed up for a different kind of service. This morning before 6:00, I cooked him up a hot breakfast while he finished throwing some vital belongings into a couple of duffel bags, and then we hopped in the car while the sun was still rising so he could start his newest chapter. Because of my desire to keep this blog not-too-personally-specific I won't name organizations or locations, but I will say that he has elected to dedicate the next couple of years to service of the outdoorsy-hardworking sort.

It's going to be some serious physical labor which he isn't afraid of. It will open multiple doors of opportunity for him later in life as well as bulk up his resume beautifully. In his own words, "I look forward to this huge step in my life. It will give a foundation, increase my independence...and teach me loads." I'm thankful he sees the many benefits in this opportunity and values them for what they are.

So, even though he will be spending much of his time running a CHAINSAW in the coming months, we are genuinely glad that he is moving in this direction and that he's willing to dedicate himself to honorable and beneficial, though exhausting, work.

Last week he got to meet the crew he'll be living and working with. Thankfully he really liked them. One of them told him, "We don't have friends up on the mountain. We have brothers." That was music to this mother's ears. 

None of the pictures I took this morning turned out that great because I didn't want to ask him in front of his peers to 'smile for Mommy', but what's a post without a photo? So here you go:

Now if he gets through it with all of his limbs intact, I'll really rejoice. Do chainsaw-proof coveralls exist?

We love you, Sonny. Learn all you can and enjoy yourself.

A Much Appreciated Specimen

Meet Maximillian:



Pretty glorious with those bedazzling fins, living in that bubbled globe of a room with a view, huh?

Well, he used to be...

You see, the above is a picture of Maximillian in his former state of youth and vigor. These days, he lies at the bottom of his bowl, allowing the cold slimy pebbles beneath him to cradle him in his decrepit state. And that is where he stays, pretty much all of the time.

In fact, after answering so many well-meaning visitors' questions regarding her fish's welfare, Delaney felt compelled to post a sign next to his abode:

 

 See him there? He's that little black tire-shred-like-strip you see above.

We thought about contacting a pet psychic in hopes of getting to the heart of his issues, but then we remembered, he's just a fish AND those people are full of crap.

Anyway, Delaney decided she wanted a pet with a little more pizazz, or at least one whose movements can be detected by the naked human eye, so she went on line and did a little research.

(We do have a wonderful pet dog, by the way...




 ...and his movements are all over the place, especially the back yard if you know what kind of 'movements' to which I refer.)

Delaney, never one for typical appreciations, settled on an unusual little fellow to keep on her bathroom counter. The website from which she ordered it warned customers, "We are not responsible for the condition in which your pet arrives at your home." In other words, if your new pet is DOA, then tough luck.

She decided to take the risk and about a week later, a box arrived in the mail. It was a box with no air holes which kind of concerned us.

We couldn't help but feel slightly anxious about getting the non-aerated box open quickly even though he'd been sealed up in it for at least two days. Twenty more seconds clearly weren't going to save him.

Upon opening that box, we found another box. It was like opening one of those ridiculous multi-boxed Christmas gifts except we knew there was a living creature inside. That box opened to reveal a big wad of newspaper.

"Is he just wandering free in there?" I asked, expecting him to drop to the floor and scurry to the nearest corner.

Delaney's careful exploration of the papery folds finally revealed a little "salsa cup" (you know, those lidded plastic condiment cups) in which her new little buddy waited, ready for his liberation.

I almost expected to hear him emit a cry of victory as the lid was popped off, but no, he stayed silently in the same spot, looking about as unenthusiastic as Maximillian always does.

But then...he moved!

Delaney happily got him settled in his new living quarters, right next to the hand soap and the mirror, presenting him the welcoming gifts of bits of carrot and apple.



Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

...Tazpin, the luckiest of all Blue Iron-Clad Beetles*!

He's been with us for about a week now and Delaney is quite delighted with him.

You have to admit, he is a pretty cool, armor-clad cutie.

*Oops...two hours after initial publication I just realized he's actually a Blue Death Feigning Beetle, which is a slightly cooler name. Sorry for the unprofessional journalism. ;)

That Glorious Chagrin

Some of you know the sensation of which I speak.

It's that unmistakable slurry of joy, awe, embarrassment and thankfulness you are overwhelmed by when you see God has granted you something beyond what you dared pray.

We are presently reveling in it, our souls singing beneath our ducked heads.

It's difficult to speak of such things because I don't want to sound as if I'm bragging. Yet, the goodness we find ourselves saddled with is not the result of our own actions so telling of it isn't boasting.

We have been blessed (such a trite word, but there's no suitable substitute) with a fantastic house in an area in which I never dreamed of living.

It's like back when I was in high school and I just knew I'd never be elected Homecoming Queen.

I was right.

It never happened.

But this thing that I knew would never happen, did happen.

Last January, we sold our house within four days of putting it on the market. We promptly moved in with my gracious mom and lived several weeks with her in her 55+ community while looking for another house to buy. It was a very frustrating process, putting in good offers just to be told that we'd been outbid. That happened about 13 times!

But when we got this house, it was all worth the wait and the wondering, the frustration, even worth the weeks of driving 10 miles an hour through the retirement community.

Here we are, "playing croquet" on our extensive front lawn which Jeff has dubbed "The Mustache" for obvious reasons.

(Yes, we wanted a little, itty-bitty yard! It was with great joy that we sold our mower and weed eater. Oh, and by the way, these photos are supposed to be silly even though we look rather serious in them.)

So now we bask in that glorious chagrin, thankful that God knows our needs and meets them beautifully, in spite of our frailties and doubts.

Thank You, Jesus!

The Idiot's Guide to Depression

Okay, so I don't think I'm technically depressed although I have started crying at random times and places a lot lately.

Last week at the bank, the teller brightly asked me, "How are you today?" My eyes promptly began to leak as I mumbled some pathetic reply. Poor her. She probably hasn't asked anyone that seemingly innocuous question since.

Anyway, the fact is that all of us are going to experience some very sorrowful times in our lives, and I'm sure some of you reading this are presently right there with me. If sadness isn't something you're very familiar with then suddenly finding yourself neck-deep in it can be quite bewildering, thus this post.

(If you're wondering what's up with me, read my last post.)

The following are some things I've found helpful lately. I hope they can help others, if not now then at some point in the future.

Don't isolate yourself.

Whatever problems we face, our human tendency can be to hide from others out of a sense of pride. Let's face it: It's embarrassing to admit that you are hurting and frail, especially when it involves your face contorting into ugliness and snot dripping down your upper lip.

However, problems seem even bigger than they truly are when we're alone with them. Lots of people might have gone through what you are facing and they can probably tell you some truths to encourage you through it all.

That doesn't mean you have to share everything with everybody. The world isn't owed an explanation of your issues, but a handful of genuinely good people can help immensely.

I'm incredibly grateful for all the love I've felt from many quarters in the past few weeks. Church people often get a bad rap, but I have to say that the many dear friends we've met through the three fellowships we've been involved with over the past 25 years are absolutely wonderful. So are a bunch of people we didn't meet through church. Thank you, sweet friends.

Try to keep things in perspective.

For me this means reminding myself that although our son isn't living here, we are all still spending some time together each week. We still sit through church together, eat meals together, share youtube clips with each other and when I tell him I love him, he still tells me he loves me, too. That's light years better than what they could be.

Our relationship isn't what I thought it would be nor what I desperately want it to be, but we aren't calling each other names, yelling at each other or slamming doors in each others' faces. Those are every day occurrences for some unfortunate souls.

Know your limitations.

Life isn't normal for me right now and some of the things I normally do just aren't happening. 

For example, I haven't been wearing much make-up lately, so I probably don't look like my usual self. (I've learned that looking a bit washed out is a better look for me than is this look, modeled by Laura Dern:

 ...and since I can't accurately predict my eyes' sprinkler system, I find that going bare-faced is a safer option.)

Other things that don't normally happen need to happen.

The normal me is content to stay at home most of the time but lately I've needed to get out, sometimes just to be in a crowd or feel a breeze on my face.

I don't like that I'm so abnormal as of late, but it is what it is and things might get even wackier if I try to just carry on as usual  and my brain and/or body suddenly refuse. Who knows what regrettable happenings would result? I don't want to find out.

Yes, I have limitations and that is okay.

Don't underestimate the power of exercise. 

Stress building up inside the human body can be a very destructive force. Expending some energy goes a long way in alleviating the pressure and safeguarding us from physical and even mental problems.

I definitely can tell a difference between when I'm getting enough exercise and when I'm not. Exercise won't fix the problems, but it can help us be better equipped to deal with them.

Learn what you can from what's happening to you.

I've learned that a lot of the things I thought were definite in life aren't.

When I gave birth to my son at the age of 20, I thought that we'd never face some of the troubles that others did. Of course there was no guaranteeing against illness or accidents, but relationally we were going to be perfectly fine.

We were bringing him into a two parent home. We had (still do have) a strong faith in Christ and would raise our son to know that he was deeply valued by God. I was going to be a great mom, kind but firm, encouraging but not overly demanding, allowing him to pursue his own interests, instructive but fun, etc.

It didn't take me too long to figure out that I couldn't control everything, especially him.

Still, we were never going to be a family broken up prematurely. We couldn't be; I mean...we love genuinely...we listen to our kids and talk things through with them...we don't live hypocritically, saying one thing to our children yet doing another.

While all those things are true and good, they don't hog-tie a kid from making his own decisions. So this is what I've learned: I shouldn't assume that other parents did something wrong just because their kid is taking certain actions or not taking certain actions.

Yes, I have grown considerably less judgmental in the past several weeks. That's what a humbling sorrow will do to you, make you realize that a lot of the crap you've thought about other people over the years was unfounded and unfair.

To all the people who I thought were crummy parents in the past, I'm sorry. You were probably just doing the best you knew how...like me.

Don't sacrifice the good in your life to the emptiness you feel over your grief.

There are still a lot of profoundly wonderful things in my life, even if one of my primary desires (a healthy, happy, meaningful relationship with my son) isn't exactly panning out.

For example, a lot of people have been asking about how Jeff and I are doing as a couple. Often, when there is trouble with one of the kids, a husband and wife will grow cold towards each other, blaming the other for the problems or simply forgetting about the other valuable things in their life.

That isn't happening with us. In fact, although I've loved my husband for years and years, I have an even deeper appreciation for him now. I cherish the good relationship I have with him, knowing how vital it is.

If we were so focused on the upset in our lives that we didn't take the time to invest in each other then we could suffer even more loss, needlessly. That, my friends, is what you call a lose-lose situation.

Don't feel guilty about your sorrow.

God created us to go through a grieving process during traumatic times. If we are feeling guilty about the fact that we're sad then we aren't able to focus on just going through the necessary stages of dealing with the sorrow.

Sure, there comes a time when grief turns to needless wallowing but sometimes that's a long ways off, especially if your situation is particularly upsetting.

When you need to cry, just cry. Let it out.

Don't add to your trouble with unnecessary guilt over the fact that you're a fragile mortal. God knows what you are, so just admit it to yourself. It's easy. Watch:

Hey. My name is Aimee and I am a frail human who weeps while filling out bank slips and needs to be reminded of important truths by my loving friends. 

See? That was a piece of (crappy tasting, yet helpful) cake.

Actively seek out sources of amusement and joy.

Pet a puppy.

Go out to dinner with friends, even if you think you might start blubbing over the lettuce wraps. (Which I somehow managed not to do, right Andrea???)

Laugh.

A much anticipated part of our nightly routine lately has been an episode or two of King of the Hill on Netflix. As ridiculous as it might sound, listening to Boomhauer yammer unintelligibly  genuinely helps me.

 
That didn't bring a smile to your face? Well, what about this?

That little video didn't make you laugh either?

Well, maybe my family and I are just sick, but certainly there are things you find amusing. Find them and laugh until it hurts...

...hurts less, that is.

Mommy's Little WHAT???

Once upon a time (seventeen and a half years ago, to be more precise) I brought forth my first born.

He was little, pink, wrinkly and completely helpless.

As the months passed, I kept feeding, cleaning and cuddling him and eventually he could squat in the backyard and play with a garden hose on a hot summer day.

As the years passed, I continued to feed him, teach him how to keep himself clean and cuddle him as much as he would allow (which wasn't much) and eventually he could drive a car and had earned himself the nickname "Honest Abe". (You can see why, I'm sure.)

This next week, my itty bitty baby begins his senior year of high school.



Well, that's not the only momentous occasion of recent times for this boy.

No, indeed.

You see, my boy done went and signed himself over to Uncle Sam.

For quite a while now, Tobias has been talking about joining the military. At first, we just laughed, considering how much he LOVES being told what to do. Oh, and by the way, when we tell him what to do, we don't tag the words "scum sucking maggot" on the end, the inclusion of which makes the whole process so much more enjoyable, I'm sure.

It's a really long story. I've started this post several times and have given up each time once I felt bogged down in all the details, so I'll just be giving you a condensed version.

November, 2011--Tobias took the ASVAB at school.

December, 2011--He found out he scored higher than anyone else at his school that year, receiving a 95.

January, 2012--The Marines started calling...and sending pamphlets and gifts in the mail...and pulling him out of class at school to woo him with tales of heroics and adventures, all of which awaited him as a future Marine...or so they hoped.

Spring, 2012--A couple of Army recruiters sat down at our kitchen table and were able to sway him away from jugheadism and toward soldiery.

(You may be wondering what Jeff and I were thinking and feeling throughout these many months. Well...a LOT of different things but the summary is this: knowing our son and the self-determined, intelligent, needs-to-learn-lessons-the-hard-way-sort-of-a-fellow that he is, we mainly wanted him to make his own decision but to be very informed so he could do that well. Tobias made it clear for months that his intention was to enlist once he turned 18. It was clear that it was happening, so we wanted to be on board to help steer him in the most well-informed, well thought out direction. Still, it's a very weird sensation signing your first born over to Rumpelstiltskin.)

June, 2012--Tobias and I went to the recruiting station to see which MOSes (jobs) were available for which he qualified. There were a lot of them, but not many in which he was interested. We left there very happy that day, though, because he had secured a reservation for a highly unusual MOS--that of firefighter. I was thrilled because it wasn't a combative position and it could give him a huge head-start on a career once he was out of the Army. He was scheduled to have his physical a few days later and as long as everything went well, he would enlist as a firefighter.

Well, during the day long physical at the MEPS (military entrance processing station) it was confirmed that Tobias does not have normal color vision. This disqualified him not only from the firefighter position but almost every other MOS in which he was even slightly interested (37F PsyOps, 35P Crypto Linguist, 35M Intel Collector, 15Q Air Traffic Controller, etc.)

What was left?

11X Infantry.

Oh, dear...neither Jeff nor I wanted that at all.

But wait...

There was one other MOS which sparked the interest of our very odd boy and lo and behold in...

July, 2012--it was available and he qualified for it. This singular MOS which stood between our boy and infantry was...

... 92M.

I must confess, I kept expecting some sort of divine intervention before his enlistment process was complete. I've experienced a few miracles in my life and witnessed some in others' and I thought now was the time for the next one. I wasn't sure how it would be made manifest...maybe a phone call saying that some higher up had waived the need for normal color vision so Tobias could enlist as one of the other jobs that appealed to him. Yeah, something like that.

But it was not to be.

Nope.

It is official...our son signed away several years of his life to become a...

...Mortuary Affairs Specialist.

Honestly, does this look like the face of a future mortician?

Mommy's little crypt keeper

I don't want to seem disrespectful, but it took me a few days to get used to the idea. You see, it's the type of job that everyone solemnly proclaims a "noble profession" as they silently and fiercely thank God that it is not their profession.

Yet, there is a necessity for it, sadly, and there are some people who are intellectually and emotionally fit for such a position. Apparently, my son believes himself to be one of them and actually, I see that he might be right. He's very level headed and is almost completely devoid of sentimentality. (I think his rarely utilized tear ducts shriveled up completely about the same time that his boy-bits descended.)

One thing that helped me see the dignity involved in his future line of work was an HBO movie called "Taking Chance". Starring Kevin Bacon, it tells the real life story of a Marine escorting a fallen Marine home to his family. It shows the difficult and noble efforts that the armed forces make to ensure the honor of the service men and women who give their lives as their remains make their final journey. There were several scenes showing 92M-like workers who play a huge part in that. It is arduous but respected work.

Although this isn't the route we envisioned for him, I'm proud for how he has gone about making this decision and as long as he is engaged in honorable work and pleased with it, then we're pleased as well.

So what's next?

Tobias leaves for basic training in July of 2013. That means we have 11 more months as a domestic family of four.

That's it...ELEVEN MONTHS! It's unbelievable how life just keeps going and going and everything you're comfortable with keeps morphing into something new.

Dear God, thank You for the time we've had; help us live the rest of it honorably and thankfully.

Amen.

Sad, Sad, Sad

It is with tearful eyes that I type these words: Our dear, sweet Elka has died.

Although it's been several days, the shock hasn't lessened much.

Last Sunday morning, Jeff leashed the dogs and took them with him for a mountain bike ride. This wasn't their first time, so it wasn't a brand new experience. Although it was very hot last week, that morning was significantly cooler. He kept them on the leashes until they were past all of the busy streets of our neighborhood and then turned them loose so they could go at their own pace.

He kept checking their progress and offered them water several times. He said they were doing very well, better than ever before. Eventually their journey was nearing its end so he releashed them for the way home.

Suddenly, Elka collapsed.

Jeff dismounted and knelt beside her, stunned by her abrupt change in behavior. At first, he thought she was just exhausted (though she hadn't been showing signs of it even a moment earlier) and needed a couple of minutes to recover. He spoke softly to her and petted her silky head.

Soon he realized she was in pretty bad shape. She would try to lift her head only to have it drop and her hind legs were clearly not functioning. Jeff moved her into the shade on someone's lawn to make her more comfortable and noticed she wasn't able to help him much in the process. He offered her water but she showed no interest in it.

Though she was having difficulty controlling her body, her tail continued to wag.

After several more moments, Jeff saw she was worsening and made a sudden decision. Tethering her and Duncan to a tree, he hopped on his bike and rode it as fast as he could home to get the car.

Meanwhile, I had just emerged from the shower and was wearing only a towel when Jeff burst through the door, saying, "Something's wrong with Elka."

After hearing his quick description, I urged him to not wait for me to get dressed. The thought of her tethered to some stranger's tree while she was so ill for even a few unnecessary seconds made me want him to return to her immediately. He and Delaney jumped in the car and hurried back to the dogs.

When they returned, she had slipped into some sort of stupor, not even able to recognize her heartsick owners. Jeff gently stuck her muzzle into a bowl of water he had brought and she didn't respond in the slightest.

Carefully, he lifted her into the back seat, quickly got Duncan and Delaney situated in the front and rushed off to the vet.

She stopped breathing before they got there.

Once at home again, Jeff lifted her out of the car and onto our lawn. He came inside and sorrowfully told me, "She's gone."

I hurried out front. Delaney and I wept over her lifeless body, touching her beautiful head and lengthy legs for nearly the last time. Even in death she was lovely. 

It was impossible to believe that she was gone. Only two hours earlier, I had been looking out the window at her and thinking how cute she was, bounding around playfully.

Of all the dogs I've ever owned, she by far had the sweetest disposition and was the most amusing.

Sometimes when she would wag her tail, it would move in a circle instead of the normal back and forth motion. That always made us laugh.

She was a lanky creature, possessing legs that were slightly too long for her body. The result was a gangly clumsiness when she was excited which was all the more endearing.

She pulverized several toys far beyond recognition and then continued to play with them as if they were the most beguiling items ever. Sometimes we would hear strange noises and look out back to see her batting her plastic food bowl around on the patio like it was a hockey puck sliding across ice.

When we walked the dogs together, she would often bite Duncan's leash as if she wanted to be the one walking him. Other times, she would walk alongside one of us and nip at our clothes or nudge our hands, urging us to pet her as if she wanted to enjoy some of the best things in life (walking and being petted) simultaneously.

She hardly ever barked which, in my opinion, is one of the best qualities a dog can exhibit. She was compliant, but not timid and playful without being too overbearing. She had soft, reddish fur and beautiful, naturally outlined eyes.



Don't misunderstand; she wasn't perfect. She destroyed more than her share of items which we had to replace, she dug a number of moon craters in the backyard and she would sometimes jump up on you, dirtying your clothes with her muddy paws. In other words: She was a dog.

When Bruiser died, it wasn't a shock. He was 12 or 13 years old so we knew he was living on borrowed time. He had lived a full life of adventuresome walks, belly rubs and tasty kibble.

Elka was only two. I had taken it for granted that she would still be with us once the kids were both grown and gone.

So what killed her? If it had been overexhaustion, I think Jeff would have noticed her looking tired before that because he was watching for it. It doesn't seem like her heart gave out on her because she would have been gone within a minute or two and it took over half an hour for her to actually pass after collapsing. It may have been a snake bite. During his runs in the nearby wildlands, Jeff has killed three or four rattlesnakes in the past year or so. Her symptoms seem compatible with this theory but we'll never know.

Jeff deeply regrets having taken the dogs that morning, naturally, but if he hadn't taken them, fearful of the unknown, he'd likely never take them on bike rides or for runs in the wash. What kind of life would that be for a dog? She loved to bound around freely through the scrub brush, chasing rabbits and plunging through the shallow waters of creeks, sand flying up behind her scampering paws. Though we wish she was still with us, we know that she had an enjoyable life and that's because we regularly took her out of the safe confines of our suburban backyard.

When life is lived best, it's a bit dangerous.

It's so sad. She really was a very precious girl.

Who's That Girl?

Delaney attended her first dance last night. Jeff and Tobias had no idea what she was going to be wearing ahead of time, so they got to stare, open-mouthed when she appeared in the the living room all dolled-up.

Tobias commented, "She looks beautiful, but I don't like it. She doesn't look like my little sister."

You can see his confusion/wonder/discomfort here:

Close-up:



(By the way, Tobias was not dressed this way to complement his sister's attire; this is actually what he wore at school all day. In fact, he wears outfits similar to this every Friday, complete with walking stick. No, he's not normal, but that's the way we like him.)

The dance was actually a cotillion which her school put on for the promoting eighth graders. They put a lot of work into it, wanting to keep it classy and fun. The girls had to wear floor length (or close to it) gowns. They were taught some official dances over the preceding weeks and given etiquette lessons on how to eat properly, etc. It really was a wonderful thing that the teachers did. (Although by the sound of the etiquette standards, my family and I are a bunch of uncouth beasts.)

When we first got there, the kids milled around, oohing and aahing over each others' transformation from middle school teen to princess/rico suave. Here's Delaney with one of her best buddies, Ashlynn:



Soon, the kids had to line up to be presented on the "red carpet". Their names were announced person by person and everyone clapped.



There were more girls in her class than boys so many of the guys accompanied two girls. The dance partners were assigned, ensuring that each student had someone with whom to practice and perform.

As is usual with students this age, most of the girls were taller than their male counterparts. In fact, the following pics make me giggle:





I'm sure he'll hit a growth spurt soon. :)

Here's a better view of Fred and Ginger:


You've got to love his braces and her freckles. So sweet.

Once the choreographed dances were finished, the parents were all shooed away while the students filed into a nicely decorated hall for dinner, a talent show of sorts, a keynote speaker and some non-choreographed dancing.

Delaney, who isn't much of a girly girl (she declined to wear any cosmetics last night), had a wonderful time at her first "ball". Great job, Mrs. P. and crew! Thanks for all you did to make this a special and memorable time for your students.

Meanwhile, while Delaney was nibbling cheese cubes and sipping Martinelli's, Jeff, Tobias and I drove off to attend the graduation ceremony of Tobias' oldest friend, Christopher.

Here they are, looking all grown up and stuff:



This is them (and Delaney) years ago:



People used to always think they were twins. Some lady at the beach accused them of lying to her when they denied being brothers, let alone twins. They were the same height, but if you look at their features they look quite different despite the similar hairstyle and glasses.

Where does the time go?

I'm so thankful for the love of God, family and friends. What else is there? Truly?

How to Throw a "Miraculous" Party

Step 1: Have a baby.

Step 2: Wait many years until the baby morphs into a hairy teen with his own unique sense of style.

(This particular former-baby has declared Wednesday "suit day", so each week he dons his top hat, attaches his authentic pocket watch (no, seriously) to one of his thrift-store-purchased jackets and carries his brief case off to school with him.)

Step 3: When the (in our case) Abe Lincoln lookalike is about to turn 17, go here and get a hold of some of these:





(In case you aren't familiar with these, they are comprised of two ingredients: miracle berries and corn starch. Indigenous to West Africa, miracle berries, once eaten, have a surprising ability to affect one's taste buds in such a way that sour things suddenly taste sweet.)

Step 4: Invite your former-baby's friends over to celebrate his beginning of another year and to bewilder their taste buds.

Step 5: Prepare a tray of consumables.

WARNING: The following step is absolutely VITAL.

Step 6: To avoid confusion (and a possible police investigation), as party goers arrive, pull their parents aside. Explain to them what miracle berries are so that they'll understand when their child later tells them that you handed out pills with the promise of a really far out time.

Step7: Gather around the table and pass out the tablets.

Step 7: Pop them pills. Let them dissolve slowly, trying to contact as many of your taste buds as possible.























Some people won't like the taste of the tablets.

           And others will.















Step 8: Once the tablets have dissolved, dig in.

Enjoy some lemon, rind and all, now as sweet as candy.



Taste the sweetest blueberries you've ever had burst in your mouth.


















Sample the dill pickle slivers, but ONLY if you're a sweet pickle appreciator (which I am not).



Step 9: Once the bounty of the sample tray is spent, fling open your fridge and kitchen cupboards, searching for other edibles that might prove interesting.

Drink mouthfuls of apple cider vinegar like it's punch. Try a little dot of honey, sweet enough to make a whole hive of bees jealous. Sip hot sauce (but not straight from the bottle).

Step 10: Assess the party and decide how you'd do things differently next time.

If I did this again, I would provide more sour things to sample like rhubarb, limes, raw cranberries (not craisins), kumquats, etc. I wouldn't bother with non-sour offerings like cheddar cheese, bell peppers and mustard because there wasn't much difference in the taste of those.

This was fun. However, we all agreed that although there was a definite effect, none of us would describe the experience as anything close to miraculous. Admittedly though, it's unlikely that many tablets would be sold if they were called "Pretty Cool Berry Tablets".

*Note: Steps 1 and 2 are not mandatory in order to throw a "Pretty Cool" Party, but we're glad they were a part of the preparation for ours.

The View from Here

I've seen a lot of this lately:

Our family will exit our car and as we're walking into wherever it is that we're going, my husband will grab my daughter's hand with Tobias and I trailing behind.

(No, I don't grasp onto Tobias's hand so that we, too, can walk in a similar manner. That would be very weird, even if he would allow it.)

So there I am, walking behind my man who is holding the hand of a younger and thinner version of myself.

Am I okay with that?

Absolutely.

I cherish them both so much and am overjoyed to witness their genuine adoration of each other.

Someday, I'll have my place back, walking hand in hand with my husband, but for now I gladly make room for my daughter. (Don't any of you other ladies get any ideas, though. ;) )

At thirteen, Delaney is only benefited by the attention of a caring, protective man who has no ulterior motives. His treatment of her is teaching her what she should expect from any man who desires her attention: respect, attentiveness, gentleness, appreciation.

I want her to compare what she has with her dad to what she has with every prince or jester who comes along and send the foolios packing.


Oh God, may she be ruined for any lesser loves.

Update

I suppose some of you might be wondering if we've heard anything about Jeff's interviews. Well, as it turns out, with each of the three agencies, Jeff is on eligibility lists. In other words, he did well in the interviews/tests but they are not offering him a job at this time though they are keeping him in mind.

It's all good. We are at peace about it and though I enjoy a bit of excitement, if it barges into my life unaccompanied by peace then it just gives me the runs and that's annoying...and disgusting.

In related news, a job opportunity at his present place of employment is opening up and he applied for it. Although getting this job wouldn't daily surround our family with the beauty that is the Pacific Northwest, it would be a great thing in a lot of other ways, so we will hopefully await news of that (which may not come for several months).

Time to Spill

Okay, so we've had something simmering away on the back burner for the past year and I don't think I've mentioned a word about it here.

The time has come.

I'm not going to include all the details which is a favor to you because it'd probably make for some very dull reading, but here's the gist:

We LOVE the Pacific Northwest. We've been there several times and each time we leave loving it more.

This time last year, two days into our family vacation, Jeff turned to me and said, "Life is too short to not live here."

It was as if he was reading my mind.

Immediately, we began looking into various job opportunities for Jeff. Within two months, we were back up there so he could take a written and physical test. If he did well then he would be eligible to apply for various law enforcement positions in our beloved region.

We also took time to peruse several communities where we could afford homes to see if they would be a good fit for our family.

Well, Jeff did very well on his test, the results of which were sent out to multiple agencies. We were told that the agencies might contact him over the next year and a half to invite him to send them an application. Or, they might not. So we waited...

Several sent-in-apps later we started fielding calls for invitations to oral board interviews. He turned the first few down for various reasons.

Many months passed with virtually nothing happening in regards to us uprooting our well established lives and staking a claim elsewhere. Jeff and I were both at peace with that. In fact, when asked how serious we were about doing so, my reply was, "We don't want to go unless we get a green light and all the cars behind us are honking."

Last March, we took our vacation up there again and the verdant stretches of landscape rekindled our desires. Still, we knew we wanted to have no part in an actual move unless we were very confident that it would be the best thing for our family and the parts we're playing in God's kingdom. (In case you're wondering what that last bit means, it's this: We know that God has put us on this earth for a limited time and we want to make the most of that span, not concerned primarily with whatever whims we have to please ourselves but to actually serve God's purposes which are often mysterious, indeed.)

Well, in late June, Jeff received a letter inviting him to take part in an oral board interview in an area we love and where we could afford more than a garden shed in which to live. We had been scrimping and saving money for just this situation, so the only thing left was for Jeff to get the time off of work.

This wasn't likely because time off is hard to come by at his work. In fact, workers are supposed to request summer time off in February and he already had a week approved off for August.

We prayed for God to open doors He wanted open and close doors He wanted closed and were soon delighted to hear that Jeff's time off was granted. :)

Thus, the shopping trip which resulted in the ridiculously cheap suit . (You didn't think we did that just for kicks, did you?)

Then something really fun happened. I came home from running errands one day to find a message on our voice mail from another agency in a great area inviting Jeff to an oral board during the time we would already be up there!!!

A blessed twofer!

So, five flight legs, three days and two oral boards later, we arrived home, tired but very pleased with our little venture. Although Jeff wishes he had said a few things differently in the interviews, he felt satisfied that he had represented himself well and accurately. A couple of interviewers told him afterward that he had done well. That was encouraging because it's not as if they had to go out of their way to say so. They could have just said, "Have a nice day" or nothing at all.

We drove home from the airport with a sense of peace, believing that the way we've pursued this dream is pleasing to our God and knowing that He is a Father Who will continue to lead and care for us wherever we are.

*titter titter*

Sorry, I'm just thinking of what happened next...

When we arrived home, it was 11:30pm and we were exhausted, but Jeff wanted to check our email. In doing so, he discovered that he was being invited to an oral board with a third agency during the week that he already had off in August!!! So much for sleeping that night!

*hardy guffaw*

Obviously we have no idea how this will all end, but we do know that we're in the hands of the One who does. :) There's great peace in that.

The Idiot's Guide to Men's Wear

We tried something new recently.

It's called:

Buying a suit.

We won't be making a hobby of it. In fact, we hope to never have to do it again.

After lunch at Chipotle, Jeff, Delaney and I drove over to Kohl's (I had a 30% off coupon) and wandered into foreign territory. Naively, I really wasn't nervous at the start.

Hmmm...

What's with the numbers? They're obviously a measurement of something, but what? Although, who thinks to bring a tape measure? But even if I had, I wouldn't know what part to hold it up to. Is this number from shoulder to shoulder? Is this one around the neck? And what about this one? Is it from inner thigh to armpit? Thumbnail to eyebrow?

There was no poster on the wall with multiple photos and captions entitled, "Info on Measuring for the as of Yet Unsuited". (That would have been very helpful.)

Unfortunately, this guy wasn't there either:


So the only thing to do was to just start trying things on.

First, a shirt. However, the shirt Jeff picked up was heavily packaged. It included cardboard, several pieces of plastic, pins, a twist tie or two and a bit of tissue paper (I assume to dry away one's tears of frustration). It was tediously similar to unpackaging the super duper GI Joe campsite set for your kid on Christmas morning.

We hoped fervently the whole time that the thing would actually fit him once it was freed from its restraints because there was no way we would be able to wrestle it back into its former confines.

Of course there was no trash can nearby, so Jeff just piled all the debris on top of a display of shirts.

(We don't normally leave piles of trash in our wake, honestly.)

I'm overjoyed to report that the shirt did fit (and so are the workers at Kohl's since that's fewer bits of garbage for them to carry off to the dumpster out back).

At this point, we overheard some poor soul who had just wandered in tell his wife, forlornly, "I don't even know where to start."

A kindred spirit! Jeff almost walked past a couple of racks to give the guy a high-five.

Delaney quickly found a great tie. All three of us liked it right away so we didn't even bother looking in that section anymore. The jacket and trouser sections were looming forebodingly nearby.


We gingerly ventured into the dark underworld and began to lift hangers heavily laden with garments from racks, peering at them with innocent eyes, silently begging them to give up their secrets.

Almost immediately, I could tell that this place had old man suits for people who would normally wear bowling shirts and khakis and young man suits for those who don skinny jeans and body piercings. So where were the suits for guys who are pushing 40 and wear band t-shirts and cargo shorts?

Thus, our search began.

About an hour and a half later, we were standing in the checkout line with the most suitable selection we could find draped over our arms.

This slightly creepy looking guy is not Jeff in his new suit:

Nor is this one:


Sorry, they just made me laugh.

Another thing that made me laugh giddily was staring at the receipt as we were exiting the store. You see, everything was on sale for 30%-50% off, so that combined with the amazing aforementioned coupon resulted in...ONE RIDICULOUSLY CHEAP SUIT!


(Not Jeff's suit.)

Ahhh, here he is...


(A pitiable plea to those of you who are well-versed in the world of men's wear: Please do not inform us of any fashion faux-pas we may have committed in pairing this jacket with these trousers or that tie with the shirt, etc. Just pat us on our ignorant backs and nod, saying, "Good job, suit pickers." People with discriminating taste could probably pick the above ensemble to scorned pieces in seconds, but it's what we ended up with after a couple of very uncomfortable hours of searching, and honestly...


...fashion blunders and all, I think my man looks HOT!)