How I Ruined My Daughter's Birthday

I actually started ruining my daughter's birthday about a week before the big day itself. What can I say? I'm a planner.

But before I share all of the gory details, let me back up a little.

Actually, this whole story is me backing up a little, since it's been a full week since her birthday, and I'm just getting around to chronicling it's many failures. Anyway.

February 2004

This is Rachael. Sweet and smiley from the very beginning, the precious bundle of awesome that first made me a mom. She was a horrible sleeper, early talker, late walker, and had a larger vocabulary at age three than most adults that I know.

She has since overcome most of these things. At age twelve, she is now a terrific sleeper, walks just fine on her own, and her vocabulary is largely limited to facts about Fall Out Boy and Doctor Who. But she's still smiley, and I still love her so.

Which is why I felt so awful when I not only ruined her birthday, but just continued to ruin it through the day. Ready for the story? Okay, here goes...

Listening to the box...

First of all, I ordered a gift that arrived five days prior to her birthday. Planner, remember? And of course, when UPS delivered the large-ish box and she immediately asked, "WHAT'S IN THE BOX?!" (because she is also nosy), I told her that it was her birthday present. And that she wasn't allowed to hold the box, or shake it, or even smell it. So she listened to it instead.

Because, you know. Maybe it was going to meow at her or something.

I didn't make that up, by the way - that's what she actually suggested. So her little sister ran with it and told her that, yes, we actually got her two kittens for her birthday, and if she couldn't hear them meowing inside the box, then they must be dead.

She knew better. I promise, she did. But it still opened up an incredible opportunity for us to tease her about her box of dead kittens for five days leading up to her birthday, because that's the kind of family we are. So that's the first way that I ruined Rachael's birthday.

The next opportunity presented itself on the day before her birthday, when I decided to bake her cake ahead of time. I had a busy evening ahead of me, so I thought I'd bake the cake, let it cool, and frost it in the morning. No problem...baked the cake, headed off to rehearsal, even hit the gym afterward. I knew I'd be late getting home, so I texted the hubby and asked him to please take the cakes out of the pans.

When I rolled in around midnight, he woke up just long enough to tell me that he wasn't able to get the cakes out of the pans. Like, he tried, and just couldn't.

And immediately, I knew that my plan had gone horribly wrong.

You see, Rachael had requested the most chocolate-y cake EVER, and had picked out double fudge cake mix and some kind of fudge-y icing, but I had decided to go her one better and make it even more super amazingly awesomely chocolatey. So I dumped a whole bag of chocolate chips into the cake batter before baking. Yep. 

I mean, chocolate chips melt when they're baked, right? So wouldn't the cake be better with little bits of melty chocolatey yum baked inside?

Well, let me tell you what really happens, lest you ever be tempted to try this yourself. THEY DON'T MELT, not really. They get soft and lump up a little, but mostly what they do is make your cake dense. Think very large, very wet sponge. That crumbles when you look at it, much less touch it. It wasn't coming out of the pans without a fight.

But fight it I did, because birthday cake and midnight and too late to go back to the store for more cake mix. So I wedged the first layer out of the pan and plopped it onto the cake plate, only about half of it stayed in the pan because I am so smart. So I did what any good mother would do - I scooped out what stayed behind and plunked it back into the hole in that layer of cake.

It was at this point that I realized that there was no way - none - that I would be able to frost this monstrosity. So I manhandled the second layer on top of the first, with no icing in between, because at this point, insert-bad-word-of-your-choice-here. Then I dumped the whole can of icing on top and smeared it around.

No, I did not even attempt to put any icing on the sides, as touching them created a crumbly chocolate avalanche. So there you have it. A lump of dense, damp, but VERY chocolate-y cake-like creation, smeared with chocolate icing in exactly 1/3 of the places where icing should be present. And then I went to bed.

Early the following morning, Rachael woke me up, anxious to open her dead kittens birthday present - which I had, by the way, eventually wrapped. She was very excited to be the proud new owner of a ukelele - which she had talked about wanting to learn to play, but never actually asked for, because she probably figured I'd say no. (I will say that's one thing I'm actually pretty good at it - catching little gift ideas out of their conversations and surprising them later. Yay, me!)

And then it was time for our birthday morning tradition: birthday pancakes. These aren't just any pancakes, though - these are made with cake batter in the mix, accented with lots of sprinkles, and topped off with a sweet glaze instead of syrup. It's basically birthday cake for breakfast, but it's only a couple of times a year, and it's their birthday. So I pulled up the recipe from Chocolate, Chocolate and More and got started. Mixed up the batter, dumped in half a jar of sprinkles, things were going great!

Birthday pancake batter, with lots of sprinkles!

While the pancakes were cooking away on the griddle, I started gathering ingredients to make the glaze. Milk, vanilla, yep...hey, my kitchen cabinet was looking especially good! The hubby had just gone on a little cleaning spree and de-junked it for me, organized everything, the vanilla practically jumped right into my hand!

But, something was missing.

I had two or three half-bags of powdered sugar in there, undoubtedly left over from Christmas baking. But I didn't see them anywhere. Where could have put them?!

Turns out, he had put them in the trash. Because...I don't know, in Man World a half bag of powdered sugar equals trash?! He didn't have a good explanation for it, either. But in the meantime, I had a glaze to make, and no powdered sugar. I did a quick Google search - what in the world can I substitute for powdered sugar?! Turns out, there IS no good substitute for powdered sugar. I found a few sites that gave lengthy, scary descriptions about how you can double-boiler granulated sugar to make it work approximately the same way, but well...ya'll know how crafty I am in the kitchen. And fortunately, my children also know this, and assured me that syrup on the birthday pancakes would be just fine.

And it was, I guess. Only it really wasn't. Because they were supposed to have glaze. Plus, mom guilt.

Now, there wasn't much to do on her actual birthday, it being a Wednesday in the middle of nowhere and all. I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere, and she did. She wanted to go to Dollar Tree. To look for a headband for Valentine's Day. I tell you what, my girl knows how to party.

Determined not to mess up lunch as spectacularly as I had messed up breakfast, I took the girls to Chik-Fil-A.

And much to my amazement, nothing went wrong while we were there.

I guess the rest of her day was okay, just not exciting like I think a birthday ought to be. Which leads me to my next confession of mom guilt: I did not throw my child a party this year. It's the first birthday ever that she hasn't had an elaborately themed party with quirky decorations, games, favors, and a cake that had taken me hours to decorate and also wasn't falling apart on the sides.

There is a reason for this, though: she had decided several months earlier that she needed tickets to see Fall Out Boy in concert - even though the concert isn't until March - and that it could be her birthday gift and she didn't need a party and we could probably even not feed her any more until March, she just desperately needed those tickets. So, the tickets are a thing. It's exactly eleven days now until the concert, and I know this because she's been updating me every single morning since the countdown was over 100. So her real gift is coming. The ukelele was a bonus. But still no party. And I still feel bad about it.

But, we made it through the day, and she said she was happy to mostly stay at home since, for homeschoolers, birthdays are 100% a school holiday. 

Rachael got a ukelele, but the cat got the box.

Once the hubby got home, we had dinner (why is it that food is always the highlight of my day?) and I busted out the cake wreck. 

Less bad.

Once I added the candles a little decoration on top, it did look a little less bad. If you looked at from directly on top and not from the side at all, not even a little bit.

And Rachael was happy with it, because chocolate, and cake. Even though once we tasted it, it had an oddly coffee taste to it. And in the spirit of full confession, we each had a slice that night, and the rest eventually found its way into the trash. But there was ice cream too, so the night wasn't a total loss.

But, you know, I was feeling pretty rotten by this time. No party, token gift on her actual birthday, messed up the pancakes, just plain ruined the cake. What a stinker of a 12th birthday.

So I went to her room before bed, gave her hugs and kisses and told her how much I loved her and how proud I am of her, and apologized for the rotten birthday.

And my girl. She said, "are you kidding?! This has been one of the best birthdays ever."

I think I'll keep her.

And I'll make sure that her next birthday is even better.

* * * * *

This post is linked up at Diana Rambles and Kitchen Fun with My Three Sons. Stop by and find lots of awesome blog links at each site!

The Best Worst Day Ever

Today was one of those days that every parent dreads.

Let me just preface by saying that if you have a nosy inquisitive child reading over your shoulder, you shoo them away now. Just in case. What follows may not bother them in the least, but hey, I don't want to be responsible for crushing any little people inadvertently.

So, Rachael has been asking a lot of questions about Santa lately. So much so that I was reasonably certain that this past Christmas would be the last that she believed in Santa - and even so, I'm sure she had her doubts. At nearly nine years old, plenty of her friends have stopped believing and oh so kindly shared their disbelief with her. Rachael also has a fondness for internet research, and has read plenty on the topic of Santa's realness, or lack thereof. 

All through the Christmas season, we answered her queries as best we could, without over-embellishing. But man, was the child persistent. She didn't ask the typical "how does Santa visit every child in one night?" She figured that out based on time zones and deemed it plausible. However, she wanted to know what kind of sleigh he had. Where the reindeer lived. How they learned to fly. What were all of the jobs that elves could hold, and how accurate was the movie Elf. Why some people received more gifts from Santa than others. And what was Santa's email address, so she could address a few issues personally...

I thought that once Christmas was over, the issue would drop until Christmas rolled around again. I was wrong.

She fretted over it. She kept the questions coming. She was clearly suspicious, while claiming that she was not.

This afternoon, she and Milly went outside with Gene and they went into the storage building for something. Inside, she (who is admittedly a tad nosy) discovered several rolls of red Santa-print wrapping paper - the same paper in which Santa always wraps her gifts.

Well, Santa must have bought that stuff in bulk, because I had forgotten it was even out there. I used the stash from the back of my bedroom closet this past Christmas, and didn't even venture into the storage building to hunt for extra paper. And Gene, of course, has probably never even noticed what kind of paper Santa wraps gifts in to begin with.

Rachael stomped into the house, clearly angry, and informed me of her find. I neither confirmed nor denied, simply stating that I wasn't aware of Santa paper in the shed. (See above: I really had forgotten!)

It was clearly time. The questions and discoveries were becoming too complex for me to keep brushing them aside. The explanations would have to be more and more detailed, and that is where (to me) it crosses over the line from harmless fun to something else entirely. It was time to let Rachael in on the secret. I prayed that my girl would take it well. And I thanked God for Pinterest, although I doubt He cares much about it one way or another.

You see, I had pinned this letter on Pinterest some time back, having fallen in love with the sentiment and knowing that I would need to unashamedly plagiarize it in the not-too-distant future.

Go read the letter. Seriously. I'll wait.

...

...

...

Rachael and I share a journal that we pass back and forth to each other. It is completely confidential - not even Daddy is allowed to look inside. So I grabbed the journal and a pen, and recreated that letter. I changed it a little, to fit our situation better. I left off a bit here and there and added some thoughts about her faith in God in the "capacity to believe" paragraph. I broke the rules and let Daddy read just the letter (and nothing else), said a little prayer over it, and left the journal on the coffee table. It was no time at all before she noticed and retreated with it to her room.

A few minutes later, she emerged, both smiling and glaring, because girlfriend has got it that way. I had expected tears, so glaring was a welcome relief.

She had one question for me: what about Elwin?

Elwin is our Elf on the Shelf elf. The girls look forward to his arrival on the day after Thanksgiving, and are generally more excited about him and his antics than they are about Santa. I knew she would ask about Elwin. And I took the cowardly way out, replying only with, "what do you think?"

She knew. And she cried. She ran back to her room, and I followed her. Explained that nothing would change. Elwin would still come, and it would be just as much fun. She could even help decide what he would do next. She asked where I kept him between Christmases, and I refused to tell her. Hey, full disclosure is no fun for anyone.

After she thought about it for a few minutes, the barrage of questions began. Does Santa shop at Walmart? (Very rarely.) How about Amazon? (Definitely.) Does Daddy eat the cookies? (Do you even need to ask?)

And after the questions, the realizations.

The books that were already loaded on her Kindle. So THAT'S why Moby Dick was one of them!

Her giant stuffed frog, where did he come from? The MUSEUM? He was the very same giant frog that used to sit at a cafe table eating a plate of plastic bugs? How COOL!

But...all of those gifts must COST so much. Mommy and Daddy spent THAT much on me, all at once? Wow...thank you!

(Disclaimer: Christmas in our house is really VERY moderate, compared to lots and lots of people I know. We do the best we can, but we're not rich people. However, my children aren't used to "just because" toys, so knowing that THE PARENTS provided so many all at once rather blew her little mind.)

And then, the resigned certainty that if Santa and Elwin weren't on the up and up, then neither were the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy.

But...that means...that we did those too. She was in awe. Completely unbeknownst to her...her parents were FUN! I mean, the Tooth Fairy always, always leaves a big trail of pink glitter in her wake, and Rachael would NEVER have expected ME of going to such lengths for her amusement - especially since I tend to complain about the glittery mess the next morning.

In the space of fifteen minutes, anger and disappointment turned into gratitude and fascination. No, Santa as she had understood him was no more...but instead, she realized a new extent of her parents' devotion to her - that we delighted in her so much that we were willing to go to these lengths to create something magical and joyful for her. We were amazing, and (thanks to that pink glitter), we were COOL.

Well. As the letter states, knowing the secret effectively makes one a part of Team Santa. She is trusted not to ruin the fun for her sister (or ANYONE else), and was adamant that she would not want to do that. But later in the evening, she brought me a folded letter addressed to "Santa, or Team Member", and asked if I would deliver it. And the child WINKED at me.

Her letter read:

"Dear Santa,

Thank you for the frog.

Given my newfound knowledge and being on your team - this holiday season, instead of sending my wish list to you, I'll give it to my mother who is also on the team.

I wish you a successful year.

Best regards,
Rachael C-------"

I love that kid so much.

And so we embark on a new stage of our journey together. She is, undeniably, growing up. She has always been an old soul in a young body, equipped with more intuition, compassion, and forgiveness expected from a child of her age. She loves being privy to a secret or a joke, and craves the closeness associated with shared experiences. So now we have opportunities for new experiences opened to us both, and new kinds of memories to make together. I can't wait.

I don't want for my girls to grow up. It breaks my heart to think that someday they'll be grown and gone from this house. But I'm seeing some good in these hard growing-up moments...like the realization that when she is grown, she is going to be an amazing friend.

30 Days of Thankfulness, Days Seven and Eight

Because I was all slacker-y yesterday, and because these two things go together, and because it's my blog and I can combine days if I want to.

I am so, so thankful for these little girls.

There were several things that I wanted to be when I was younger - an archaeologist, a lawyer, a librarian, a speech/language pathologist. I changed my mind over and over again, but completely aside from the career choices, I always knew that I wanted to be a mommy.

You've heard it said that sometimes God answers prayers with a "yes," sometimes with a "no," and sometimes with "wait." NO and WAIT can feel very much like the same answer sometimes, as I well learned when Gene and I decided that we were ready to become parents. We waited and waited, and I cried and cried, sure that our answer was NO. Clearly, it was not.

Rachael was worth the wait. From the moment she was born, she was a sweet, cuddly little girl. A little hard-headed sometimes, but loving and thoughtful and always smiling. She spoke like a miniature adult and entertained and astonished us, and we were sure that we could never love another person nearly as much.

But, we were willing to try. And again, we were made to WAIT. And wait, and wait, even longer than we waited for Rachael. Again, I cried and prayed and begged, and just when I decided that my emotions weren't up to the wait any longer and was ready to throw in the towel, there she was.

We had already decided on the name Amelia, if we ever had another daughter, and Amelia became real in my mind long before there was another tiny person to name. Gene had hoped for a boy, but there was no question that I wanted another sweet girl. And she was perfection.

Milly was never as easy as her sister. She's demanding and whiny when she doesn't get her way, she's shy when we don't want her to be, and she terrorizes her big sister (who, in turn, allows herself to be terrorized.) In short, Rachael made us feel like wonderful parents. Milly taught us how very little we really knew. We needed the balance. And yet, she is as loving as her sister (when no one else is around), just as cuddly (when she's in the mood), and amazing in her intensity. I don't love her nearly as much as I love Rachael. I love her just as much, only differently.

They fight. They whine. They're messy and loud. They drive me absolutely nuts most some days. I run out of patience and yell at them and feel like a rotten mom sometimes. I dole out punishments when I don't really want to, because they need it, or withhold punishment because I am Mommy and I can, and that's what grace is all about. They don't get everything they want, because I won't have them feeling entitled. And yet, I want to give them the world. They are a constant source of inner-mommy conflict.

But when they're playing so sweetly together, when little arms reach for a hug, when one of them says, "I love you, Mommy" ...well, all is right in my world, and all the waiting and conflict is worth it. I am not deserving of blessings such as these.

Slacky the Slacker

Story of my life...blog, blog, blog, stop blogging for a little while, mentally compose posts but never find time to post them, get overwhelmed with all of the mentally composed posts that I haven't posted yet, continue to procrastinate. And then it ends up being a month between posts, and I feel like the worst blogger ever.


Anywho, let's see if we can get this ship back on course, shall we? Beginning with what's been going on here for the past couple of weeks. I'll just run straight through the family...


~* GENE *~


It's hard to believe that it's been nearly a month since he started his new job at Goodyear! The first two weeks were just classroom training. This week began the 12-hour days of hands-on training. I'm very grateful that he's on day shift for training. I'm pretty sure that he'll be moved to a night shift at some point - and it could be just any minute - so I'm enjoying the heck out of day shift while it lasts. For the time being, he leaves before the girls and I wake up in the morning and gets home around 8 p.m. That part stinks...but he works a swing shift, which means he works for three days and gets two off, then works two days and gets three off. Every other week, he has Friday, Saturday, and Sunday OFF. That is lovely. It'll take more adjusting to having him home during the week, though - the man really wrecks my routine when he's here. It's hard to impress upon Rachael that she must still sit at the kitchen table and do her schoolwork when Daddy is sitting on the couch watching TV. At any rate, he seems to enjoy his new job (for the most part) and it was definitely a good move for our family. The girls are already pointing out Goodyear things wherever they see them (today it was a Goodyear blimp balloon and a sample Goodyear tire in Walmart) although they still notice and point out Utz trucks too.


On his last Sunday off, he came with me to church. I was thrilled to have him there for the first Sunday in a series called MAN UP! All about being a godly husband and father...and I'm not implying that he isn't, just that we all have room for improvement. The church had rented out a local theater for the weekend showings of the new movie Courageous, and Gene went with me to that too. Talk about a powerful movie...I've never cried so much at a movie in my life. (Even at Toy Story 3, although it was probably close. DETEST that movie.) Anyway, we were both a little apprehensive about Courageous, which was made by the folks that brought us Fireproof. Fireproof having had a great message, but truly baaaaaaad acting. Courageous was so, so, so much better in every aspect - there were rough spots, but the acting was better, there were truly funny moments ("not just church-funny," said Gene), and it was touching in so many ways. Best of all, it sent a clear message to the husbands and fathers: be the man that God called you to be. Accept responsibility for your families. Do not let them down. Just my personal opinion here, but this one should be required viewing for any man that answers to "dad."


~* ME *~


I am, as usual, the least interesting member of this family. In the past two weeks, I've homeschooled, cooked, washed dishes, done laundry, attended no fewer than 68 Girl Scout functions, chauffeured Rachael back and forth to the ranch a bajillion times, swept, vacuumed, sold some Scentsy, read a lot, ate, slept, bathed, and a partridge in a pear tree. (Just seeing if you were paying attention.)

Two minor accomplishments: I started the Couch to 5K running program. I know, ME, running - it's absurd. Definitely not a pretty sight, which is why I do it on the treadmill, in the privacy of my own home.


I also sat down with a crochet hook and YouTube and started learning to crochet. Friends have attempted to teach me before, but I just didn't practice enough to let it sink in...I could make a chain from here to Tuesday, but had no idea what to do after that. I still don't, really, but I'm decent with at least three crochet stitches now. I have lots more videos to go before I'm proficient enough to read a pattern or anything, but at least I've started. It still feels so wrong to have just one hook instead of two knitting needles, and my left thumb hurts a lot (must be holding something wrong), but I'm kind of enjoying the challenge.


That's really it. I clearly need to do something exciting.


~* RACHAEL *~


The most exciting thing that happened to Rachael in the past two weeks was undoubtedly the night she got her pinky finger caught in a metal folding chair, and ripped the entire fingernail off. It was not a pretty sight. Well, I guess it wasn't - I couldn't look at it. Thank God that it happened on a night Gene was here to take care of it. (Blood usually doesn't make me terribly squeamish, by the way - but when it's one of my babies bleeding, I just can't handle it. Cut me instead, thanks.) It bled a lot, and I know it hurt...but she was far more concerned about what it looked like, and refused to be without a Band-Aid covering it for several days. Silly girl. It's now a free-range injury and healing nicely (according to a nurse friend), although it's still a vibrant shade of purple around the tiny stub of regrown fingernail.


She's spent a lot of time at the ranch doing the 4-H thing, and is super excited for the show coming up in November. It's about time to start incorporating the 4-H handbook into our school day, actually, so she'll be well-versed when it's time to be quizzed by the judges. There have been two brand new baby alpacas (a baby alpaca is called a cria - see, I'm learning things too!) in the past few weeks, and she's gotten to love on them both - as well as baby sugar gliders (soooo precious!) The ranch has lost a few more animals, though - something (presumably a coyote or similar) attacked their poultry last weekend. One rooster and several chickens were killed, along with everyone's favorite duck, Noel. Noel was a duck with personality - he'd follow people around and if you stopped, he'd peck at your shoes. We loved him, but (thankfully) she didn't take it as hard as she did Bluebell's departure. RIP, Noel, I'll miss the little guy.


It's just amazing to me to watch her at the ranch - handling the alpacas and llamas so comfortably, teaching me how to do "critter care," even shoveling poop - which they call "poop-lates" (think "pilates.") She's always been a princess that didn't mind getting a little dirty, but I just couldn't have imagined her being a little farm girl. (Note to self: get picture of her in the barn in her boots and braids!)


She's doing so well in school...she's memorized the first 18 books of the Old Testament and most of the New Testament books, and she can rattle off the names of Jacob's twelve sons like they were personal friends. English, spelling, vocabulary...well, we're very much alike in that she doesn't struggle with those. She's loving her new math curriculum and thinks that multiplication is FUN (!!!), knows the sound that each Latin letter makes (with and without macrons), and still adores history more than just about anything. I am a lucky, lucky homeschooling mama to have such a good, willing student. But I will surely pay my dues plus interest with Milly when she's a bit older.


~* MILLY *~


She is a little more dramatic, but truth be told, she hasn't been doing badly with school either. She LOVES her Explode the Code workbooks, and will happily sit and race through a dozen pages at a time if I let her. We started with the first book in the series, and I just bought the other two in the preschool series, lest she run out and go ballistic. I have a strong feeling that I'll be starting kindergarten books with her before this school year is over! She's doing well with her first year of Bible lessons too - she knows the same "Sons of Jacob" song as her sister, and she can name the New Testament books through 2nd Corinthians. Not too shabby for a 3.5-year-old! The thing with her is, she does school on her terms. When she's ready, you'd better not tell her that you don't have anything for her to do. And when she's done, her school day is over.


In spite of her being demon possessed temperament, something remarkable has happened in the past week... Before Goodyear, Gene would usually take Milly to church with him. On the rare occasion that we attempted to bring her to my church, she would not - and I mean would not - go to her Sunday school class. Epic tantrums ensued. Much clinging and screaming, tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth. In the end, it wasn't worth it to make her stay - I hated to leave her in such a state, and hated it doubly for the hapless volunteer who would have to deal with her.


But with Gene working every other Sunday now, something had to change. If she didn't go to her own class, she would have to sit through the worship service with me (distracting me) and then through my Sunday school class as well (distracting everyone.) So I talked to other parents in the church. Emailed the preschool director. Emailed the Sunday school teacher. Worried a lot and prayed a lot. And when Sunday morning came...she stayed in her class. The whole time. I'm talking 9:30 until a few minutes past 12 - this was major. We had talked it up and told her what to expect, and she was excited about it...until we got into the room. Then she started edging behind me and whispering that she'd changed her mind. And the tears started, but no howling. That's when her teacher, Miss Melissa, let her know that *ahem* MOMMY NEEDED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM...so I ducked into the bathroom that connected the two four-year-old classrooms (yep, they promoted her to the four-year-old room!) and exited through the other classroom. Startling the other teacher a bit, but it was worth it. Milly stayed and had a great time, and I've heard of little else but Miss Melissa all week.  :)


Wednesday night was a little harder - she threw a full-fledged tantrum and preschool director quite literally pried her off of my leg...I felt horrible once again, for leaving someone else to deal with a Milly tantrum. But again, I found out later that she cut it out almost immediately, and had a great time in class. She even got to play the hand bells - and if she keeps going and practicing, she'll get to play them in the Christmas program this year. (I am quite opposed to this; my BABY is not big enough to be in a Christmas program!! But I digress.)


Milly is enjoying some time at the ranch too. This past Saturday was Oktoberfest, and they took several alpacas, a llama, the donkey, chickens, goats, an angora rabbit, a tortoise, a snake, and a sugar glider...and set up a little petting zoo uptown. Naturally, Rachael stayed with them rather than accompanying me to my boring old Girl Scout table...but once I was relieved and Milly and I headed back to the critters, Milly was eager to get right in the middle of it. One of the younger alpacas, a handsome solid white dude named Russell, is just a little taller than Milly - she promptly claimed his lead line and led him all over the place for other people to pat. Looks like I have another 4-H'er on my hands...once she turns seven. No rush.


Both girls are excited about Halloween...and Thanksgiving...and Milly's birthday...and Christmas. They have the remainder of 2011 planned out quite nicely. Wish I were so organized.

So, that's what's been going on with us. I have more thoughts to share later, now that the dreaded update is finished. And I have three - yes, three - giveaways to post later! Perhaps I'll get around to that tonight, now that I'm done procrastinating. For now.

Cherry, yes.

Rachael had a dentist appointment yesterday morning. My child looks forward to the dentist the way that some kids look forward to their birthdays. She spotted the date on the calendar as soon as the page was turned to September - it was originally scheduled for September 7, and she was bummed for a whole afternoon when the office called to reschedule for the 13th. But the big day finally arrived, and off we went for her bi-annual checkup.

She jumped right into the chair and had her teeth cleaned with grape flavored toothpaste. (Am I the only one that finds that a little gross? Grape and toothpaste just don't go together. But she seemed to enjoy it.) She got a good report from the hygienist, and even more glowing praise from the dentist, who called her teeth "awesome" and "beautiful." Judging from her front teeth, she'll probably cost us a bundle in orthodontia in the not-so-distant future, but at least they'll have great teeth to work with.

During her checkup, I sat in the corner with Milly on my lap. She watched everything that was going on without saying a word, aside from one-word replies whenever Rachael asked her a question. The hygienist made our next appointment for mid-March and asked if I wanted to have Milly's teeth cleaned then too. I told her yes, but that I just couldn't imagine Milly going for it. Not my most cooperative child, not by a long shot. She did not seem thrilled with the idea.

So when the dentist asked her if she wanted to have her teeth "tickled" too, I wasn't surprised when her answer was a firm and immediate negative.

But then he asked if she'd just sit in the chair and let him count her teeth. She shrugged. "Okay." And climbed right into the chair.

HOLY CRAP, WHO WAS THIS KID AND WHAT DID SHE DO WITH MY CHILD?!?!

She laid back and opened her mouth wiiiiiiiide before the dentist could even sit down:

He showed her the mirror and the little hook thing he uses to touch each tooth while he's counting. (You know the thing, and I'm too lazy to Google the proper name.) He counted her teeth ("you've got a whole bunch in there!," he told her) and pronounced her teeth as beautiful too.


Then he asked again..."are you sure you don't want your teeth cleaned too, while you're already in the chair?"


Milly cut her eyes at him, suspicious.


"You could use grape flavored toothpaste..."


Frown.


"...or bubblegum flavored..."


(I honestly thought he might have her with bubblegum, she loooves bubblegum. But no dice.)


"...or cherry..."


"Cherry, yes." Instant response, no excitement, just a matter of fact "cherry, yes."


And at that point, she laid back again, opened wide, and let the hygienist clean her little teeth with cherry-flavored toothpaste. (Again, yuck.)


And me? I mentally kicked myself a kazillion times for not having my camera in my purse. I took at least a dozen pictures of Rachael's first ever dental appointment, because hey, that's scrapbook worthy. But I did have my phone, so I was able to get one pic, just to prove that it happened.


Once she was done, each girl got two prizes from the treasure box, at the dentist's insistence. Oh yeah, he really knows how to win over a little girl! And now, I have two kids looking forward to their next visit to the dentist.

9-11: Ten Years Later

Dear Rachael and Milly,


Ten years ago today - September 11, 2001 - was a sunny day just like today. Clear, blue skies as far as the eye could see. Daddy and I had been married for only five months, and that day started like most every other. He left for his job at the sawmill as the sun was rising. I rushed out the door (I always rushed in the morning) for my job in the office at King's Grant Retirement Community. I punched in at 8:30 and headed downstairs to my cubicle. I had just gotten everything situated and my computer turned on when I heard a startling report on the radio: an airplane had just crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. It was 8:46.


Wow, that was terrible news. A big building like that...well, there had to be lots of people inside, beginning their work day just as I was. It was terrible. I wandered away from desk and into the main reception area to see if my co-workers had heard. They had, and the receptionist had already turned on a little TV in the corner. We stood watching as black smoke poured out of the tower. Reporters were speculating as to whether this was a crazy accident, or whether it was something worse.


At 9:03, we were still watching the TV and saw the second plane crash into the other tower. This was no accident.

Shocked by the morning's events thus far, I had just returned to my desk when a third plane struck the Pentagon at 9:37. At 10:03, a fourth plane crashed into a Pennsylvania field after passengers bravely overtook the terrorists on board.

I called Daddy at work, called Gramma at work. I just needed to hear the voices of the people I loved. It felt like the whole word was caving in that morning. Everyone was shocked, sad, angry, scared. Several of the employees and residents had friends and family in New York and frantically attempted to get in touch with them. Some did. Others were left wondering until later that evening. As far as I know, no one there lost a loved one.

But so many people did. Nearly 3000 people lost their lives that day, quite literally out of the blue.

Employees were invited to come and pray together in the chapel that afternoon - the same chapel where Daddy and I were married. 

That night, Daddy and I sat in front of the TV at home, numbly watching as the news replayed the crashes over and over. It was so hard to go to sleep that night. I cried a lot, and I know I wasn't alone.

When nothing else happened over the next couple of days, it became clear that the attacks were over - but they had changed our country in a remarkable way. Flags were flying everywhere - off of buildings, in yards, from the tops of cars. Patriotism swelled - every heart filled with love for our country and its people. In their shock and grief, people came together and helped each other. Donated blood. Took up collections to help the families of the 9/11 victims. More people went to church, and I know that even more prayed. People gave their best in more ways that I can remember.

Alan Jackson - a big country singer at the time, still popular today, probably not by the time either of you are able to really understand this - wrote a song about 9/11 shortly afterward, that summed up quite well the way that we felt in the days following the attacks. Listen to the words:

There were other songs written, but none that speak my feelings as well as this one. Ten years later, I still cry every time I hear it. I know it'll be hard for you understand, since you weren't there, but I doubt you'll ever meet an adult that doesn't remember exactly where they were and what they were doing on September 11, 2001.


My sweet girls, even though you weren't there, you were on my mind that morning. As I sat at my desk, not working (no one got much work done that day), thinking about what had happened and what it meant for our country...uncertain of what this meant, what it might mean for our future...wondering what the world would be like in a few years...my mind flashed forward to the babies that I wanted, someday, and I prayed that they would not know the fear and uncertainty that we knew on that day. I wanted better for you both.


So I wrote a letter to you. Sitting at my desk in front of my computer, trying to look busy although my mind was anywhere but at work, I wrote a letter to my future children. I told you what had happened and what I felt at that exact moment. I told you the hopes I had for your someday-lives. The next day, I added to that letter a copy of the speech that President Bush delivered later on the evening in September 11th.


I saved it onto a disk and transferred it to my computer at home...but that was several computers and three homes ago and sadly, the letter has been lost. I so wish I could find it to share it with you (or at least, with Rachael) today. Since I can't, I thought that a new letter was in order.


I did, at least, find the President's speech. You can read or view it here.


And now you know where I was and what I was doing as well.


I hope that neither of you will ever experience a day like that one. But at the same time, I hope that someday you'll be able to imagine - and it shouldn't be hard, since there's so much video from 9/11 to be found - what it was like for us that were here. I hope that you'll feel pride in the country we live in, and in the remarkable people all around us that are willing to selflessly rush into burning buildings to save other people. I hope you'll feel compassion for the families that lost loved ones - and I hope that you'll learn great compassion in a way that's less heartbreaking. I hope you'll pray for people that need it, whether you know them or not. I hope that you never, ever have your own 9/11.


I am so grateful for you both. I wondered that morning, whether our world was changing in such a hideous way that Daddy and I would never want to subject a child of our own to it. But our country is strong, and while we will never forget that day, it did not break us. There are terrible people in the world, girls...but there are so many good ones too. Be two of the good ones. Always hope, always pray, and always do good.


I love you both, so much.
Mommy

HEART

My Rachael's heart was broken earlier this week. It was something that I didn't expect just yet, and something that we both could certainly have done without. But like most things that break our hearts, it was completely out of my control.


Rachael has joined the 4-H club at a local ranch, where she's having a great time working with all the animals. They have more types of animals than I can count, but Rachael's very favorite was a white baby goat named Bluebell.


She first met Bluebell back in June, when she attended Girl Scout camp at the same ranch. Bluebell and her sister, Heather, were teeny tiny and still being bottle fed. Rachael always raced to be the one to feed sweet Bluebell.


When she made the decision to join the 4-H club, she was even more elated that now she'd get to see Bluebell twice a week. The goat pen has been her first stop at each meeting, and Bluebell always runs to the fence to meet her. They are precious together.


But this week, while Rachael was outside tending to the animals, one of the owners of the ranch commented that Bluebell and Heather had been sold, and would be going to their new homes on Monday. My heart sank. I knew that Rachael would be devastated. Even though the babies are going together, and to a great home...it wouldn't matter. This would be the same as losing a friend.


It was time to go home, and there would be no practice on Friday. I would have to tell Rachael before we left, or she wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye.


So I went down to the barn and waited while she finished cleaning out a stall. I was so proud to see her working so diligently, listening so well to the older kids and doing what she was asked without complaint - although nothing in the barn comes close to being a glamorous job. When she was finished, I asked her to show Bluebell to me before we headed to the car.


While we both petted Bluebell, I explained to Rachael that Bluebell was leaving for her new home. The tears started immediately. It didn't matter that she was going to a good home or that she would get to stay with her sister...Rachael was heartbroken and there was nothing I could say that would matter one bit. I'm not sure that it didn't hurt me even more to watch my darling girl cry while she said goodbye to Bluebell.


We could hear her bleating as we walked up the hill. It sounded just like Bluebell was crying too.


My first Mommy instinct was, of course, to fix it. Hurry hurry run and find a little white goat of our very own. But of course, that wouldn't have mattered. There's only one Bluebell. You can't just replace a beloved friend.


Now, three days later, Rachael is mostly okay. She still cries when she thinks of Bluebell, but it's not non-stop. That first night was wretched for us both. She's asked me to print out the two pictures that I've posted here, but I've put it off so far...I wonder if looking at them so often would just make it that much more painful? Of course, we visit the ranch twice a week, and I know she'll think of Bluebell every time she's there.


And so will I.


We'll miss you, Bluebell.

* * * * *

One verse that's been on my mind lately is Proverbs 4:23, "above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." (NIV) 



How I wish I could guard my daughters' hearts for them, beating away everything that could potentially cause them pain. But how would I know what to conquer first? It's hard to tell where pain can come from...who would have expected an adorable baby goat to cause heartache? It's simply beyond my control to prevent them from hurting.


For that matter, I can't even prevent myself from hurting. And like Rachael, the pain often comes from an unexpected source.


I have always, always, always taken words to heart. I can remember things that people said to me as a little child that hurt my feelings. They may not have even meant to - in fact, now that I'm older and wiser, I can see that they probably didn't. But they hurt then, and that hurt stuck. There are instances I can recall from middle school, from high school...all through my life, careless comments that have chipped away at my own heart.


I get this honestly - my mom admits to the same affliction. She feels deeply and is hurt easily. This is one of only a few characteristics I seem to have inherited from her - and one that I have unfortunately handed down to Rachael as well.


Naturally, most of the words that one hears comes from the people that closest to your heart - your family and friends. So what do you do when one of them hurts your feelings constantly with their words? 


     The one who contradicts everything you say.


     The one who is always right - making you always wrong.


     The one who poo-poos your ideas.


     The one who doesn't even bother listening when you talk and goes on talking about something else instead.


     The one with passive-aggressive tendencies.


     The one who consistently brings up topics that she knows you hate. 


     The one who gets angry when you get upset.


     The one who is sweet as sugar pie to your face, but talks about you behind your back.


     The one who won't let you get a word in edgewise.


     The one who is too busy to talk to you at all.


I've counted all of these among my friends, and loved them all. Tolerated all of the above for the sake of our friendship. Maybe even been guilty of a few of those myself, because who hasn't? But never consistently. Never purposefully.


The same glitch in my personality that allows me to be deeply hurt at the drop of a hat also does now allow me to consciously hurt someone that I love. (Gene will laugh when he reads this. He definitely gets the majority of my emotional overflow. Likewise, I lose my patience more often than I like with my babies. But do I say things to make them angry, to hurt their feelings, to make them feel inferior? NEVER.)


I am simply hyper-aware of the way that I speak to other people - again, most of the time. I have unintentionally put my foot in my mouth and hurt someone's feelings, but overall, I am very selective of my words. I've actually been accused of not talking enough - something that, I heard later, made some people in high school think that I was a snob, because I didn't talk to them. Not the case at all. I would just rather not talk than to say the wrong thing.


And with some people, I feel like I can't say the right thing.


At any rate, I've realized lately that the majority of hurtful comments come from only a handful of sources...and have been forced to step back and rethink a relationship or two. It's a painful process - just the realization that a person you care for brings you more pain than joy is terrible. Contemplating doing something about it is even worse.


Then I go back to the verse, "above all else, guard your heart." Above all else. There are lots of ways that you should guard your heart - from a whole host of sinful thoughts, sure. You should keep it for God, and focused on God. But shouldn't we also guard our hearts against being hurt, being angered, being made to feel "less than" and unworthy of being handled with care? Shouldn't we seek out people that FILL our hearts rather than make us feel drained? Shouldn't we all have people in our lives that consciously try not to hurt us with their words?


I think we should. I will continue trying to be one of those people. And whenever I meet people who will do the same for me, I will treasure those friendships that much more, and thank God for them.


"Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer." Psalm 19:14 (KJV)

My Daughter Is My Role Model (Spiritual Sunday)

Saturday was a red-letter day for my oldest daughter - she had been invited for a sleepover at the home of her dearest friend. She worries about this friend sometimes, since her family doesn't go to church. I've overheard her praying for her friend, and even talking to her about God when she's playing at our house.

So yesterday, I left it up to Rachael to pack her bag for her sleepover...her being 7 1/2 and all the laundry being clean. I checked on her a while later to find her little red backpack crammed to overflowing, and suggested that she move her things into a larger pink bag instead. And when I checked to make sure she had everything she needed, this is what I found:

Yes, I was a little surprised - she wasn't planning on going to church during her stay, and that would have probably been the only thing that would remind me to pack my Bible when I was seven years old.

But after the initial surprise came joy...my daughter, without prompting, packed her Bible for a sleepover. Wouldn't that warm any mother's heart?

She's such a good role model. I'm reminded so often of how much I have to learn from her.

"Verily I say unto you, except ye...become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."  Matthew 18:3

(A big THANKS for stopping by to my Spiritual Sunday friends!!)