Just in time.....

A friend posted this on one of my chat lists and it's perfect timing.

40 Bags in 40 Days

Bag Count: 27

So, here's the start of my list of areas to cover:

1. Main floor bathroom
2. Kitchen Pantry
3. Kitchen Junk drawer
4. China Hutch
5. Music Room
6. Coat Closet
7. Kid's Bathroom (heaven help me!) It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and the older kids helped a bit which made it easier.
8. Master Closet
9. Jewelry Box (I bought a new one that's larger and I just need to move into it). Turns out the new jewelry box doesn't hold as much as it looks like it would, so I still have at least 2, but I've gone through my jewlry, so that counts!
10. Dresser
11-12 Alana's Room (2 days, or one full day)
13-14. Shannon's Room (again, 2 partial or one full day)
15-16. Tristan's Room (yet once more, 2 partial or one full day)
17. Master Bathroom, particularly the catch-all ledge
18. Picnic Closet
19. Toy Closet
20. Store Room--Food area
21. Store Room--The rest of it
22-23-24? My craft room. That's got to be ready for a potential long-term house guest come June and it needs a LOT of cleaning out.
25. White computer cupboard
26. DVD/Book/Computer Game shelves
27. Kids' Art Shelf and Game cubbies Yippee! Lots of things found their righful home, and lots of stuff tossed or recycled. This wasn't on the "list" for today, but Bruce got started on it, and once he does that, there's no holding back. Of course, I still wonder why there was a sweatshirt shoved in next to the coloring books, or why the dress-up clothes wound up crammed inside the Little People House, but whatever.
28. Laundry Room
29-31 Garage (This one is Bruce's problem)
32-33 Shed (Again, mostly on Bruce)
34. Computer Files....technically not something that will result in actual "bags" of "trash," but there will be lots of things to be sorted, organized, and ultimately recycled. I need to move files, especially photos and scrapbooking projects on to my external hard drive, but I'm not sure how to do it in a way that my program will be able to find them again. Cleaned up some of my "Favorites" today. 3/26 Moved my photos and scrapbook projects to my external and then deleted from my hard drive. My computer is MUCH happier!
34. Master Bedroom Bookshelves

Update 3/22: Today I cleaned out the "lost sock basket" that was about 1/2 full of mismatched, lonely socks. Some of them found their life partners again and will happily join their sock friends in the sock drawers. Others found their mates and will be going off to make new friends in someone else's sock drawer. And, yes, I kept some because I haven't finished all the laundry, nor have I even begun to see what's waiting under the kids' beds. But a pile of them went out to the trash. Of course, by throwing them away, I've now just about guaranteed that I'll find some mates this week or next, but really, who cares? It's a pair of socks. We have plenty of socks, and if we didn't, well, we'd be able to buy more, thankfully.

Update 3/29: Over the weekend, while I was at the Scrapbook Expo, Bruce and the girls got started on their rooms. There's lots of work left to do, but the girls did a great job and I'm so proud of them for taking the reigns

It's barely 8 am

and I've already managed to embarass myself senseless.

Anyone who knows me, or even knows the tiniest thing about me, knows that I don't do mornings. Now, because the rest of the world seems to think that 7:00 am is a perfectly reasonable time to do things, I've had to adapt. But I don't like it, and I stretch out my sleep as much as possible (read "punch the snooze alarm several times and race out the door at the last minute"). Once upon a time, I actually got up and got ready for my day BEFORE I took the Jr. High kids at 7:20. Then I came back to myself. Now, I roll out of bed around 7:19, throw on some pajama pants, a sweatshirt, and slippers, and off we go.

(Yes, I've heard all the advice that I should get up early, get a better start to my day so I'm not running around like a crazy person, blah, blah, blah. People who say that are morning people so, of course, that makes perfect sense in their warped morning-people brains. The sane among us, the night owls, know better).

In spite of all of that, I pride myself on never going out in public without being dressed. I don't go anywhere in public in my pajama pants. Ever. I don't go out in public without at least a little make up on, and I'm usually dressed in something more than just a t-shirt or sweatshirt. It's just one of my "things."

The van needs to have it's inspections done so we can get new registration stickers for it. We opted to do that today. Bruce stayed home from work this morning to take the kids to school and then take me to the mechanic. Well, as we left to take the Jr. High kids, I thought I was supposed to go to the mechanic and he'd meet me there after taking the kids. I also thought it'd be a quick trip, so I wasn't dressed.

I drove over to the mechanic and the gate was closed. I pulled over and waited. When Bruce got there, I asked him what time they opened. 8:00 am. So what the heck am I doing here at 7:35?! Um, well, it seems we had a bit of a communication issue. He assumed that I knew they didn't open until 8:00, so when he saw me pull out of the driveway, he thought I was okay to wait or something. Who knows what goes through his head? Instead of calling me to ask me what I was doing, he assumed he knew. I assumed that he needed to get to work ASAP, so I was trying to get this all taken care of as quickly as possible.

So we're sitting on the side of the road, waiting for the place to open. But really, this is ridiculous. Alana didn't have her coat or her backpack, and I have things to do today, darn it. And really, had I known that I didn't have to be there until 8, there's a good possibility I'd have still been in bed! We decided I'd take the Pilot home and get Alana's things, then meet back at the mechanic. I get out of the van with Alana and then, because cars are coming, I can't just hop into the Pilot.

That's right. I wound up standing in the street, next to the Pilot, waiting for all these cars to pass so it's safe to open the door......IN MY PAJAMA PANTS AND SLIPPERS! The last car to pass me? A police car. Mortifying, I tell ya.

Alana and I came home, and I put on some real clothes. Or at least real pants and shoes.

On the upside, I've already started laundry.

Is anybody out there?

Really? Is anybody reading?

Over the weekend, I was reading back through my blogs. I used to be pretty funny at times! LOL! I guess I've gone into hiding a bit, for a number of reasons, feeling like I can't share my whole self. There are reasons for this, but most of them are silly, so I need to stop.

The other thing I noticed was that I used to have comments on my blog all the time. Now I don't. Makes me wonder if anyone is reading anymore.......

Feeling Beautiful

I recently read a book that I really enjoyed. It's not a literary masterpiece, but it was a fun, entertaining read. The book? Twenties Girl by Sophia Kinsella. The author is more well-known for her Shopaholic series, I guess, but I'd never heard of her until this book came up for my book club.

The main charactor in the book is a young woman who's great-aunt has recently died. This young lady's life is in a bit of a mess, in large part because she's not being true to herself, nor is she trusting her instincts. Actually, she's got her head buried in the sand and has no idea that her instincts are even there!

But really, that's not the point of this post. In the book, the great-aunt's ghost haunts her because Sophie (the aunt) needs her necklace back. She doesn't know why she needs it, just that she can't rest until she's got it back. When the niece asks what's so special about the blasted necklace, all Sophie can say is "I felt beautiful when I wore it."

That got me thinking. Do I have something that makes me feel beautiful when I wear it? That seems a bit shallow, but really, I'm a girl, and girls like to feel beautiful. And feeling beautiful makes me feel more confident, energized, and happier. I think that's true for most of us female types.

The necklace in the book wasn't anything special, really. It had pretty beads and a lovely pendant hanging from it. I don't recall if it was real stones or just glass beads. And that's part of the point. Whatever makes you feel beautiful is the point. It doesn't have to be expensive or fancy. It just have to have some meaning for you. So, I challenged myself and my book club to find that special *something* that makes you feel pretty; that something that is "you;" that special thing that becomes part of your signature.

The power of a mother's love

It started this morning, with this song by Amy Grant, that a friend sang in church.

"God loves a lullaby
in a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes......

"We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody.....
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts......
Are better than a Hallelujah"

That first line took me back to that dreadful time just over two years ago, when my baby was in the hospital, unconcious, with an insulin drip, IV fluids, and a blood sugar over 1100. There was nothing I could do for my son. Nothing I could say to make it better. The doctors and nurses taking care of him in the ICU.....the tubes....the confusion and pain for all of us.

So I did what any broken-hearted mother does.

I sang.

I sang lullabies from his childhood; songs I'd sung to him all those nights long ago when he was a baby, his tiny head resting on my chest as I snatched song after song out of my memory and sang to him until he fell asleep.

As I sang to my now 12 year-old "baby," looking so frail and vunerable in that hospital bed, my tears flowed. I tried to stop them, at first, wiping them away, wanting to be strong for my son. But soon, I gave up trying to hold back the flood. I was terrified, hurting, scared, anxious, worried. My tears released all of that, in silent prayers for understanding, for knowledge of how to help my child, for protection in the future.

And I sang.

I sang songs from church, popular Christian songs, and country songs. Toby Keith and Tim McGraw, Lonestar and Amy Grant and Micheal W. Smith and Twila Paris, snatches of hymns and songs from camp.

And Tristan, in spite of how very sick he was, heard me. He knew I was there and he found comfort in my voice.

When we came home from the hospital several days later and went to bed that night, we snuggled up and talked. He was worried about how to handle his condition at school. What would his teachers think? Would he be able to eat whenever he needed to? Where would he check his blood sugar? The enormity of all of this was starting to sink in. Tristan was scared and he was angry at the unfairness of it all. He cried, and so did I, and we talked it all out.

But he still couldn't sleep.

So, again, I sang.

This time, he had requests.

I sang Lonestar's "Amazed" and "Already There.' I sang "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," and "Pass It On."

And my voice brought him comfort and peace. Neither of us knew where this startling new path was taking us, but Tristan knew, without a doubt, that we would walk it together. The power of a mother's love.

He fell asleep listening to my love through the songs I was singing.

I find myself in awe of the power of a mother's love. A mother's love is fierce and protective. It is sacrificing and generous. It truly knows no bounds. I knew all of that, but somehow today, I realized just how amazingly powerful that love is in the life of a child.

I couldn't make him better, though I would've taken the diabetes on myself to spare him. In a heartbeat. I couldn't take it away from Tristan, but I could comfort him.

My voice; my songs let him know that I was there and sometimes that's all that matters. Being there. Being present and the child knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that mom is unfailingly, annoyingly, lovingly, there.

Of course, I can't speak to a father's love, though I would imagine it's similar. See, it was Bruce who spent the night in a recliner next to Tristan's bed in ICU. Bruce who was there when Tristan regained consciousness. And it was Bruce who told him where he was and what all the tubes were. Again, the gentle reassuring love of a parent guiding our young man back into his new and different life.

Looking forward to Lent

This year I didn't really get around to New Year's resolutions. I've got a list as long as my arm of things I'd like to improve, and I'm working more on monthly goals, but there has been a conspicuous absence of resolutions as such.

Enter Lent. I'm actually EXCITED about Lent this year! It's like I've finally caught up to the new year and am working on goals and resolutions. Or maybe I'm reframing my "year" into a religious context? From a theological/church standpoint, I've still got it wrong since the liturgical year begins with Advent (before Christmas), but I think it's still okay. God welcomes our awakenings whenever they happen, and I feel like I'm on the cusp of mine.

Since my post about how busy life always is, I've pretty much stopped complaining about how busy things are. Life is good; really good, with jobs for everyone, worthwhile activities for all of us, and friends and family who care.

Back to Lent.......As many of you know, I give up things for Lent. It's a tradition that goes back centuries, when folks gave up something to commemorate the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert, being tempted by the devil, in preparation for Easter, which truly is the point of Chrisitianity. The older I get, the more seriously I take Lent. And it seems my children are getting the idea too. Last year, Tristan gave up soda. This year Alana is talking about giving up something (I suggested whining, but that only made her whine). Shannon, jokester that she is, has already decided to give up gluten! Which takes me on another tangent.....a friend of Shannon's at church is going gluten-free for Lent. She said, "If Shannon has to do this all the time, I can do it for 6 weeks!" The young lady is 12. Yeah....WOW!

See? Lent can be a powerful thing. And I'm hoping it'll be powerful in my life too. I need a jolt or 12. I'm giving up my usual soda and junk food, to be replaced by iced tea and crunchy healthy stuff like nuts or veggies. I haven't decided if popcorn is junk food or not. I suppose it depends on just what's on the popcorn.

I'm also giving up computer games. I added this one a few years ago, but found myself cheating out of habit. I'd simply click over the the game and be playing before I knew it. It was automatic, habitual, and completely brainless. All of the things I'm trying to reprogram. In place of computer games, I'm cleaning out closets, cupboards, and kids' rooms. And reading. Reading the Bible, reading for pleasure, reading for inspiration. And crafting. I think I spend waaaay more time playing games than I realize, and I'm hoping that this 40 days will be the reboot I need to break habits and move on into the life I *really* want.

On Birthdays and Extended Family

(editted to fix the title....no idea how that happened!)

Bruce's birthday was this week. So was my Dad's, and MIL's.

On one side of the aisle, you have my parents.....

Dad is rather non-chalant about these things. He doesn't need or want anything, and he was perfectly happy with the kids calling to sing to him.

Mom, notsomuch.

She mails cards so that they arrive *on* the day. She was quite dismayed to realize that Monday, being a federal holiday, meant no mail, which screwed up her timeline. She was further dismayed to learn that Bruce would be out of town for his birthday. "But when will you celebrate?" she practically wails......Sunday, mom. "But that's not his biiiiirthdaaay." Mom, he's in his 40s. THE day isn't nearly so important as celebrating as a family.

In person, this statement would lead to a rather funny look, much like a dog looks when they're curious and confused....cocked head, ears up, etc. This statement simply DOES NOT compute for her.

On the other side of the aisle, we have the Outlaws.

*sigh*

MIL is getting older and more and more forgetful, so cards are a thing of the past. I don't think any of us are sad about this, and I've been careful not to mention anything about it either way to the kids. MIL's cards, in the past, were those flowery, over-the-top, sappy, drippy, and often religious things. Bleck!

And, of course, the Outlaws own one of those magic phones that only RECEIVES long-distance calls. So there was no phone call for Bruce's birthday.

Bruce forgot to call his mom ON her actual birthday, so he wished her a Happy Birthday this afternoon, apologizing for forgetting. MIL commented on it, and mentioned that everyone called except one SIL (the one married to my PITA-Presbyterian-Minister BIL; same family that "visited" less than an hour away last summer and didn't bother to call us and let us know....clearly there are issues there, and I'm sure one of them is "you didn't call me; I'm not calling you" fueled by her oh-so-helpful-husband. But I digress......)

Bruce mentioned all of this to me after he got off the phone (and after telling his mom she probably wouldn't recognize any of the kids *snerk*). I pointed out that the phone does, in fact, work both ways. Double standard much, MIL?

And that brings me to something interesting I've been thinking about lately.

MIL is 84 and not in the best of health. I'm trying to be compassionate about that, but it's somewhat like dealing with a rabid dog. You feel bad for the animal, but you don't put yourself in harm's way because of that compassion.

As I watched all of this unfold this week, the lesson really seemed to be one about giving. People love my husband. They love me and they love my children. In this earthly plane, much of that love is "earned" by our willingness to give to others. What you put out there comes back to you. Bruce is willing to loan out his trailer and/or his services to help neighbors and friends. He fixes broken doors and installs new doorknobs. He shows up when there's work to be done and he doesn't stop until the job is complete. In return, one neighbor generously snow-blows my driveway when Bruce is out of town. Another takes care of our pets when we travel. Need a rototiller? Someone's got one we can use.

I think you get the idea.

MIL, on the other hand, does very little. She doesn't mail cards anymore (her eyesight is failing) and she doesn't make phone calls. She's no longer willing to travel. It seems she's less and less involved at her church as well. And yet, she expects that people are falling all over themselves to show her how special she is on her special day.

Okey-dokey, MIL.

My mom....well, that's another post. :-)