December 31, 2012

Christmas 2012 In Pictures

We kicked off the festivities with a visit from Kris, Jeff and the gang ...

Riley, Kenzie, Owen and Samantha and their gingerbread houses

Santa's sleigh

Checking out the stockings

Ring Pop Smiles

Love Kenzie's enthusiasm!

and Aunt Cathy and Uncle Rich's!!

Happy Birthday Mom!!

Waking up at home to see what Santa brought:

Christmas Morning - here we go

Bentley thought Christmas (and wrapping paper) was fabulous

The scarf Owen picked out by himself for Bob at his school's Secret Santa Shop

Future archeologist? He loved digging for gems

A Christmas tradition - gathering at Aunt Jeanne's and Uncle Bud's:

The Kaufmann Crew

Christmas with Cearra and Dennis the next day; we like spreading out the fun:

Who doesn't like a gift of fake mustaches?!

Super Mario brothers?

Owen picked pretty pink (her fave color) nail polish for Cee-Cee

After Christmas trip with the Kieffers to Williamsburg, Virginia:

Elloree, Owen, Rhys. Love, love, love.

Riding the train at Busch Garden's Christmastown

Oh, deer!

We are pretty sure these two will end up married

Kieffers in a jail cell in Colonial Williamsburg. 

Elloree makes the stocks look cute!

What a wonderful holiday. We are so blessed to be able to spend time with family and friends. And we aren't done yet ... stay tuned for Christmas with the Cumberland Mechems!

December 24, 2012

Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men


I'm struggling a bit with the spirit this season. The tragedy in Connecticut was a painful way to end a year filled with senseless violence and soul bruising events. There are moments, many more of them recently, when I despair at the state of the world and an imagined future.

Yet I still believe in the inherent goodness of people; I am still moved to tears by human generosity, frailness, community. So today as I send you my best wishes for a peaceful, joyful Christmas, I share the following "Random Acts of Kindness" from the Reader's Digest Best of 2012 edition and hope that it lifts your heart as it did mine.

  • Every morning in West Tennessee, some down on his luck person finds a freshly baked pound cake on their stoop. Attached, a simple note: "Somebody loves you". This bit of decency comes courtesy of the Nine Nanas, long-anonymous women devoted to helping the less fortunate.
  • From his wheelchair, all Patrick Connelly could see at the Blake Shelton concert in Overland Park, Kansas, was a sea of people. Then two strangers hoisted Connelly aloft on their shoulders for over 20 minutes in grueling 100-degree heat, long enough for the disabled man to watch his hero perform.
  • When a thunderstorm totaled waiter Greg Rubar's car, two regular customers decided that a 15 percent tip just wouldn't do. So the couple handed him $5,000 in cash and told him to buy a new car.
  • Born with a rare immune deficiency, three-year old Lucas Gonzalez was in desperate need of a bone marrow transplant. And his family knew where to go to raise the funds: the social news site reddit.com. Within 24 hours, they collected more than $50,000.
  • In a record-setting spate of anonymous giving, total strangers from all over the country donated a kidney for someone in need. It all started when Rick Ruzzamenti, 44, of Riverside, California, gave a kidney to someone in New jersey.  Inspired by the anonymous gift to her uncle, the recipient's niece, Theresa A. Gavin, donated her kidney to Brooke R. Kitzman, a needy patient in Michigan. Kitzman's ex-boyfriend, David Madosh, continued to pay it forward by giving a kidney to someone he didn't know in Pennsylvania. When it was all over, 30 recipients and 30 donors had participated in the chain.
  • Hours before the bank foreclosed on Grandview Baptist Church in Morgantown, North Carolina, an anonymous person paid off $345,000, a huge portion of the church's loan.
  • Her family's financial straits meant no Christmas presents for Helen Cardenas. So the Seattle five-year-old wrote to Santa asking for gifts, then attached the note to a balloon. Seven hundred miles later, it landed on Frank Sanderson's ranch in Laytonville, California. The Sandersons bought the presents on the list and sent them to Helen.
  • Since overcoming a rare eye disease that left her blind for four years, Brooklynite Casey Rivera, 38, a mother of two children, has been donating at least $50 of her monthly disability check to a charity or using the money to buy clothes or other gifts for neighbors in need. "Since I got my sight back, I love seeing people smile," Rivera says.


December 22, 2012

Owen's Letter to Santa


Dear Santa

I would like an iPad.
I want a snake.
I also want a minecraft set.
How do you travel around the world in one night? How to you get presents to everybody? How often do your reindeer get tired?

Love,
Owen

December 21, 2012

Learning To Be Brave



Last night I went to bed secure in the knowledge that I wasn't sending Owen to school today.

Not with all the rumors and threats flying around cyberspace, the increased police presence at area schools, and the Mayan end of the world prediction (which, to someone with mental illness, could be a "call to action"). I peacefully drifted off, alarm clock not set, with thoughts of a lazy day ahead, building gingerbread houses and reading Christmas books with Owen.

At 8:25 Owen wakes, looking at the clock with a puzzled expression.

My response to his unspoken question "We're going to stay home today buddy!" earns me a big hug, and  moments later, "I'm not going to school?"

"Nope!" I say cheerfully, still feeling happy with my decision.

"But Mom," as his little face starts to crinkle, "I have to go to school today. Mrs. Shrader said we have one more Friday. Everyone else will be there. And it's gym day!".

I try to convince him we'll have fun; he is equally committed to going to school. I ask him many times if he is sure he wants to go ... does he really want to go?

He does.

I pull on a sweatshirt, hand him his clothes. Quick breakfast, make lunch, brush teeth and hair. And then we are in the car heading for school. I want to turn the van around, but Owen is humming happily in the back seat, sure of where he is meant to be at 9:00 on a weekday.

I walk him in, signing in tardy and asking if I can write "Mom is crazy" as the reason. Owen is happy to be here, telling his class that I wanted us to stay home but he had to come in for gym. My friend Karen is in the classroom today helping with a special project; another new friend is class mom. They are both kind and gentle, telling me to stay if it makes me feel better.

It's warm and peaceful in the front office, where staff members Amy and June greet me and give hugs and tissues as the tears embarrassingly break free. They tell me they understand; they are moms; their hearts are within these walls too.

I peak in on the class once more. The kids are wearing red and green - a change in their usual uniforms and a treat before break. Owen is sitting next to MacKenzie on the carpet, gathered round Mrs. Shrader as they go through their morning routine.  I say a silent prayer, and walk back out the front doors to my car.

It's going to be a long day. My eyes are already puffy and a headache is creeping in. My heart is still bleeding for the lives that were lost in Connecticut a week ago today; my tears for those parents as well.

But Karen sent me the above picture as I wrote this, and I smiled to see my baby sitting with his chapel buddy, participating in a special sing-a-long and prayer service. I know he is happy to be there, and he will have stories to tell me when he gets home - especially what they did in gym.

And maybe, just maybe, today will make us both a little braver.

December 19, 2012

I Don't Know How She Can Resist


Owen adds a little extra flair to MacKenzie's Christmas card. What a lucky girl!

December 17, 2012

The Struggle

It's late. I don't know if I will be able to sleep tonight. I'm anxious about sending Owen to school tomorrow. I know I must, I recognize that I cannot let fear and darkness rule, but oh, it's hard. And as I've done since Friday, I struggle to find words; I struggle to make sense of the horror that has once again bloomed in our country.

I would like a world without guns. I think I'd like it very much. I can imagine no drive-by shootings; no bystanders caught in the cross hairs, no accidental death by bullet. And, of course, no tragic, senseless massacres like the one that took so many innocent lives and forever scarred a town - and us all - last Friday. 

As a parent, I am devastated for those families who took their children to school on a cold, clear morning, only to return in sheer terror a short time later to learn they would never again hug tight their babes. I cannot begin to imagine how one goes on after such a loss. I don't think I could. 

And, perhaps unreasonably, I am also furious. Because when do we say enough? When do we DO SOMETHING?

Let's start by being honest. Despite the political rantings and facebook grandstanding, this is not truly a question of gun control. Like the vast majority of things our government has attempted to make illegal over the years - alcohol, abortion, drugs - the fact that a law exists in no way means that the action will not. Someone wants a gun, they will get a gun; regardless if it's a stolen piece bought in a back alley or a registered assault weapon taken from their mother's drawer. Nor, as some would like to suggest, does turning our citizens into walking agents of death with concealed weapons, or populating our school campuses (or churches, or movie theaters, or malls) with officers loaded down with ammo make for a better, safer world.

I think the real question is how we as a society have failed. Make no mistake - we have failed. We have failed every person who's life has been stolen, and we have failed their families even as we paste pretty pictures of candles burning on our status updates and observe a moment of silence before a football game.

Facts:

  • The 140 casualties (injuries and deaths) from mass shootings in 2012 has been nearly twice that of any other year. 
  • There have been 70 mass shootings in the United States between 1982 and 2012, leaving 544 people dead. 
  • Seven of those 70 shootings occurred this year. 
  • Sixty-eight of those 543 victims were killed this year. 
  • Fully 45% of the victims of mass shootings in America over the past three decades were killed since 2007. 

That is a crisis. I have no answers. But I have thoughts.

When I was young, we were allowed to watch a few hours of TV a week. With only three channels our viewing choices were limited, and our parents further narrowed the options. We watched Omaha's "Wild Kingdom" and Disney's Family Night back when the offering was "Escape from Witch Mountain", not a drama with a pregnant teen. Our video games, when they finally arrived, were Atari Pong and Breakout - just blimps and balls carousing about the screen. No weapons, blood, or death. We weren't allowed to go to "R'" rated movies. Ever. My friends and schoolmates were raised, for the most part, with the same restrictions. 

Back in my formative years there weren't 24 hour news channels, or the Internet. I wouldn't have been allowed to watch anyway - it was for grown-ups. The worst image I remember seeing on TV was one of flag-draped coffins returning home from Vietnam. That single brief clip impacts me still.

As a society maybe it's time to seriously ask: does the violence, sex, evil, crime and revenge depicted on TV and in movies and in video games today contribute to the rise in mass shootings? How do children today  process the never-ending stream of death and destruction featured round the clock on cable channels and on the Internet? Can we really even begin to understand how seeing these images must impact their world view; their sense of security; their feelings of self? Are we forcing them to "turn off" their humanity in order to merely survive the onslaught?

Is the media guilty of making "celebrities" of those who wield guns, of creating copy cats and wanna-be's by constantly reporting the names and faces of those who commit the murders? I admit that I have purposely not watched the TV coverage of Sandy Hook. But still I've been bombarded by images - of terrified children fleeing the school, of wild-eyed parents searching the parking lot; of the killer himself.

Perhaps it's time to say enough. No one needs to see those images - I cannot fathom one single good thing that comes from it. In fact I believe it's a particularly cruel act to plaster these faces of pain and loss across our media outlets. And I think it's time we ask ourselves why we allow it to continue.

Many of my friends and family believe that the increase in mass shootings is linked directly to the fact that we have turned away from God. Taken Him out of our schools; passed laws interpreted to be against His teachings; disobeyed His commandments in our daily lives. We send Owen to a Christian school, and I appreciate the morals and values he is taught there alongside language arts and math. I am a Christian; I try to live by the mores of my faith (but freely admit I often come up short).

I believe the world would be better if we all focused on the very basic tenants of Christianity (and many of the world's religions): Don't lie, cheat or steal. Treat others as you wish to be treated. Be humble. Serve others. Value people over material possessions. Do not kill. Pretty simple when you put it that way, isn't it?

I know religion is a lightening rod topic. I know people have many different beliefs, and I don't believe in forcing my personal beliefs on anyone. But can't we all agree it's time to refocus on those basic truths and raise our children accordingly?

And yes, I think there are a plethora of other issues which taken together degrade the fabric of our country. I believe the disintegration of the nuclear family and the demographic change in distribution of extended families weakens us as a society. I think the culture of "more, more, more" pushed by advertisers leaves people ultimately empty. And position, title and salary as a measure of success bankrupts us.

So I think we need to examine many things, and I think perhaps the biggest is this: how we diagnose, treat, and care for those among us who suffer from mental illness.

I have little doubt that when the pieces are finally put together, the shooter in Connecticut, as with many other massacres, will be found to have been suffering, perhaps for many years, from some form of mental illness or disability. Perhaps his mother knew and had tried her best to get him help. Maybe help was denied, or maybe the "help" didn't, in fact, help. Perhaps she was blind to any signs because this was her son and she loved him unconditionally as mothers do, or perhaps she didn't recognize the signs because she didn't know them. Maybe, just maybe, he was beyond help.

It's a fact that our medical community  currently does not have answers to certain illnesses - no magic pill or treatment to pull a patient away from the brink. We no longer lock people away in asylums. We try to treat them - maybe - and we set them loose to fend for themselves. And if we don't fix that, if we do not make funding research and treatment of mental illnesses a focus in this country, I don't think we will ever see the end of mass shootings.

So as we all struggle to heal, as we continue (please continue) to remember the victims of the massacre in Connecticut and all those who have been affected, let's try to do these things:

Let's try to talk about gun control in a reasonable, non-partisan light, with an objective to preserve rights as long as the safety of the public can be equally protected. Let's reexamine the role TV, movies, and video games play in our lives. Let's hold the media responsible for accurately conveying news we need to know without creating a frenzy or further damaging people's lives. Please, let's all work together to raise our children with a sense of responsibility, compassion, and a belief in a higher power - whether your family believes that higher power to be a Christian God, an over soul, or even just a moral obligation to be a good steward of this earth and her people. And let's focus on education about mental illness - let's talk about it and teach parents and teachers and students how to recognize when someone they know may need help. Let's work to support the facilities and medical professionals who can help.

Tonight, every night, I'm praying for peace.

December 5, 2012

Oh Mickey You're So Fine!

"Cats are like potato chips ... you can't have just one!"

Owen, I have a surprise for you!

It's under the bed!

Chilling - but not quite ready to come out

Meet our newest baby!

Meet "Mickey", renamed by Owen to "Bentley"! I brought him home from the Carroll County SPCA today (surprise Bob!).

He's about 3 years old, a bit of a roly-poly, and was shy but sweet at the shelter. Isn't he beautiful?! He's in his own private room now - nice upgrade from the cage he's been in since Oct. 28 - so that he has a chance to get comfortable in his new house and Beamer has a chance to be slowly introduced to him. It might take a few days but I have no doubt he will soon be lapping up lots of love.

December 4, 2012

I Might Be A Horrible Mother



A recent post in a Facebook Kazakhstan adoptive parents group went something like this:

"Any suggestions on getting a 4.5 year old who has sucked her thumb since the baby house to stop?"

"Mavala Stop. Worked in one day."
"I tried bribing and the yucky stuff"
"Put socks on his hands at bedtime. When that stopped working I sewed the ends of his PJ arms shut."
"My daughter has a metal "habit-breaking" appliance in her mouth"

And then there's my response:

 "My son still sucks him thumb when he is tired; he's 6. I guess I'll pay for it later, but as he's been doing it since we met him and I know it's a soothing ritual for him, I'm not worried about trying to make him stop. I figure he will when he's ready."

Yes, I know thumb sucking can be ruinous for teeth, bite and palette (there are plenty of reminders of that in the thread). We have spoken to Owen about it; I tell him what it might do to his mouth, that he might need lots of dental work in the future, that it might be a good idea to think about quitting. He understands and says he will "cut back" (and indeed he has in the last few months).

It's no big mystery as to why kids suck their thumbs (or a pacifier or their fingers). It's soothing, relaxing, comforting. It helps them sleep, it helps them feel safe. Nor is it a great surprise that when laying in a crib night after night, alone in the dark, without anyone or thing to soothe and cuddle, that Owen - like so many children in orphanages - developed the habit of sucking his thumb.

Of course he is reticent to give that up, and because I do understand a bit about early childhood development (and am forever slightly haunted by Harlow's baby monkeys) I am firmly against what I consider harsh methods of breaking that habit. I'm not going to coat his thumb in liquid whose first ingredient is a flammable chemical that causes throat, nose, mouth, eye and lung irritation and is used as an additive in cigarettes. I'm not going to trap his hands inside his clothing.

Perhaps I am overly sensitive to the circumstances of Owen's first six months. Perhaps I am too emotional, too soft. Or perhaps I am a horrible, lax mother who is dooming her child to years of orthodontia.

But this is what I know as a mama - I will not force my child to give up something which gives him comfort and is not a threat to his life or the safety of others. I will always do everything I can to make my sweet boy feel loved, safe, secure and happy all the days of his life; and for today, that will include the freedom to suck his thumb at will.

November 26, 2012

Angel Cat

She first came to our house via my sister's heart, but by the time she left she had forever secured a home in ours. Known to many as "the big cat", she was gentle and sweet - oh, so very sweet. And yes a bit quirky too, just like her long tail that curled and looped into a question mark when she was happy.

Remy loved to meet at us the door when we came home, she loved to be brushed and petted and played with. She tolerated Owen's ministrations and manhandling wonderfully - in fact, I think she rather fancied him. She also loved to "steal" his stuffed animals and lay on them. Happily, Owen never minded sharing. Still, she slept beside me most nights, curled up in a comforting cushion of contentment. 

She was plush, and beautiful, and sometimes a bit bossy once she learned she did not, in fact, have to stay upstairs. She was loud and chatty and liked to be where the action was. We learned to keep plants and bows and ribbon far away from her - there was not much Remy liked better than chewing up those things which were not good for her. And she certainly never met a catnip toy or can of tuna she didn't like.

A week ago tonight, following a very fast turn in the kidney and pancreatic problems she'd been having since May, I had to say good-bye. I stroked her head and sobbed as she left us. I miss you Remy, my silly, stuffed-animal loving big girl. I miss you.






November 21, 2012

WILW - A Bag of Thankfulness

This is what my little Indian brought home from school Monday - love, love, love!



Wishing you and yours a very Happy Thanksgiving! 
May the spirit of recognizing and being thankful for our blessings 
continue on each day of the year.

November 19, 2012

A Lion's Pride


“You can do what you want to us. You can take away things from us. You can try to split us apart. It’s not gonna happen.”




It still is:

My youth. My growth. My friends and family. My campus. My Ritenour, Willard, Schwab, Pattee. My Old Main. My Creamery and Lion Shrine. My 'Thon. My pride.

It still is:

My grilled stickies. My Corner Room. My Skeller. My Loop. My McLanahans. My town. My happy valley.

It still is:

My blue and white. My football team. My Blue Band. My traditions - old and new. My 409. My homecoming. My pain. My Mauti. My hope.

It still is
I still am
We still are.

November 14, 2012

Musings on a Moment


(This is one of those few and far between "Optional Reading Posts". No cute kid stories or pictures - sorry Mom - just thoughts that percolated about my brain for a bit and finally splashed down on paper)

I remember the day clearly. My last chemo treatment. It was, thankfully, many years ago, yet the same feelings still come when I think of it now - the relief at completing another step to recovery, the strength I felt in getting through it, the happiness of the nurses hugging me goodbye.

And I remember this: during my treatment a woman came to sit next to me in our tan leather Lazy-Boys. I waited for that final drop to fall - she prepared for her first. We started talking, and I soon saw her anxiety and fear about chemotherapy, that necessary poison. I listened, and I shared, telling her about my experience. And when I stood to leave, she smiled and clasped my hand, saying I was an angel sent to help her.

What a blessing that was to me - realizing that I had smoothed the journey (if just a bit, for just a short time) for another soul. Paying forward the compassion others had shown me when I was first diagnosed; when I first stepped into the treatment room.

Several years later I happened upon a blog from a beautiful young woman who was a cancer survivor and hoped to adopt. She wrote with great faith and happiness, and we started a correspondence. One month, a few strangers cruelly questioned her decision to parent - calling her selfish for wanting to be a mother when it was possible her cancer would return.

Devastated, she wrote me, asking if I agreed. I responded with my heart, telling her about some of the emotions I too had faced. When she responded, it was with renewed hope and joy and certainty to pursue her dreams for a family.

What a blessing it was to me - realizing that I had smoothed the journey (if just for a bit, for just a short time) for another soul. Paying forward the reassurance and encouragement others had offered me as I faced naysayers and inner demons on the long road to life after cancer.

Last week I got my hair cut at a new salon. A good friend had been going there for ages, and suggested I try her stylist. On a whim I made an appointment and soon was sitting in her swivel chair. As we chatted, I asked her if she had children. Her smile slipped briefly, and I knew in that moment what was coming.

"Not yet. We've been trying for a few years, but ...".

As she snipped away, I shared bits of our story. I listened as she opened up about her struggle. Hair finished, I hugged her and told her I knew she would find the path to her child. She hugged me back, and smiled with tears in her eyes.

What a blessing it was to me - realizing that I had smoothed the journey (if just for a bit, for just a short time) for another sole. Paying forward the hope and love others had offered me as I found my child.

I cherish each of those moments. They just felt darn good. Connected to another person in a way that was both humbling and uplifting. Call it karma, good will, whatever. I am so aware of God in those moments - and thankful that He put me in that place, at that time, and prodded my heart to respond. I hope my life is filled with many more such moments - the ability to pay it forward; the chance to comfort and encourage. To help one person make it though one day. To me, that is life's meaning.

Hoping today that you have a chance to have a "moment".

November 6, 2012

My One - And Only - Political Post


I love the voting process. I like waving to the folks standing outside the polling place with their campaign signs (I'm an equal opportunity waver too, I just respect that they have convictions). I like standing in line among my fellow Marylanders, carefully chatting with them (don't want to get in a tussle), and I like pulling the curtain and casting my ballot. It's a great privilege and responsibility.

We live in a country where each of our citizens of voting age can go freely to the polls and vote in anonymity without fear of intimidation or violence. That is big.

We live in a country where our votes are counted correctly (aside from certain ballots in Florida) and our voices heard, even if the candidate of our liking does not win. That is big.

We live in a country where no candidate wins with 99% of the vote. That is very big. If you don't think so, check out how elections go in the Middle East or Africa or Central Asia.

Be thankful for your right to vote. If you don't like either candidate write in Santa Clause, or Nelson Mandela (the most widely respected person in the world in a recent poll), or even your own name. It's worth it - it's big.

And as we learn tonight whether Obama will continue in the Oval Office or Romney will step in, please remember this big truth too ... The President of the United States, whomever that is, isn't going to change America.

WE ARE.

It is, as it has always been, up to us to spread hope, and move this country and our people forward.

It's my husband and his partners who built a small company (and yes, they did build it) and try to do the right thing for their employees everyday, providing them with excellent health care and retirement plans despite continuously skyrocketing costs to do so.

It's a childhood friend and my brother-in-law, who both work faithfully, tirelessly to show the youth of this country the way to succeed, to believe in themselves, to rise above. By the way, these two fine people are on opposite ends of the political spectrum. Doesn't matter - they do it for the good of the kids.

It's my friend across the street, who consistently volunteers her time, voice, effort and yes, money, to the people and places and organizations who are trying to make a difference in our community.

It's the teachers at Owen's school who work long hours for very little salary because they believe in combining faith and life and education.

It's a high school friend (and my prom date) who founded a grassroots effort to provide clean drinking water to villages around the globe. A simple well has the power to change and save lives.

It's the senior citizen who goes to the local animal shelter on weekends to help care for the cats and dogs waiting for a family.

It's a good friends teenage daughter, who started a campaign to provide baskets of books to children moving into Habitat for Humanity homes.

It's my dad, who volunteers his time to help other Bell retirees continue to receive the benefits they were promised by a company they worked for their entire careers - benefits that he himself is assured of.

It's the people who decided to organize a local clothing and food drive for our fellow citizens so impacted last weekend by Hurricane Sandy. And it's all those who donated.

It's moms, and especially those who dig deep every day to make the world a better place for their special needs children - and in doing so help all children.

And of course it's our military men and women, our firemen, police and first responders (and all of their families) who stand ready to protect us, to defend us, to save us in times of hardship and tragedy.

IT'S ALL OF US.

I saw this posted on facebook ... When you're done at your local poll station, spend some time researching the grassroots organizations in your own community that are truly changing the world. Not millions of people at a time but one person, one family, one child, one animal at a time. Because those folks, the ones with boots on the ground, dirty hands from packing boxes of supplies, collecting and distributing furniture and bedding, gathering clothing and feeding the hungry....they spread hope. Tangible Hope. And hope is the only thing that truly drives America or any country forward. Re-elected President, newly elected President...their impact is so much smaller than the impact any one of us can have on moving America forward. Right now. Hope doesn't subscribe to a political party, it subscribes only to the human spirit and its capacity to create and deliver change.

October 23, 2012

Heart Speaking


I like my world to be visually, impact fully, neat. I make the bed every morning (I'd make Cearra's too if I didn't think she'd be a bit freaked by that); I place Owen's monster trucks in rows and store other wheeled vehicle by type; I keep our vitamins in nifty little baskets; and I think I may have previously mentioned my closet "system".

On vacation I'm the one who unpacks immediately upon arrival, and organizes the food supply (a cluttered counter of snack bags makes me cringe). I can't stand newspapers, receipts, magazines or mail laying about where they aren't meant to be- but if they must, I make sure the piles are squared. Shoes by the side of the bed (ahem, Bob) irk me and ooh, don't get me started on jackets left on chair backs overnight.

I'd be a bit worried about me if it weren't for the fact that I am not, and have never been, quite as concerned with the actual cleanliness of things. Which basically means that if you show up unexpectedly at my house, 98% of the time everything will look nice and in its place - but please don't peak in that junk drawer or look too closely at the baseboards.

So this morning I surprised myself when I tackled cleaning and found myself actually feeling lifted up by it. I kind of enjoyed vacuuming and dusting, plumping sofa cushions and putting away laundry. I hummed as I washed dishes, cleaned litter boxes and took out trash. As the smell of bleach wafted about the bathroom, I recognized that I was feeling especially thankful for my life (I don't think it was just the bleach fumes).

My heart was happy as I cut up a fresh pineapple for everyone to help balance out our diet of recently delivered Girl Scout cookies, and toasted up a batch of spicy pumpkin seeds for all to enjoy tonight. I texted a bit with Cearra, put a fresh oatmeal cookie scented tart in the warmer, helped Bob with some work, and planned a little treat for Owen.

I felt joyfully filled with appreciation for my life! Making our home sparkle and shine, making tasty treats, even snuggling with my cats seemed really valuable this morning. These actions didn't feel like chores, but offerings willingly given to care for my family. And as I did more for them, I gained even more gratitude for the many blessings I've been given.

Nice how that all works.




October 22, 2012

Fabulous Fall

Oh, how I love Fall!

This is my favorite tree. It's a big ole' beautiful maple, and each fall it lights itself up with the most brilliant colors. It positively glows at certain times of day. As we drove by today (I'm lucky enough to usually drive by several times a day), Owen said, "I'd like to just sit under your favorite tree and read a book in its shade". Me too! Think the homeowners would mind?


This my favorite "I do". October 19, sixteen years ago. Fall was a very good time to be married.


I love the cooler temperatures of fall, the crisp apples and fresh apple cider, the football games, the colors ... all of it. 

I love taking Owen to our local farm for a bumpy, jumpy hayride to pick our own pumpkins. So many great pumpkins this year - we ended up with quite a few.




That night we told Owen he could pick one gourd to carve ... too bad his pumpkin is feeling a little "green" around the gills!


Cee-cee and Dennis got home from a weekend trip and we chose another fine specimen from the front porch to go under the knife. 

Dennis' first time carving a pumpkin. He did a good job!


Cearra took over for the actual design, with Owen overseeing preparations.


Dennis looks a bit nervous, doesn't he?


Love him!

The finished product ... OK, Baltimorians ... who is it?