Christmas in July

It seems such a strange thing to be thinking about given that it is still July, but the kids have been on a winter kick this morning.  I guess this makes some degree of sense since we all rejoiced and ran outside because it was 78 degrees outside, a temperature we haven't really felt since March- but it was cold this morning and so we rejoiced!  I admit, I too have been pondering with longing for cooler, non-humid temperatures, tempered by the joy of scarves and sweaters returning to my wardrobe.  (I don't care how many sunshiney states I've lived in, I still despise wearing shorts, even if I don't think I look as bad in them as I once did.)  In addition to that, there is some small joy in playing Christmas songs in July. 

Eventually I found out that the reason for the children's enthusiasm.  The eldest boy helpfully took his siblings aside to explain that soon Summer would be over (hence the "cool" temperature that we enjoyed this morning) and after summer came autumn and after autumn came winter which included Christmas.  Am I the only one who thinks that maybe the children just have a one track mind?  On the other hand, I can't really blame them.  Texas, I love you, but the more time I live here the more I understand why people moved farther West.

I Wanna Marry a Guy Like THAT

In the car I was listening to KLove, which for those of you who don't listen to the radio (or at least not that station), KLove is the Christian Rock, alternative music station for the greater part of the United States.  Today I was listening to the KLove Scott and Kelly show while I drove home, trying to keep my mind occupied.  Kelly is on vacation, which makes it the, er- Scott show (catchy, I know) when Scott decided it was time to make an announcement.  So Scott calls the number and asks politely to speak to "Sierra Mitchell." (For the record, I'm not certain of the last name on this one.)  The gentleman on the phone inquires who this is and Scott and the gentleman go around in circles for a minute, inquiring if Sierra is there, being further questioned by the guy, before Scott finally gets frustrated and said, "I want to tell Sierra some great news!"  The gentleman responded in an equally irritated voice, "I would love to let you but it's kinda wierd that a grown man is calling my twelve-year-old daughter!"  Scott had the grace to act embarassed and responded, "I understand.  I have kids of my own.  This is Scott from the Scott and Kelly show on KLove.  I'm calling to tell your daughter, Sierra, that she is the Grand Prize Winner of our contest." 

Normally, I enjoy the Scott and Kelly show, but let me tell you, today I lost it and almost had to pull off the freeway because I was laughing so hard.  I am very happy to know that there are over protective dads like that still out in the universe.  I'm glad that they exist and gosh darn it, I wanna marry a man like that.

An Important Question

A word of wisdom popped into my head yesterday while I was going crazy.  It comes froman otherwise annoying and unmemorable boy that I met in college.  He said that he always told his friends what they meant to him because this life moves to quickly and you don't know when you'll get the chance to say it again.  More importantly, you don't know when you will not get the chance to say it again.  Every time people left his company he would drop a quick, "I love you."  I acquired the habit (to a lesser degree) and every time I get off the phone with my family I drop the line as well.  "I love you, Mama."  "I love you, boyo."  "I love you, Baby."  "I love you, Tia."  What I should say is, "I love you- don't ever forget it."  I always seem to forget that... but yesterday at the end of my rope and before I blew my temper, Jonathan asked me a question.

"Gabbie, do you know I love you?" 
I promise, there is nothing that little boy will ever do to make me forget that.

Atonement for the Bobsled

I frequently reminisce about the child that I once was and the joys of being part of a large family. One of my favorite memories was going to any store that had the big, stainless steel grocery karts. Even more so were the stores that had the built in buggies so you could strap three kids in- but my Mother quickly put an end to those. Anyways- back in the day we would stick our baby in the baby basket (the one protected place in the cart), carefully wait for our dear Mother's attention to be diverted, and then shout "ONE! TWO! THREE!" together in German with Jamaican accents (like in the movie  Cool Running) and then my three brothers and I would each grab a corner of the cart and run down the aisle, jumping on at the end, right before we slid into the other half of the store. Indeed, there was nothing more wonderful in the world for the five of us giggling children- but if there could have been, it would have been when we combined our "bobsled" with "bowling" and aimed for someone or something, or when our Mother and the store manager would take off after us in hot pursuit (never actually succeeding until we were done), or by some mis-luck, we managed to stop before running into something. Today, the Carma gods got even with me for every bad idea I put into my brothers heads and never was punished for. 

Going to the grocery store is not an exciting event anymore.  With the number of people who live combined with how much produce we eat mixed with my inability to keep a garden alive through frost, drought, and wildlife, we have to go every couple days.  I frequently go grocery shopping by myself. I have gone grocery shopping by with Susan many times. I have gone with Susan and the two eldest more than that. I have even gone with Susan and all five of the kids a couple times. So factoring in that there are five growing children who tend to, ahem- inhale food around here, going to the grocery store should not be an adventure- but it was today. 

Today I took the four youngest (ages eight, seven, five, and four) to the grocery store by myself and not for the first time in my life, I realized how HARD it is to be a Mother.  Today I realized that there are few things more terrifying than a four-year-old who is throwing a temper tantrum.  Today I realized that people judge large families by the behavior of my little rapscallions.  Today I realized how much none of that matters because today I realized how much I love them, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Due to the many appointments we had to get done today, my godmother and I decided it would be best if we separated to hit up the grocery store and the doctor's office, and since even on the best of days the doctor's office is boring we decided I would take the kids with me to the grocery store.  I like going to this particular store because occasionally (like on mornings where I didn't get coffee) I can stop by the coffee shop next door and get my favorite non-coffee-flavored-coffee which is 2 part whipped cream, 3 parts syrup, 1 part sprinkles, 2 parts ice, and perhaps a fraction of a part coffee.  So we pulled up and four well behaved, gorgeous little children climbed out of the car, waited for me on the sidewalk, held hands- two by two- and trotted after me as if they were angel children sent from heaven.  Then we got into the coffee shop. 

I think they must pump caffeine in the air because in the moments it took for me to walk up to the counter and order my coffee the barrista looked at my celestial shadows and remarked, "What adorable children!  And so well-behaved too!"  (Surely any sane person would know better than to say that within earshot of the children- but alas no- she lacked this sense.)  I was laughing as she turned to me and smiled and asked the now familiar question of, "Are they all yours?"  Just once I would like to have the gumption to say, "No- they've been following me around for years, calling me Mommy, but I still have no clue who these strangers are."  Instead I smiled back and replied, "Actually, they're my cousins.  Aren't they sweet?"  This particular barrista was funnier than most and responded, "Wow- you have a lot of cousins."  Okay, she was asking for it- I try to rationalize, but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up.  "Actually- four isn't so many- there are more at home.  And I'm one of ten."  So what if this number comes more from the lost boys my Mother picked up- she certainly didn't know that.  But as you might have guessed by now from the bobsledding incidents I incited as a child- I am evil!!!! 

In the minute it took me to have this conversation with the barrista my attention was diverted.  I turned to see eight little eyes facing all directions (now being influenced by the caffeine in the air) and touching everything in sight.  Oh yes, my very well behaved children.  I managed to diver their attention to watching my coffee being made.  I am a cruel, cruel woman because I took the coffee confection and didn't share.  They asked with their pleading little eyes and I informed him I would give in and give them most things but caffeine mixed with sugar was not one of them. 

Then we went to the grocery store- famous last words.  (I would like to point out that I am not as cruel as I may seem because they had breakfast as Sonic whereas I had not even managed coffee before this point.)  I decided it would be fun to tell the kids we were going on a treasure hunt with the ads (circled with quantities written) as a map.  Famous last words.  The Baby I secured in the basket with Irene in the main part of the buggy.  The boys were stationed, one as a map holder, and the other as lookout on the front of the cart.  Simple enough, right?  WRONG!!!!!!! 

Did you know that if you turn your back on a child in the basket, she will a) try to put on the safety strap that does not fit her, b) try to help you put things in the cart that aren't on the list, c) holler to be let out in order to better assist you with "choosing" the green beans, or d) talk to every passer by and explain that *I* am not her mommy.  Moreover, while you are trying to persuade the baby that perhaps screaming is not the best course of action, at least one of the boys will wander off into the busiest part of the store (gratefully, still within sight) and stop to ponder the ceiling tiles.  This will be followed by the glares of complete strangers as I hasten the boys back to me, with a baby on my hip, followed by Irene screaming not to forget her (as if I could!) 

By the end of the shopping trip I learned a great many things about myself. 
1) I still don't care what other people think.
2) My borrowed children bring smiles (and laughter) wherever they may go.

3) As flustered as I may get at the time, they haven't thrown anything at me (yet) that I haven't been able to later laugh off.

4) I love those kids more than anything. 
5) Loving children does not equate to understanding them.
6) I like a challenge.

Ah yes, I am brilliant.  While in the checkout line they were perfectly behaved, touched nothing, chatted politely with the checker, and waved good-bye to the grocery store and all the other shoppers as we left.  I think I saw them all sigh in relief at our exit.  And then their mother called.  Suddenly I had a cart full of monkeys- howling and crying, calling pitieously for "Mama." 

After a lengthy moment of contemplation, I would like to add the following note.  Mama, if you're reading this, I'm sorry for the child I was, and thank you for loving us all in spite of the stunts we pulled.  And I'm sorry about the Bobsled. 

Chicklight- Twichick- whatever!- book one

I used to like the word "twilight."  In fact, I used to like that time of day.  It was the time of day when the world became a little more peaceful, the heat of the day was over, and then the real fun could begin.  Unfortunately now when I hear that word, a little part of my childhood dies and I curl a little more into myself.  Don't judge me but I have now read Stephanie Meyer's Twilight.  In short, I was dared to read it... by a guy.  What's worse is, it was a brother.

I admit, that going into reading this book, my mind was not unbiased.  Generally any book that inspires crazed fan girls, infatuations bordering on obsession with actors, months of enduring movie spoilers, previews, and excerpts, does not bring out the best in my easily warped sense of propriety. Just the same, I feel it would not be justice unless I spoke my exact thoughts concerning what I thought of the book.



Twilightis told from the perspective of Bella, a seventeen-year-old girl who is uprooted to Forks, Washington to live with her estranged father, from Phoenix, Arizona by a warped sense of duty to make her mother happy. She expects nothing to change with her move but at her new high school she quickly acquires the admiration of most of the school, especially the boys.  Instead of appreciating this sudden change that she allegedly desired before her move, she becomes obsessed with the one boy, Edward, who ignores her (albeit at first) and then treats her badly.  Eventually she discovers his secret, after cyber stalking him and putting together the obvious clues, he is a vampire.  She is quoted for saying,
Correct me if I'm wrong, but that does not sound like a healthy, loving, giving relationship.   The book plays on Bella's emotional neediness that her loving family and friends cannot replace.  Though I sincerely doubt anyone’s daughter will ever date a vampire there is a very deep description of superficial beauty. She likes him because of his beauty not because of his mind.  Bella repeatedly throws herself at him even when he says he does not wish to sleep with her because that would be breaking one of the ten commandments. 

The irony of a vampire with a conscience is not lost on me but it brings about the one positive of the first book.  Edward does not want to lead her into sin.  He's okay with leaving her in the dark, being rude to her, obsessively following, putting her in repeated mortal danger, and constantly comments that he is too selfish to do the right thing, but he won't sleep with her. 

As a whole I couldn't put the book down because I wondered how it was possible for someone so naive to continue living,* but I would classify it as a Harlequin Romance novel as opposed to a Fantasy. As I have often reflected, it is a romance novel with a dash of fantasy sprinkled in; it’s good if you like sugar but not much for flavor. All this can be overlooked as I don’t expect many people will look into this book as closely as I have, but what bothers me most is the audience that this book seems to be written for. The type is in a large font, simple language, and fast paced (albeit the author often drags out unimportant details in repetitive descriptions of Phoenix, Forks shrubbery, and Edward’s eyes); the book seems to be written for a child. Far be it from me to say an adult should not read a children’s book but imagine what kind of ideas this is putting into, say a thirteen-year-old's mind on what healthy relationships are based upon.  For me, that is the crucial, inexcusable act. 

"About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him — and I didn’t know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him." 

Just think what kind of relationship this is setting a child up for.  As I frequently pondered- this is not love, maybe infatuation bordering on obsession, but it sure ain't love.  Although this book does not specifically mention anything adult rated, i.e. explicit sex references, gory details, drugs seen in a good light, it is not child friendly, and I'm not quite sure how to consider healthy for young women either. 

*“ I’ve never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it’s much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that’s probably just because it’s you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." -Edward, Twilight

50 Things that made me happy today

1) NOT waking up to a yowling cat.
2) Waking up to happy children.
3) Being able to see my floor.
4) Morning prayer with the baby in my lap.
5) Coffee.
6) Coffee that doesn't taste like coffee.
7) Coffee that tastes like chocolate.
8) Coffee that tastes like chocolate AND raspberry. 
9) Sunshine- glorious, warm, clear, and bright sunshine.
10) Not feeling the affects of the aforementioned sunshine.
11) Clean teeth- mmmmmmm.
12) Being able to recognize the power tools I would need.
13) Being to find said power tools.
14) Realizing that we were out of the right kind of nails. 
15) A full tank of gas.
16) Remembering where I was going before I arrived at the wrong destination.
17) Not finding the renters' humongous, slobbering dog in the backyard.
18) Remembering the tape measure and figuring out how to use it. 
19) Going to the bank and talking with a PLEASANT bank employee.
20) Depositing money in the bank. 
21) Not falling out of my car when trying to put the &%($# thing back while remaining half in the car. 
22) Texting my Mother before she woke up this morning.
23) Sitting in a cool car while waiting for the bank lady to come back.
24) Feeling the wind play across my face.
25) Feeling the wind pull tendrils of my hair loose from my updo. 
26) Driving 60mph (or about that anyways) on 79.
27) Not seeing any cops. 
28) Having a CD in the car when there was nothing interesting on the radio. 
29) Driving out to Hutto.
30) Contacts.
31) Contacts that work. 
32) Cool blue sunglasses that make me look like a dork.
33) Cutoffs and dirty white tennis shoes without socks.
34) Finding that the home repair store is precisely where I left it- I mean where I remember it being. 
35) Remembering my cellphone in the car BEFORE I was in the store.
36) Being young and cute and absolutely ridiculous.
37) Being able to get immediate help because of the previous happy thought. 
38) Talking with the nice man from Chicago about the plank of wood I needed.
39) Finding out that there are nice people from Chicago (yes, Laura, that was a joke.)
40) Finding the three inch nails. 
41) Purchasing both items from people who know where Disneyland is.
42) Thinking about Disneyland.
43) Thinking about California.
44) Thinking about living in Texas.
45) Not scratching my window with the plank of wood. 
46) Not screaming when the car seat in the back seat lunged forward and hit the back of mine when I stopped at the stop sign. 
47) Driving back to the rental house.
48) Fixing the fence.
49) Fixing the fence all by myself.
50) Making all the neighbors laugh while they watched me fix the fence. 
51) A celestial breeze combined with the morning Texas temperatures. 
52) Realizing that fixing the fence wasn't that hard.
53) Driving home.
54) Driving home and thinking of ways to spoil small children. 
55) Thinking about Irene's birthday.
56) Thinking about Irene's birthday and knowing what she is going to get from her godmommy this year.
57) Laughing at the bird in the road.
58) Smiling at the song on the radio.
59) Arriving home.
60) Remembering to unload Bennie.
61) Loving Bennie.
62) Being greeted by the happy cheers of the baby.
63) Being greeted by the disgruntled peels of the cat.
64) Seeing all five children convening happily with their mother. 
65) Listening to my godmommy discuss Moses with her children. 
66) Helping Rebecca think of things to write to her new penpal. 
67) Helping Jonathan write a letter.
68) Helping Jonathan write a love letter.
69) Helping Jonathan. 
70) Watching the baby.
71) Reading to the baby. 
72) Reading to the baby from her favorite story.
73) Knowing the baby loves Disney princesses as much as I do. 
74) Making a deal with the baby to fold the rags in half in exchange for another book.
75) Watching the baby fold the rags in half so I don't have to.
76) Hearing the baby discuss how "Pinky", Rebecca's rabbit, is her favorite. 
77) Admiring Jonathan's ninja picture.
78) Admiring Jonathan's ninja picture and recognizing what it is.
79) Going over 50 in my list of 50 things that make me happy. 
80) Texting Sasha.
81) Realizing that there are two bags of cherries that HAVE TO be eaten today.
82) Plotting- I mean planning dinner. 
83) Being smelly from physical labor. 
84) Smelling like grass and wood chips.
85) Being told I smell like grass and wood chips by the baby.
86) Funny emails from Matt.
87) Dancing with the baby.
88) Helping the baby color.
89) Having the baby put away the rags.
90) Having the baby put away the rags that SHE folded.
91) Holding Pinky for the baby while she puts away the rags.
92) Thinking of the yummy dinner that will be made eventually.
93) Notifications on facebook from my sister. 
94) Notifications that are not dire. 
95) Being informed by the ten-year-old what I should do to relax.
96) Listening to the baby say that she needs to take a break from her very industrious morning.
97) Irene's hair.
98) Rebecca making lunch.
99) Knowing my Bible is in my purse. 

100) Knowing that it's not even 12.30 and there are a million more things that will make me happy today.

The lawnmower

I am one of those self empowering women.  I enjoy doing things myself that would normally be classified as "men's work."  I am student of history and so more and more frequently things that are defined as a man's work frequently correspond with what was once expected of anyone who worked in that field.  Since I have left California I can now change the tires on my car, check the oil, mow the lawn, jump start many different kinds of vehicles (in under five minutes, start to finish), take apart and fix three different kinds of vacuums, tend and grow a garden (for the edification of the local wildlife), and operate a weed whacker, power saw, and hedge trimmer, pitch a reliable tent, etc. etc.  Okay so the list isn't that extensive, but when you consider how difficult these things were for me to learn and add in that I didn't know ANY OF THEM before I moved to Texas, it is slightly more impressive.  

It is in my nature to enjoy trying new things, especially things that I didn't learn as the eldest girl in a family of lots of boys.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my brothers.  I can hardly get through a conversation without bringing up at least one of them.  I guess it made more sense when I lived with them but it's still very entertaining to consider.  Anyways, due to their overzealous nature of "taking care" of their "little" sister, I never had the opportunity to learn most of these things. 

All that being said I find it very frustrating when a device that has worked in the past, has had no conditions change, been generally reliable, and has now decided to be generally ornery, very frustrating.  This is only exacerbated by the fact that I asked TWO male neighbors to help me.  When neither of them succeeded I figure it could possibly be due to the fact that I am a small female.  Then Steven got home- pulled out the lawnmower, ripped it once, and mowed the lawn. 

Lord, grant me God, grant me the serenity to accept that the lawnmower hates me,
The courage to try my best,
And the wisdom not to end that stupid machine.

Scars

"Cause we are beautiful no matter what they say

Yes, words won't bring us down, oh no

We are beautiful in every single way

Yes, words can't bring us down

Don't you bring me down today"

-Beautiful, Christina Aguilera

When you look in the mirror what do you see?  A nose?  Two eyes?  A mouth?  A couple ears?  Maybe some earrings?  Hair?  Makeup?  Glasses?  A blemish?  Some freckles?  A mole?  A beard?  If we moved on to the rest of the body what would you describe?  Legs?  Arms?  Chest?  Torso?  Back?  Is your self image positive?  I am one good looking son of a gun.  Is it negative?  If only I could change this one thing about me?  If  you could change one thing what would it be?  There was a time when I blissfully would have answered that I wouldn't change anything about myself.  Sadly, that was when I was five-years-old.  Too many people have been brutally honest with me and stronger than most things I've heard, I remember those things.  When I look in the mirror I am reminded that my nose is crooked, compliments of a boy in first grade, my ears are unshapely I was told by a boy in middle school, my eyes are a boring shade of blue a girl in high school told me, my chin is weak, a woman I met in elementary school told me, my eyebrows too bushy a boy in college once said, a girl in high school said my hair was frizzy and a bad color, my smile made me look chinese, a boy in fifth grade informed me, my stature not tall or thin enough to be a dancer I was told I forget when.  I would accept all of these with acceptance except I didn't ask for any of these opinions.  When I see myself I see these problems.  I see these parts of myself that I cannot change and sometimes it makes me sad.  It makes me sad because the first thing I notice about myself are these scars. 

I recently came into acquaintance with a young woman who has much the same problem as me- she only sees the imperfections in herself. I see her and I think that she is beautiful. I think she is one of the most beautiful women that I have ever known. I started to write this for her.

In addition to these emotional scars I now can boast physical ones as well.  Soon I will be going in for my fifth mole removal and biopsy.  It's a standard procedure, I remind myself constantly, for any mole that shows the qualities of skin cancer.  That doesn't mean it is skin cancer now, or even that it will be, but that it might be.  It's the possiblity that scares me.  It still distresses me when I meet people for the first time and the look at me.  I'm afraid that all they see are these scars on my face and arm and leg.  I'm afraid that they only see the imperfections that I know exist.  I'm afraid that people will not like me because of this.  I'm afraid they will not like me.  I'm afraid. 

As an excercise in proving myself wrong, in proving that I couldn't possibly be right about all these things, I took a poll of what people thought of me- not who I am, but my appearance, my looks, purely aesthetically, non emotionally.  I tried to be fair and ask women and men, including people who have never met me in person so they wouldn't be swayed by anything in my immediate personality.  I asked them two questions with the request for brutal honesty- 1) Do you think I am physically beautiful? 2) Why? 

As a form of science it probably required a more practical mindset than mine.  As a form of morale- I should've done this years ago.  Earlier I complained about my eyebrows, my eyes, my chin, my ears, my body, my hair, my height, and my smile.  Not one person mentioned my 5'3" as a problem and more than one thought it was ideal.  No one mentioned my eyebrows or my chin.  One guy said my ears were cute.  I had many people that loved my hair, someone said my feet were cute, numerous people loved eyes, my skin, my coloring, more than one (I blush to say) admired my figure, and almost everyone said how much they loved my smile.  And only one person said that I was not beautiful in the stereotypical form of beautiful.  Just think, I have been blaming all my problems on what my physical appearance was.  I blame every screwed up relationship on not being pretty enough, because maybe if I had been he would've stayed, or he would have tried harder.  Every job I didn't even consider that maybe I didn't get it because it wasn't right for me- instead it was because I wasn't pretty enough.  In the past I only ever saw myself as others saw me negatively.  Then the other day I remembered something I once said in college. 

When you come back to God after leaving, as I did, you bring your heart back to God, as a small child brings a painting to his mother.  He says to her, "it's not very beautiful, and it isn't as good as it could've been, but I tried, and I wanted it to be so beautiful for you."  When the Mother looks at her child's creation she doesn't see that it's sloppy, or that it's wet, or that he probably made a mess during its creation, or that she will have to look at that ugly think for months after he puts it on the refrigerator.  She sees it as beautiful as he intended it to be.  That's how God sees us as we come to him.  I'm not as beautiful as I was when He first gave my body and my soul to me, but I want to give it back to Him as beautiful as I can make it.  Maybe I want this because I am a vain, shallow girl and I like being pretty, or maybe it is because I want other people to see God when they look at me, or maybe it is because I know that when I go before my Father some day, He won't see how people have hurt me and He won't see the pain I've been through- He will see me as I am and He won't see my scars.