As you prepare for the Assembly of the Faithful, meditating on God's word, ironing your clothes...

This is how my children have all learned the Lord's Prayer.

7 Quick Takes: How Clean is my House?

My house is immaculately spotless (to be excessively redundant). When I say spotless, I mean that the furniture is finger print free and shining, you can eat off the deeply clean floor, there is no way to trip over piles of laundry and toys because everything is put away, you can see your face in the kitchen sink, and all the bathrooms smell like a fresh summer breeze. In fact, I remarked to myself yesterday, this house Cleaner than our apartment our first year of marriage when we had no children and no pets. 

Two

How is this possible, you ask? 

Three

Largely due to the miracle of prayer and supplication to God, combined with the fact that we live next to the church and we are really really desperately tired of greeting all our friends with "please come in, please don't look at the floor, be careful where you step, oh, I'm so sorry, is that chair sticky, please try this chair...."

Four

Also, we discovered the novel idea of teaching the children to pick up after themselves Before They Move On to the Next Thing. 

Five

Furthermore, we discovered that we also could pick up after ourselves. Like putting a dish in the dishwasher instead of the sink to sit for five days. I've even tried making beds in the morning after we get out of them, instead of in the evening right before we get in them.

Six

I had no idea how much of my identity and purpose was bound up in cleaning. In the absence of having piles of rooms to clean, I've been at a veritable loss of how to conceive of reality. I actually sat down to read a book yesterday, and to read some books to the children, and play the piano for a few minutes. I feel like I'm living in a purpulishly clean twilight zone.

Seven

How can we possibly continue with this beautifully clean and ordered lifestyle? you ask. One day at a time. 

Go check out Jen!

Ugh

I finally read this after having it forwarded to me and seeing it everywhere on facebook. Actually, I got about half way down and had to stop because I began to be lightheaded and sick. Followed upon the recent watching of this, after which I was unable to sleep for several nights, I am ever more confirmed in my belief that none of us ought to be shocked whatsoever at the current political whirlwind we are reaping.

If you make it through the article you will notice, besides the very favorable victimizing tone, words like 'respect' and 'dignity' so perverted by their context as to make them essentially meaningless.

And now to prayer, for the battle belongs to the Lord.

What a glorious thing it is to worship the Lord...

We have recently reached a  milestone with our eldest child. She has gained the age, possibly not of discernment, but of being invited to be trained and to serve as an acolyte in church. For those of you who are not remotely Anglican or liturgical in your ecclesiastical leanings, an acolyte assists in worship by carrying candles or a cross down the aisle, ringing the bell during the Eucharistic prayer (when its supposed to be rung and not all the time or when they feel like it), assisting the priest to set the table for communion, ushering people up to communion and other tasks of that nature. 

We have struggled over the years at Good Shepherd to convince children to want to serve in this way, have struggled to train them, and struggled to get their parents to bring them to church. However, in the last year, there has been a veritable explosion of children desirous of participating in this ministry and eager to serve, our own child amongst them.

Of course, our own child is excessively short, and, as an eight your old, she succumbs, though rarely, to silliness.

This last Sunday was one of those times. She, and the other candle bearer, also of small stature, walked carefully  and reverently down the aisle with the crucifer (the one who carries the cross) at the beginning of the service. I could tell from the gleam in her eye that she was thinking about silly bands and not about Jesus. The ministry of the Word went forward without incident. The acolytes stood, knelt, sang, sat, and prayed without drawing attention to themselves. Only an occasional leaning back while she knelt, to grin at me in the pew, interrupted the quiet flow of worship. At the peace Elphine made a bee line for me to inform me that her fellow candle bearer had been allowed to wear his silly bands high up under his robe and so could she have her back. 

"Absolutely not!" I said, "and the Peace of the Lord be always with you."

As she regained the altar, she and the other acolyte consulted with each about what to do, always a bad sign, I feel, but finally decided to pursue the correct course and return to their seats. The bell was mercifully rung by the crucifer and then came the agonizing moment when they had to walk back to the first pew and let the congregation out, pew by pew, to come forward for communion. Again the two whispered together but finally decided to do what they'd been instructed to do. As I left my pew Elphine whispered loudly, "NOW can I have my silly bands?"

"NO" I whispered back, imploring God to save my child from her sins.

The final prayer was said, Matt blessed the congregation, I opened my hymnal to sing the final hymn, and then Elphine, possibly in confusion, or impatience or gratitude that the service was finally over, took her candle, glanced at the other acolytes, the Eucharistic Ministers, me, and her father the priest, and spun around to walked quickly down the aisle all by herself, candle flailing. The other candle bearer, naturally, took off after her. The entire congregation, excepting visitors who didn't noticed, dissolved into fits of laughter, some of them crying with joy.

I left my pew and went back to encourage my child in the way she should go. "You did a pretty good job," I said, "but, um, did you notice anything just now?" 

"No!" she whispered, "can I have my silly bands?"

Monday Morning Haze: Birthday Edition

Did I mention that I was going to Maryland for a week (last week) to Rockbridge Academy's Teacher Training? Now the week long blog silence will be totally comprehensible and you will be able to put away your rage at my not posting, even as I am trying to put away my rage at the list of people (Lauren!) who are having a 'blog sabbath'. Honestly, what am I supposed to do if I have no blogs to read? Study? Clean? Attend to my children? Surely you will reconsider your family and spiritual commitments when you hear of my agony.

Rockbridge was excellent. If you're thinking about starting a school, and considering making it a Classical Christian school, then you ought to go to Rockbridge. They very much have discovered the winning formula and share it cogently and charitably. My only complaint was that the chairs were too tall and so for an entire week of sitting my feet were well above the floor and I came away with a back ache. Next time I'm taking a large pillow and a stool. 

I will have to process and organize my piles of notes from Rockbridge another day because today is the fourth birthday of Romulus and he intends that I will make him both a batman cake and a spiderman cake. When asked how he would like to spend the day, he focused exclusively on eating--toast, cream of wheat lathered in cream for breakfast, chicken lathered in sauce served up with rice for supper, two cakes, chocolate and butter sandwiches. That's just a partial list. I can see how he won't be interested in playing or riding his bike after so full a day of eating. 

Surprisingly I feel well up to the task of cooking all this food because the house is immaculate--clean enough, in fact, to be photographed. Left unaided with five children for a week, Matt undertook to deep clean and organize the house. This included polishing all the furniture, coping with the horrendous playroom, and training the children to clean up after themselves. Apparently, my method of telling them to clean up and then freaking out when they don't do it bore improvement. Now they clean up what they're playing with before moving as on to the next thing, and they don't smear butter everywhere. 

Romulus informs me that has finished his first course of toast and is ready for 'hot cereal without the cream mixed in'. Ta ta for now.

Not Enough Sleep Thursday

There's no way I can really blog because I woke up at 3am and couldn't go back to sleep, and then at 4am, Matt got up and turned all the lights on and blamed me for hiding his workout clothes (I DID Not hide them! I would Never Do That!), and then at 4:15 the baby woke up and had a long long long drink which she drank too fast and so at 4:35 she vomited it all over me. So, um, I think things can only get better through the day, don't you?

Marigold at 9 months

I don't know what the baby has to be so happy about. She grins unmercifully in the morning and coos and spits while everyone else whines.

Right now she is trying to pull the hairs out of the cat one by one. You would think cat would get up and move.

She doesn't appear to be getting any bigger although she eats everything, especially if you are eating it, gazing at you soulfully, blinking her eyes, puckering her lips in the most manipulative manner possible until you cave and start giving her bits. We didn't intend to give her chocolate cake yesterday but she looked so sad and alone eating banana that we finally gave in.

She also seems to have decided never to crawl. She was showing interest a few weeks back, and we were worried she would take off and become a menace. Now she is choosing the better, lazier way. If you put her down, anywhere, she screams unmercifully until someone, anyone, picks her up again. I can see that she will probably decide not to talk either, because everyone will be able to do it for her.

In short, she is the striking opposite of Gladys. This is not a Bad Thing. God, in his mercy, only gives us those trials we can bear and hopefully that means only One Gladys, not two.

Happy Birthday

I'm not allowed to blog. I have to arise and go downstairs and make soft boiled eggs and biscuits for breakfast. Five children are jumping on me and freaking out. Okay, okay, I'm coming.

Monday Morning Haze: VBS/Birthday Edition

The sky really is hazy, and the air is hot and humid. I finally rifled through the vast array of pregnancy clothes (I have everything you could possibly want for every season) in my possession looking for cool summer things. I'm too big to stuff myself into anything else. So amazing to be this big at only 12 weeks. Speaking of which, I Really need to remember to call the doctor.

But not today, because VBS kicks off tonight!!!! and I need to be more helpful than I have been so far. It is a huge enormous wonderful fabulous blessing not to be organizing this event myself but instead to be relying on a detail oriented talented enthusiastic creative perfectionist who really loves Jesus and loves children (unlike me, just kidding). This wonderful person has invented a program that far and away surpasses anything I have ever seen for sale on the subject of VBS.

And, I think we've solved the Birthday Party Problem. Thank you so much for all the suggestions. We're entering new territory as we approach this eighth birthday. Heretofore, its been a matter of saying brightly and cheerfully what's going to happen and then carrying on. For example, "We're going to have a cake and a balloon, and T is going to come over and you may also have a potato chip!" And the child coos with delight. I adopted this strategy after clarifying in my own mind what I thought I could cope with.

"Elphine," I said brightly, "on Tuesday morning, your Birthday, I will get out of bed and make us all a lovely breakfast, and then Daddy will take you out to lunch, and then, in the afternoon, we will have tea and that gorgeous fat chocolate cake from Wegmans. And then, when Teacher Training is over in a couple of weeks, and I've had time to recover, I will make a real Holly Hobby cake for after church."

She smiled cheerfully but didn't run off to play. After a few minutes she said, "I've thought about it, and I think we should invited E, S, R, T, N, J, P, J, and T to tea on Tuesday." And so began two days worth of negotiations involving both me and her father with unhelpful suggestions from Alouicious.

Birthdays are complicated for me. I've always adopted a defensive strategy of disappointment on my birthday. In the days leading up I indulgently and mournfully relive my 11th birthday when we planned a party for some friends three towns over, waited All Day for them to come, and finally, in the evening, picked up the party and drove it to them because they had forgotten. Or the birthday on which I received a large poster of Annie with the curly red hair and enormous dog. This poster so offended me--that someone looked at me, and then saw that awful musical, and thought, she's just like that--it still makes me shudder quietly. Or the many many birthdays when I had to go back to boarding school, the two days always seeming to coincide. I bring all this sorrow to every birthday celebrated by every member of our small family (by small, I mean, everyone single one of us is very short).

Matt, on the other hand, sees birthdays like a beautiful uncomplicated dream of happiness and ice-cream. He has no disappointments in birthdays, excepting that since he's been married to me, I have disappointed him every birthday by not being cheerful enough about it.

Naturally, he has insisted that we celebrate Happy Birthdays his way instead of Disappointed Eeyore Birthdays my way. I'm not the best judge, but I think we are succeeding. The children seem so Happy on their Birthdays, eyes bright as they utter long sighs of satisfaction. I hover in the background, waiting for someone to burst into tears or cloud over. My time, however, may yet come. The expectant gleam in Elphine's clear brown eyes is bound some day to encounter disappointment. May God yet spare us from it being this year.

Oh Man

Elphine is under the regrettable impression that because her birthday is next week, she should be allowed to have a birthday party, with a chocolate Holly Hobby cake, friends, balloons, and maybe a present. Agh!!! Its VBS week. Saturday is getting ready for VBS, Sunday is getting ready for VBS and then the whole thing kicks off, and then as soon as VBS is over I disappear to Maryland for teacher training. What shall I do? Seriously, help me out with some ideas.

(Remember, Alouicious managed to celebrate his birthday for a whole week, in very very recent memory.)

A Half Dozen

Per my request, Matt told everyone on Sunday that we're expecting Kennedy 6.0 in early February. I'm a mile wide at 10 weeks and I could tell everyone was looking at me and wishing they could ask. I was seriously toying with the idea of waiting until I was almost giving birth before admitting it and forcing so many loved ones into awkward social trauma by saying aggrievdly, 'NO! I'm just fat! And I'm throwing up because I have a chronic flu! What kind of person are you?'

We're all tickled pink. The children are wildly picking names and making plans. Elphine wants it to be a girl named Violet. Aloucious wants a boy named Daniel. Romulus wants it to actually be Spiderman. I'm pretty sure the only person who won't be uniformly thrilled will be Marigold, but who knows, she might surprise us all.

I've been telling everyone that I feel terrible, but it must not be too bad because I stripped all the kitchen wall paper and painted the kitchen last week, and yesterday I surprisingly decided to make French Fries from scratch (a stupid thing to do because I'm the only person in this family who will eat white potato and so I was forced to eat the entire bowl myself, lathered in mayonnaise--the fries, not me--Delicious!)

I have one small regret. Years ago I told everyone I 'wanted six'. The response overwhelmingly has been 'well, now you have your six' with a slight raise of the eyebrows. WHAT is everyone going to say when we go for #7? I wish I'd said from the get go that I wanted to be Michelle Dugger and have 20. But, I didn't know about her back then, and I was young and foolish, and six seemed like an outrageous lot of children. Am I allowed to grow in wisdom and maturity and up my number at this late date? How 'bout not 20 (I'm already too old) but, say, an even dozen? Isn't there a book about that? And also, my grandmother wanted 12. Its a Biblical Number.

Happy 4th!

Part IV of Leaving Home is Finally up! Took us an age, but I think the extra time made it extra good. If you missed the beginning, here's Part I, Part II, and Part III.

On that note, I'm going to wrench myself from the internet and desperately paint my kitchen and fling it back together and clean the house before noon when my weekend visitors arrive.

Stay cool! Its a scorcher.

having started something, I really need to go finish it....

On Monday, without premeditation, but largely because of the advent of the Awesome New Refrigerator, I started taring at the kitchen wallpaper. As a result, I have a dining room table full of kitchen junk, half a kitchen with wall paper, half without, a house full of little bits of wall paper because of so many children "helping" and tracking dirt everywhere, half a kitchen taped up for priming and painting, and general complete chaos. So, um, I really can't justify sitting here writing about how much I'm loving reading, or rather, listening to the Bible in a year, even though I'm exactly one month behind (because of going on vacation) and how much depth I am gaining my listening to it chronologically--the psalms spliced into the accounts of David's life--which is what I'd really like to be doing. Or, on the other hand, the depth of schmultzy nostalgia in which I am wallowing as a result of not only watching the world cup, but all the ads on youtube for the world cup, and all the floozy songs on youtube for the world cup. I know its been said Way Too Much, but it is special that its in Africa this time. I am so homesick. Also, why did they have to get a white chicky to sing the official (or one of the official) songs for the occasion? Are there no qualified African singers? (The answer to that question should be obvious to us all and if you answer wrongly, I won't even post your answer). What is the matter with me! I need to go work on the kitchen!

Growing up, and other appalling happenings

The hardest part of moving a year a and half ago, or whenever it was, besides the actual moving, was leaving behind our amazing and lovely neighbors who, within six months of our moving into that house, embraced and practically adopted our first child and all our children thereafter. They, for reasons we have never fully understood, thought our children were interesting and wanted to play with them, despite being older. 


By the grace of God, however, just as we moved, their oldest learned to drive and has become our life saving baby sitter, followed by her brother. They are each able to handle all five our children with grace, skill, wisdom and love. 


A page is turning, however. K graduated from high school this weekend and is headed to an impressive and, thankfully, only an hour away college in the fall. Her graduation party yesterday involved a Bouncy Castle, a Snow Cone Machine, a Cotton Candy Machine, an ENORMOUS pile of cupcakes, and soda pop. "No," I shouted at Alouicious who was nagging me to let him have a coke, "have a snow cone and some cotton candy!" Matt spit his own coke out in a fit of choking laughter. The boy walked away with a coke. There's a time to party and a time (now and for the next four days At Least) to abstain from sugar. We will miss K so much we will probably have to pop down to surprise her at school and sit in on her fancy theology classes.

Nunc Dimittis--for a late Saturday Evening

We're very very busy and we've got a lot to do...

We are in possession of an amazing and wonderful Refrigerator Box (and the Refrigerator that goes with it--even more amazing and wonderful. Pictures forthcoming). So clearly we will be busy all day. We have to find a place to put The Box and then probably every toy in the house will have to be shoved into it, or something. I am being hounded to arise and get a move on so that the feasting and joy may commence.

For our further pleasure, we will be listening to this (thanks SF) which is so awfully catchy and awesome.

Is anyone else praying for North Korea to survive going home after playing so badly? However, Cote d'Ivoire has to be them too as to move on to the next round so I'm not praying for them to win, obviously.

a note for my mother

Happy Birthday!

Many Happy Returns of the day. 

For your birthday, we'll be baking and eating a cake (with candles) as well as a variety of other delicious items. And we're going to watch Nigeria play South Korea and read some stories. And of course, we miss you very much and wish we could be there for a proper party.

Here is a flower from your very own garden as a present.

Monday Blog Haze

I'm seriously considering making this blog all about my hair. Thank you for all the comments! more than I think I've ever received for any other topic. Its all been very informative and helpful. I carefully tucked my grays in yesterday for church, but this morning they're flying all over with impunity. Matt says he "likes them" but he also says a lot of other stuff I know not to be true because he's nice and a good husband. (stuff like, "you don't look fat in that dress" and "it doesn't matter what you wear, you always look gorgeous" and "you're good at Everything you do!")

Maybe I'll start taking up close shots of my hair and documenting the graying progress. Or something.

In the meantime, I want to alert you all to the fact that Simcha Fisher is blogging again. Praise the Lord! If you want to know what kind of person I wish I was, you can read her. Along with Mark Steyn, I stop everything to read anything she's written, beating off children and work for a moment of quiet.

Also, I meant to link this post ages ago but forgot. Jessica took a class in something interesting and fabulous called Target Focused Training. Money quote, "Violence is rarely the answer. But when it is the answer, it’s the only  answer.” Going to look around for something like it here on the opposite coast.


And then, gratuitously and because its my blog so I can say whatever I want, here is the conversation I had with Romulus during the Prayers of the People yesterday. He was sitting on my lap, his enormous head pressing into my shoulder, wiggling and whispering too loudly.
R: Can I wear that.
Me: what?
R: that (pointing to my engagement ring)
Me: sure (putting it grudgingly on his fat index finger).
R; What is it?
Me: a diamond ring.
R: What is it for?
Me: Its pretty. See how it sparkles?
R: What does it do?
Me: It doesn't do anything, its pretty.
R: Does it have power?
Me: um? the power of love (laughing hysterically on the inside), not the kind of power you want
R: like a superhero?
Me: No
R: (deeply disappointed) oh


And now I will go try and fix my part of Leaving Home Part 4. I think its fine but Matt says it needs work. See! There are so many things he says that aren't true (see above).

my gray head in sorrow to the grave

I have more than two gray hairs.

I've been hiding the two pretty carefully for the last few years, but this morning, just now in fact, there were definitely more than two. And it didn't matter which way I combed anything, I couldn't hide all of them.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

What kind of person should I be? Should I enter the realm of everlasting dye? Should I decide, in humility, to clothe myself in good works rather than vanity? Should I carefully blacken each hair with shoe polish?

I'm pretty sure that my mother doesn't have any gray. She's pointed it out to me several times. Of course Matt is almost completely gray, but he's a man, and so he looks awesome (when he doesn't wear his phone on belt).

Help me out. I need some serious pros and cons. Feel free to wildly quote scripture if you want.

Tea, its possible to get it right (partial repost)

This was posted yesterday on Stand Firm.

I'm thrilled that seminary education in America is FINALLY getting down to basics. 

Anyway, it reminded me of some early brilliance on my blog, a post I called 'Manifesto'. Here is the meat of it.

Matt’s must be brewed and hot as he is waking up, so it is timed (at home the beans are ground at 3:55am and the hot water hits the newly ground beans at 3:57 and he pours his first cup at 4am exactly. On occasion I forget to put the pot back in place the night before and the coffee brews all over the floor). Can’t imagine what it would be like if he didn’t have his coffee in the morning. May God, in his mercy, preserve us.

I don’t drink coffee. I only drink coffee under duress and when it is heavily laced with chocolate. So of course, when I met Matt’s family for the first time, and the awful truth came out, the household was thrown into mayhem. In the intervening years various efforts have been made. Matt’s parents now own a total of 5 teapots. They have an unheard of variety of teas. On our arrival, there is always half and half, cream, three kinds of milk and bottled water on hand. And, very importantly, there is in residence a new and efficient hotpot.

The trouble, of course, is that this is a nation of coffee drinkers. The fabric of national identity and purpose is woven through and supported by coffee. The drinking of coffee and the mishandling of tea is a point of pride, an under-girding means by which the people of this great land continue to live.

And so it is impossible to get a decent cup of tea unless one makes it oneself. And here is the source of the real trouble. As one drinker of tea in a land of coffee, I inspire real fascination and curiosity. Women especially think, ‘oh, that’s so cute, we should have a tea party.’ By which they mean a tea pot with tepid water, a bag on the side, a wedge of lemon (or something), some ‘cute’ cups and a cookie. And then we all sit around and talk and feel cozy. There are books to go with this experience. I saw one today called ‘A Cup of Comfort’ and a couple of other soupy looking items.

Well, all you fascinated and curious coffee drinkers, That Is Not a Cup of Tea.

First of all, tea Like Coffee, provides caffeine. Tea Drinkers drink it to survive, not to feel ‘cozy’.

Second, it has to be prepared properly (see below).

Third, drinkers of tea already have everything they need—pot, cups, cozy, hot pot and Tea. Giving a tea drinker a lot of fancy fluffy paraphernalia is a nice thought but probably misguided. For example, knowing that I drink tea, Matt and I were given a total of ten tea pots at our wedding. No dishes, no tableware, no household items (well, a few very lovely things) but really, overall Tea Pots. And almost 20 tea cups. Even though I was already properly equipped at the time of my marriage owning a sensible pot and cups to go with it.

So, here is how to make a cup of tea.

Fill a tea kettle or hot pot with cold water. Turn it on. Let it come right up to the boil. Take it off. Pour some blazing hot water into a pot. Swirl it around. Let the pot become good and hot. Put the kettle back on. Dump the water out of the pot. Put in the tea (loose, of course, is best, but don’t be above a good bag—At Least Two for a full sized pot, probably more if it’s bad tea). When the Kettle is back up to the boil, pour it directly onto the tea. Clap the lid on Immediately (don’t leave the lid across the room and wander around looking for it while the tea becomes cold). Put a cozy on the pot or wrap it in a couple of kitchen towels. Let it sit for about 3 minutes. Drink it. Either with milk or milk and sugar or lemon. Whatever you do, don’t heat water a little bit and the pour it on a bag in a cup. If you’re going to do that just go ahead and drink water.