Striving for Perfection

I have been struggleing for weeks with an assignment for my children's writing course. Past assignments have been a breeze compared to this one. It is a non-fiction article. I have never written a non-fiction article.

I choose a subject that I am passionate about, and studied the facts faithfully. Then, I sat down to write. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Finally a friend advised me to just write. Get it down, good, bad, or ugly. Then go back and fix it. So this I did.

First introduction... YUCK!

Second introduction... BLAHHH!

Third introduction... IIIICCCCKKK!

And so on, and so, and so on.

It was just facts! I knew the facts, they were accurate and clear, but it was boring!

For weeks I agonized, wondering if I should just choose a different subject. Then one night, I decided to ask my non-reading, non-writing, husband his opionion on one of my introductions. I am so glad I did!

I have learned, you should never underestimate the power of an outside opinion. Even one who isn't part of your writers group. If I had submitted my intros to my group they most likely would have helped me long ago.

Thank you Larry for your words of wisdom. "Did Thomas Jefferson have a dog?"

I didn't use it, but it caused me to think and to write from a different viewpoint.

I'm ninety percent done with my first draft. I hope someone out there can learn from my struggle.

Pajama Raid

Childhood is fleeting, and like I have declared in past blogs, I want to give to my children as memorable an experience as possible.

My sister gave me an idea for something to do with my kids, and I jumped right on it, adding my own twists and turns.

It was Friday night, my husband and I had placed the kids in their beds ten minutes prior. It was quiet. We grabbed our flashlights and proceeded to turn out each light in our home. We tip-toed up the stairs and opened our kids doors whispering, "Pajama Raid".

We communicated to them the need to whisper because there could be spies around every corner. Quietly we put on jackets, descended the stairs, and exited to the garage. Their voices filled with wonder as we went. We also informed them they would be briefed on the mission as soon as we got inside the vehicle.

The kids couldn't believe or guess what was going on. Once the last child was fastened in their seat I turned and said to them, "this is Operation Ice Cream!"

The kids squealed with glee.

"But we must remain as quiet as possible, and keep a look-out for spies or anyone else out there who may try and jeopardize the mission. Lay low!" I commanded.

All the way to Dairy Queen we looked for "tails on our back" as we traveled the dark roads.

I gave them all code names for the mission. They were in total elation mode the whole trip.

The ice cream was inhaled quickly as we returned safely to base. We tip-toed back up the stairs where they were briefed in the hall.

"This was a top secret mission," I whispered flash light in hand. "In order to be granted another adventure you cannot ask when the next one will be or that will delay it."

They quietly returned to their rooms, still whispering their unbelief at what just occurred.

My husband and I plan to do it again, when? You never can tell. Maybe every couple months or so.

Anyone else have any memories or idea's like this? I'd love to hear about them. I look forward to sitting around having coffee with my kids when they are twenty or thirty something, and listening to them relay the memories of their childhood with animation in their eyes.

Perhaps with the proceeding arrival of winter, our next mission will be, "Operation Hot Chocolate"!

I'm Surrounded

I stepped outside and felt the warmth of the sun as it swept across my face. I wandered to the end of the driveway, opened the wooden box and pulled out a pile of mail. Thumbing through it I looked for desirable material. Once again, I was greeted with Cabela's, Riflemen, and Bass Pro Shop magazines that never stop coming. Oh look, here's something addressed to me from the NRA. I don't remember joining the NRA.

As I re-enter my abode I place the stack atop the growing pile on the kitchen counter. I have been forbidden to throw them away.

From the kitchen I step into the family room where I stumble upon colorful piles of lego's, which had been abandoned, but am assured by the screams that echoed from above the culprit is not far away.

Walking up the stairs my eyes fall upon, a bionicle arm, a hot wheel car, and something that appears to have once been a transformer.

These subtle reminders of the male population that inhabits these walls are as unfailing as the assurance that the sun will set in the west. And yet, I remain a sane, content, and a mostly cheerful, wife and mother.

I have four males that have taken over my home. A home which I strive to keep as feminine as I can under the circumstances. Here are some ways I have subconsciously attempted to keep the masculine influence in my life at arms length.

1. I collect fine china

2. I love fresh flowers in the house

3. I read Jane Austen novels

4. I own a collie

5. I love tea parties

6. I have Sandra Kuck pictures hanging in my bedroom

7. I wear mostly feminine looking clothing

8. I light candles

9. I have had magazine subscriptions to, Martha Stewart Living, Victoria, and Better Homes and Gardens.

10. I married a man who hunts, races RC cars, tinkers in the basement with RC cars for hours, and participates in competitive shooting

Oh wait, that last one doesn't count does it?

It is remarkable how God made male and female so different, and yet, they can be so compatible. We compliment each other and show forth the diversity of our Maker.

So despite the fact that I don't always UNDERSTAND the male population of my home I do TRY to appreciate our differences.

...and PLEASE, don't forget to put the seat down!

Creating Memories

Today was a first for us. We drove to a nearby farm and picked our own vegetables. True, I could have purchased that same produce from my local grocery store but... a memory was made.

Childhood is such a rich time. Filled with lessons to learn, games to play, and memories to make. Most of us have a favorite memory from our childhood. A family vacation, a lemonade stand, drinking cocoa beside a fireplace while a blizzard raged outdoors. Doesn't just reading about those things make you smile? Well, maybe I'm just sentimental.

A friend recently told me about taking her young children to Disney World for the first time. As adults, maybe that doesn't sound as enjoyable as it once would have been. But here is the way she looked at it. She kept her focus on her children. Studying their faces as they light up, and the eagerness in their eyes. It moved her to tears.

"It was magical!" she said.

Today, as we waded through fields rich with growth, my sandals allowing a full helping of dirt between my toes, I just took it all in. The joy on the faces of my children as they beheld the miracle of produce that had sprung up from the ground. We were making a memory. Which I believe my children will not soon forget.

The Road Less Traveled By

As I walk on this journey called "life" I am met with many things. Sharp turns, obstacles that block my way, some great and some small. But inevitably the path divides in front of me.

Which path do I take?

When I take the path that looks easy, I may enjoy it for a while. Little sweat is involved, no hills to climb or hurdles to jump over, all seems fine. But when the journey is over, fewer calories were burnt, no muscle developed, and no lessons learned on the way.

When I take the narrower harder path, I sweat, I climb, and I hurdle. And when it's over, I am stronger, wiser, leaner and more physically fit.

Hmmm, sounds just like life decisions. Do what's easy. Don't deal with that negative attitude I see in my child. Leave that project that needs attention for another day. Organizing that closet can wait until next week, next month, next year.

I am preaching to myself. I will admit it, I pro... pro... procrastinate. Did I really just admit that? I did, it's now out there. Bottom line, I need to WRITE things out for each day. Goals, dreams, things that need to get done.

We moved into our present home a little over a year ago. Boxes are unpacked, things are put away, and pictures are on the walls. But... There was one major thing I procrastinated, the master bedroom walk-in closet. I knew I wanted it perfectly organized and it was going to take a lot of TIME and WORK. So what did I do? I closed the door for a year. I HATE clutter. I literally feel like I can't function, or enjoy anything fully until the clutter is gone. So I just shut the door.

Then company was coming. They would stay in that room, I knew I had to clean it. It took me over an hour but, I sweat, labored, and organized. With results I could hardly believe, I actually enjoy being in there, and I can find the things I need! Why did I wait a year to enjoy my walk-in closet? Now I open the door and I feel such relief and pleasure.

I have learned a lesson from a closet. Take that narrower road that may not show on the surface as the most appealing. In the words of Robert Frost, "take the road less traveled by" and ENJOY the fruits of your labor!

...wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only few find it.

Matthew 7:13

Bouquets of newly sharpened pencils

Tis the season to send someone you love a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.

Step outside, breath in deeply. Do you feel it? Fall is not far away.

Monday the last of my school-bound returns, leaving me a four year old to fill these rooms with the laughter and play of one voice.

Making a schedule and sticking to it is how I plan on meeting my writing objectives this year. I really don't get much done without a schedule. It's going to be a great year!

Fairy Tale

I was walking by a shop window the other day when my eyes caught a glimpse of a sign in the window with these words...

"Once in a while, right in the middle of ordinary life, love gives you a fairy tale."

I was drawn to the sign, and just stood and read it again and again. Then, I reached into my purse, pulled out pen and paper and copied it down. Why?

I decided to look up the definition of fairy tale. ...being magical, idealized, or extremely happy. I suppose we all long for the bliss filled life, where dreams do come true and we live happily ever after.

I want to look for the fairy tales in my life, people or places that make me smile. A song, a verse of scripture, a moment in time that I soak in and wish would go on forever. That's part of why we're here, to live life to the fullest and help others do the same.

Book Review - Ballet Shoes

I found this Noel Streatfeild novel hard to put down. Maybe it's because I love British writers, or perhaps it's the time period, it was published in 1936.

Great Uncle Matthew, GUM they call him, lived in London. Sylvia, his niece ran his home. GUM traveled all over the world a great deal. Upon his travels and on three different occasions he brought home three orphaned baby girls. Pauline, Petrova, and Posy.

GUM, once again took off to travel. This time he informed Sylvia he would be gone longer then usual and left her money enough for five years. Five years came and went and no letter or sign of GUM reached them. They were on the brink of poverty. Sylvia decided to take in boarders.

One of these boarders worked for Madame Fidolia's School of Dance. She said the school would take the girls no charge. Payment would come when the girls reached twelve (the legal age to perform on stage). The school would get a percentage of their earnings.

The girls enrolled. Pauline, excelled in acting and played many roles on stage. Petrova, did well in dance but disliked it very much, pretending to love it because she knew her family needed the money. Posy, excelled in ballet and for the first time in the history of the school, was taken by Madame herself to be trained exclusively.

This was an enjoyable story of lessons learned and the benefits of hard work to achieve greatness. And in the end, dreams really do come true...

Strawberries on the Wall

I could see the strawberries on the wall, or the evidence of them. There they were, five splotch marks of scarlet marking my newly painted walls. My four year old, once again left his calling card.

As mothers we all face this don't we? I'm not the only one, right? But this is when we are tested, what are we made of? Whatever is on the inside of us, is going to come boiling to the surface.

I am continually training my children to control their emotions and to master them. Now, with three sets of eyes fixed on me it was my turn to "practice what I preach".

But I didn't want to, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "WHY! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"

I may of said that. But before I did, I paused. In my own strength and ability I am totally in submission to my flesh and my emotions. But at that moment I prayed silently. Even though on the inside the atomic fury stirred. I knew I needed to calm down before I spoke, or they would have learned a new lesson on how to handle emotions.

So after a minute or two I calmed, then I spoke, then the consequence.

Being a mom is a tough thankless job, but it's worth it! My youngest is now four, where did the time go? I want to focus on knowing them and loving them before they walk out my door to their own lives.

So when out of the blue one of my children say, "I love you mom" or "I like spending time with you mom," my mind takes a picture of that moment. Those are the moments I focus on, those are the moments I carry with me. The strawberries on the wall will have to deal with that.

Happy Independence Day!

I love this country. I sometimes feel like I am different from others. I hear The Star Spangled Banner sung, or God Bless the U.S.A. and tears usually come to my eyes.

Over two hundred years ago, fifty-six men gathered together with one object, for this great nation. These men centered around a piece of paper, a paper that once signed could mean not only their deaths, but the deaths of their families. They didn't have to do it, it was of their own free will. They mutually pledged, their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. That piece of paper was, The Declaration of Independence.

Throughout history there have been many such men. Men and women willing to die to keep this country free. Many great mothers have willingly sacrificed their son, young wives their husbands. But why?

Those of us who live here, take for granted what people in other countries long for. We are free. Free to worship, speak, and believe as we choose.

But freedom, isn't free. There is a high price to be paid for it. And screaming for "peace" and hoping evil people that want to dictate how our lives should be lived will jump on the "peace" bandwagon are gravely mistaken. Evil must be defeated, at any cost.

Not long ago I said to my oldest son, "What should you say to a soldier when you see one?"

"Thank you," he said.

And I send out my thanks today, and am filled with pride for this country I love. Which despite its many problems is still filled with great men and women who are willing to fight for freedom.

And may God Bless America!