2009 February « Burdenofglory’s Weblog

Just an ordinary day

February 28, 2009 at 11:55 pm (Children)

Since Katherine turned 15 last September, my busy days have become a bit more stressful. I know the best way to teach her to drive is for her to drive me around everywhere for a year. But when I need to get to many places, and I’m running behind, teaching a new driver how to get around town is downright painful. I had conveniently forgotten this since teaching Ash to drive. I have forgotten most of my childbirth experiences, too.

Last week I had a wake-up call, when I fit in one too many stops, and was late for an appointment. As Katherine turned left at the tail end of a yellow light, another car almost hit us. Katherine didn’t want to drive anymore, and I didn’t really want her to, either. But I figured it was better to get back in the saddle. She did fine.

One day, when I actually allowed enough time to get us where we needed to be, I documented some of our weekly trip. Our typical drive to town takes us to Highway 77 and Saltillo Road, where you can see for miles.

Then we head clear over to my sister-in-law’s house, on 44th and Superior, for piano lessons. After dropping off Rebecca and Maddie, we head over to Sommer’s for Katherine’s guitar lesson.

I always have to check out the architecture of the International Quilt Center. It is almost as interesting outside as it is inside. Certainly a large improvement from the tattoo parlor that had been there previously.

Cooper usually is not a huge help during piano lessons, and reluctantly comes with me to run errands. Not only that, but the sun was in his eyes. Not a happy camper.

After lessons and a “short” chat with Sommer and my sister-in-law, we zoom to Zion’s old educational building at 8th and D streets for the Teen Parent program. We are usually a bit late after lessons and chatting.

Lincoln looks kind of cosmopolitan in the evening when you enter it from the north by the stadium. And look! Powerball was up to $105 million!

Even if we didn’t win the lottery (you have to play to win), I was glad I had the chance to slow down and enjoy the scenery, while Katherine, my pretty-good beginning driver, chauffeured me around.

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No privacy

February 28, 2009 at 11:04 pm (Children)

This may affect me differently than it affects you, because I just had a conversation with my sister-in-law about privacy. Like, she has had none since she had kids. She can’t remember the last time she had an uninterrupted shower without an emergency, someone getting in trouble, or a question only she can answer. I hated to tell her that she shouldn’t expect any privacy for many, many more years.

Here are the usual problems I need to take care of in the morning when I just step into the shower:

“Mom, she is talking to me while I’m trying to do school.”
“Mom, she hit my head with a book when she went by.”
“Mom, the phone is for you.”
“Mom, how do you do this problem?”
“Mom, I hurt my finger. Can you see it?”
“Mom, (you fill in the blank).

Last week I heard a new one.

“Mom, is cereal made out of wood?” asked Rebecca.

“No, it’s made out of wheat, ” Mom answered, sounding slightly annoyed and bubbly, like her head was under a showerhead.

“MADDIE!” Rebecca yelled, running out and slamming the door.

Calgon, take me away.

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When did granola become an adjective?

February 22, 2009 at 3:28 pm (Personal reflection)

I just received my wheat order for the year: 100 pounds of unbleached white flour, and 400 pounds of Prairie Gold wheat.

I’ve made bread since Katherine was born. Back then I did it because I quit my job, which meant I needed to save money, and I actually had time to cook. I bought wheat flour back then.

Eventually, I met gals in the church who ground their own wheat and ooooooo I loved their bread. So I eventually bought a wheat grinder and a Bosch mixer, which mixes 6 loaves of bread at a time.

I’ve been thinking about this the past few months, after reading Bethany’s blog about healthy food. Many people commented about how they choose to eat healthy. They pick their battles. Organic food sounds nice, but with a large family, that would quadruple my grocery costs. No deal. I do grow my own food, which I enjoy in the winter. Remind me of this next August when I’m canning again. I try to make most of our meals, and not buy prepackaged stuff, besides frozen pizza and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, both of which my children think is nectar from the gods. However, baking bread from freshly ground wheat is my main commitment to healthy eating. That’s that. Did you know wheat flour loses its nutrients a day or so after you grind it? That’s why I freeze it, and my bread, after baking it.

When I instructed a young mom about baking fresh bread, she said, “I guess I’m really a homeschooler, now!”

During another one of my bread-baking talks, a different friend told me,”I’m not that granola!”

Does that make me a homeschooling-granola mamma?

I had never heard of a person referred to as “granola” before this year. A “guy” said Redeemer was the “Granola Church.” Hmmmm. I had to ponder what that meant, and what that meant I was. Am I a hippie? Nope. No communal living, and I wear all my undergarments. I do make my own granola, but I don’t think he was referring to Redeemer as the church that makes it’s own breakfast cereal. I think he was referring to our political views.

Like, perhaps, some people from Redeemer voted for Obama. Well, I didn’t. I think some people may have, but I love them and they love Jesus. I don’t agree with them, but we’re not all supposed to be ears in the Body, now, are we? We will all pray for our new leader together, regardless if we voted for him or not. And I may even share my granola, with my “granola” friends, and even my “non-granola” friends, if they want some.

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To Blog or Not to Blog

February 21, 2009 at 7:05 pm (Personal reflection)

I love moments of connectedness, when you find out somebody else, who seems normal and nice in every other way, shares your selfish motives. I was at a fellow blogger’s home, when her husband mentioned she gauges the “success” of a blog entry by the number of comments on a post.

I sometimes wonder why I blog. I like to write. I could journal to myself, but I like to edit, also, unwilling to leave original rantings on paper unless I go through them a few times. A compulsion, really. Who ever heard of editing your journal?

I wrote an article for Zion’s newsletter once, which was really the first thing that got past the journal stage. I received positive feedback, and encouragement to keep writing. Well, “keep writing” is fine, but what am I supposed to do with it?

I am not a “writer,” who frantically fills pages and pages up with beautiful stories. I feel an idea ricocheting in my head, and like a raindrop in a storm cloud, it travels on the currents of air, collecting more and more ice along the way. Out pops a hailstone. Is it publishable?

OK. Here is the hard part. Do artists create paintings just to sit in their room, or sit in a pile in the basement? Or do they want their paintings to be on display, relating the feelings they had when they created it to others? And to get feedback? I don’t think artists want people to have no reaction. Instead they want to evoke happiness, wonder, anger, concern, or something.

My point is that I wonder if blogging is beneficial. If I want to communicate with people, I could just call them or have a cup of coffee with them. Does blogging just substitute for real, personal communication? And is it really communication when I am just sending thoughts out into nowhere, for a few people to glance at, but not communicate back?

I do read a few blogs, and it is mostly people I know, and that I like to catch up with. The only blog I have started reading that doesn’t fit in this category is the The Pioneer Woman,which is just plain entertaining. Do I just want to be entertaining? No. But I don’t mind if I am once in a while. (I noticed this link is not linking. Bear with me while I try new tricks.)

I pray that God would give me ideas for His glory; that my writing could bring pleasure, unity, a different perspective, what God is showing me about life and Himself at the moment, and frankly, documenting parts of my life. I have read a couple of my first entries and I’m glad I wrote them down. Otherwise, I would forget how I felt just then.

I struggle with blogging because sometimes it seems to pressure me to write, even if I’m the only one exerting pressure. I don’t want to merely write to get a pat on the back from people. In fact, if I get too caught up in that, I would rather not write at all.

I will leave it there. But I am curious about what others think. Is blogging beneficial, or just tooting our own horn? Do we just like to see our words on the screen? Is there a way to do this to God’s glory, or should we just stop analyzing it and enjoy the ride?

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1972

February 19, 2009 at 4:43 am (Family)

In 1972, hand-held calculators were first introduced. The first LCD watch could be purchased for $2,000. Watergate was just going down. “Bloody Sunday” sees 13 Roman Catholics shot dead by British troops at Londonderry in Northern Ireland. Federal Express was founded, and delivered 16 packages its first night. J. Edgar Hoover died after directing the FBI for 48 years. Apollo 16 astronauts brought back 214 pounds of lunar rock and soil. A U.S. table-tennis team visited the People’s Republic of China, initiating the era of “Ping-Pong Diplomacy.”

But most note-worthy of all, my bro-in-law, Justin, was born.

We had a 1972 party to celebrate. Justin outdid himself. I am not sure what threw him over the top: the gray wig, the fake chest hair, or the gold belt. He just looked so, so seedy. He is a master of disguise, wearing costumes whenever called upon. For Ashley’s 15th birthday, he dressed up like Captain Jack Sparrow.

ashbd-011

He won the Oscar for best costume, of course.

Last year Justin had a President’s Day birthday party. He was Martin Van Buren, complete with gray hair and mutton chops that would make Elvis cry. Naomi, his wife, dressed up like Laura Bush. All she had to do is part her hair differently, and she was a dead ringer.

Two years ago, he had a spy party. We all dressed up like spies. Obviously.

Justin tied string all over the living room, and we had to try to get across the room without touching string. Just like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. Kind of. And we all ordered food from a menu that sounded Russian-Cold-War-ish.

OK. Back to 1972. Naomi kept her mom’s skirt from who knows when, and a shawl her big sister, Rachel, knitted in the 6th grade. She parted her hair in the middle, and she transformed into Flower Child Galore.

My mom-in-law, Malinda, not only made this fine quilt-like skirt, but this strawberry dress, also. She can still wear it. She had just gotten off the plane from India the day before this party. She doesn’t miss a beat.

I didn’t do so well. I found a retro t-shirt in Rebecca’s drawer about some basketball championship from 1971. I brushed my hair for the first time in years, to bring about its natural frizz and sticky-outiness, but it wasn’t too impressive.

Maybe next time I’ll make it to Goodwill to find a really fine costume. But what’s the point? I could never compete with Justin.

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Grow!

February 18, 2009 at 2:11 am (Home, Uncategorized)

This is a “Paper White” narcissus bulb. Soon (6 weeks) it will make beautiful, slender stems with tiny little daffodil-looking flowers on the top. I have never “forced” a bulb inside before, but I bought bulbs for our unit study on Boxes for Katje. It was my turn to volunteer for our co-op. Leia read the book, and I was the mailman on my bike, delivering packages, including bulbs. I’ve never ridden my bike in church before, but it was good to get it out. I hope the kids think about this sweet story of generosity after WWII when they see their flowers bloom, and giggle when they think about Mrs. Hinrichs riding around the coffee house on her bike.

Instead of a “Paper White,” I may just have a “Bulb in a Jar.”

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He loves me, he loves me still

February 16, 2009 at 3:40 am (Marriage)

Marcus is not the type of guy who buys many flowers, or other little gifts. He doesn’t give me romantic cards. But once in a while, when he does one of these things, it speaks volumes.

My romantic Valentine’s Day evening consisted of Swiss Family Robinson with Maddie and Rebecca. Actually, the movie was entertaining, as it always is (how many times have we watched Ernest and Fritz duke it out over the girl they first thought was a boy?). It was 100 times better than The Island of the Blue Dolphins, which we tried to watch first. Isn’t it ludicrous the way they used to put straight, black wigs on actors and botta bing, you got yourself an Indian? Rebecca even asked me, “Mom, is that an Indian? He looks white with a black wig.” Maddie giggled, “Yeah, he has that shell headband on to keep that wig on his head.” Out of the mouths of babes. If the black wigs aren’t silly enough, the supposed Indians talk their MONOTONE, BEING CAREFUL NOT TO USE ARTICLES, ADJECTIVES, OR THE RIGHT PRONOUNS: “Me go beach after she.” After a while, it makes my eye twitch.

The Valentine’s Day treat was homemade brownies, which were OK in their precooked form. I almost made Kerri’s Oatmeal Chocolate-Chip Cookies, but thought I’d try yet another homemade brownie recipe. They weren’t even worth frosting. Why don’t I ever learn?

But the best part of the evening was when Marcus came home, after standing in his booth at the home show for 10 hours. He brought me a dozen roses, and told me he would take me out if I wanted. Sigh. We finished Swiss Family Robinson instead, holding hands and giggling at all the booby traps the family set up for the naughty pirates.

I know, I know. It is good to get out with your husband. But it is good to stay in, too.

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Clean floor love

February 16, 2009 at 1:38 am (Personal reflection)

Ashley cleaned the floor today. I love clean floors. I don’t know if it is because I’m female, the mother of 4, or that a clean floor is such a fleeting pleasure. After Ash cleans, I can walk into the kitchen with socks. No concerns that my sock will become adhered to the tile, or that some unknown chunk of whatnot will stick to the bottom of my sock, and feel uncomfortable when I put on my shoe.

Is it right to have clean floor love? Or to love the creator of the clean floor? Thanks for this glimpse of heaven for an hour each week, Ash. I picked the cheese and the Doritoes off of it just now, so it would last a little longer.

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