Love is a Choice to Act

This guy turned 16 today.  It doesn't seem possible.  When I met him for the first time about 6 1/2 years ago now, he was a pudgy little cutie on my front doorstep.  Mark and I had decided that our second official "date" should be the kids meeting.  After all, if they didn't get along with each other and with each of us then we'd take that as a red light for our future.  As it so happened, Austin and I played several games of Battle Ships (both of us talking nonstop), and the girls showed Mark about every outfit in their box of dress up clothes.  I remember my girls saying that, although they loved their dad, they wanted to have a "house dad" - a guy that lived with us, protected us, and wanted to be with us every day.  Austin always said the same thing to Mark and Mark's mom - being with grandma every day was great - lots of ice cream and oatmeal cream pies - but he just wanted a "house mom".  It's funny the way kids can articulate a complex emotional concept with so few words.

Well, I think we met one another's kids in January of 2006.  We got married in April of 2006.  All of these photos were taken that sweet Spring of 2006 on the farm in Iowa before our lives took on even more changes.  There were so many changes in all of our lives that year - new homes, new schools, new family members, new friends, new jobs, new lives.  I remember feeling like God gave us that Spring in Iowa to cement our lives as family.  My girls and I relished being on the farm.  They loved the animals.

I liked the animals too, but we had some interesting conversations those months.  For instance, Mark had given me a life on the farm garbage tutorial.  In short:  food scraps go to the hogs, paper products get burned, and everything else goes in the wagon to take to the dump.  Well, after the first week, he started to notice that I was putting scraps of bacon, ham, etc. in a separate pile.  He asked what I was planning to with it all.  I replied, "Well, you can't feed that to the hogs.  That would be... wrong?"  He smiled broadly at my naivete and said, "Um, yeah you can.  If one of them drops dead in the lot, the rest of 'em go over and eat it.  So I don't think they'll mind a little bacon."  Mildly disgusted, I took mental note.  Porcine cannibals.  I still remember the day a big semi came and the fat ones got big numbers spray-painted on their backs and loaded into the trailer.  When Mark came home, I said, "Does that mean they're not coming back home?"  Ah... well, it was an education.  By the way, if you take out food scraps to the hogs after Sunday dinner, make sure you're upwind, because if not - even if you stand 30 feet back and just chuck the food in their general direction - you'll need a shower.

These are some of my favorite photos of the kids as they got used to our new lives.

And there have been a LOT of changes for us all - especially Austin - aside from the marriage and two new sisters:

Austin's last birthday at the farm (10 years old)

saying goodbye to friends before we moved

first trip to Chicago

first ride on the subway

moving day - combining households

New little brother

First trip to Florida

First Parasail

First trip to D.C.

new baby sister

new dog... another move

BRACES!

Fast forward through basketball, soccer games, field trips, etc.

first trip to Cali!

8th grade graduation

first snuggie! :)

second tip to Cali - segways!

Grand Canyon - cross country road trip

Yesterday he got the opportunity to be part of a disaster drill near our hometown and got to get "lost" and found by a pair of search and rescue dogs who found him based only on his scent, and he'll finish off this year with a trip to Hawaii and a 9-day cruise.  Mark feigns jealousy that Austin has seen more of the world in a few years than he has ever seen himself, but I know he's so happy for the opportunities that just seem to fall into his lap (partly due to an aunt and uncle who like traveling) because of his sweetness and strength - he's a great guy to have around any time.  

All these changes... all the adventures - Austin has taken every one of them in stride.  His happy-go-lucky attitude makes it all possible.  He doesn't get too far up, and he doesn't get too far down.  He is a forever optimist and knows no strangers.  He knows two kinds of people: friends and pre-friends.  He has a gregarious personality that can likely be attributed to his mom.  

So on this 16th birthday, as I reflect on the years he's been mine, I am choosing not to be afraid to say "mine" anymore.  Never a day I've known him would I have been embarrassed to claim him, but I've often been intimidated out of owning the title "mom".  I'm not anymore.  I'm mad at me, because I've always been afraid to embrace him too closely - trying to leave room for his mom to find her way into closeness with him and not wanting to be "in the way" if it does happen.  Truth is - I've never been in the way.  I've been wasting 6 1/2 years afraid to hug him first in the morning when he wakes up... afraid to tell him I love him first... afraid that things like that might take away his chance at a closer relationship with his mom - which I've always thought he needed and would love.  Have you ever seen a nursery school child drop a toy and walk away from it, only to watch another one wander into the picture and pick the toy up?  What happens?  The first child screams, runs over, and gets mad at the someone else wanted what he had discarded.  I'm that second child.  I wanted (and still want) what another person discarded.  I love what she didn't want anymore.  Ironically, what seems like a big part of my "perfect life" - which is far from perfect - is what used to belong to someone else.  I don't know why God gave me Mark or Austin or any of the rest of my blessings.  What am I supposed to do?  Throw those things away?  Put them back in a lonely Iowa farmhouse?  I'm tired of wrestling with myself over these things.  

When I met Mark, I needed to know why he was a single dad and had been one for nearly seven years.  I asked a lot of questions, and what I was told by person after person was that Austin needed a mother figure.  Maybe I was misled by every single person who told me their version of the history of Mark and Austin, but every story matched.  That is all the truth I've known.  When I came on the scene, I was under the impression, from everyone including Austin, that he just wanted a mommy to love and who loved him back.  That's what I believed I needed to be - for Austin - not against anyone else but rather for a little boy who said he was lonely for a mom's love.  My intent has never been malicious.  I have no motive to love Austin other than to just love him.  I'm often reminded I'm not his "mom", but what is a mom?  I think that cleaning up bi-level bunk bed spaghetti vomit; washing mildewy underwear from camp (not to mention hundreds of other loads of dirty laundry); packing lunches; transporting him back and forth thousands of miles to and from sports, friends' houses, school events, and field trips over 6 years; making birthday cakes; holding his hand while the dentist pulls his tooth; taking him to the doctor when he's sick; filling out sports physical forms and making sure he gets regular checkups for eyes, teeth, and health; taking him to the bank to open his first checking account; walking him through filling out his first job application; and just being ready for a hug when he feels like he needs one is a good start.  I'm not ashamed that he calls me "mom", and I won't refer to him and introduce him as my "step-son" to make people (who neither know or care about either one of us) happy.  I may have missed his first breath and his first step, but he'll be there for my last.  I may have missed his first tooth falling out or his first time riding a two-wheel bike, but I'll be holding the camera when he drives out our driveway by himself for the first time later this month.

Bottom line:   Austin is a sweet, caring, friendly, strong, hard-working, frugal, optimistic, hugger.  I love that he has another mom, and I see her positive attitude and sweet smile whenever I look at his face, and I'm sure that a bevvy of his other positive attributes come from her.  Those things are also, ironically, blessings that I enjoy.  I hope that someday she wants to do the job I'm doing, but until then, "Hi, I'm Austin's mom.  Lord willing, I'll be planning his high school graduation party.  I'll be ironing his gown for and straightening his cap at his college graduation.  I'll be pinning a flower on his lapel on his wedding day.  I'll be the first visitor at the hospital if he's hurt or if his wife's having a baby, and I'll be the first one on call if they need a babysitter for 'date night'."  It's an awesome job, and somebody gets to do it.  Why not me?  I'm thankful, beyond belief, for the opportunity I've been afforded.  All people need some constants in their lives.  I intend to help his dad fill those shoes till I've drawn my last breath.  I hope, if something ever happens to me and I'm unable to do that for any of my children, someone will step in and be a constant for them.

Miss Understood

I may have called someone a “crunchy tyrant” today.  You see, one of my facebook friends posted about the state of New York considering legislation that would limit the size of soda (for all ya’ll who don’t call it “pop” like we do here) its residents can purchase at one time.  Apparently, the “Big Gulp” in the “Big Apple” will be a thing of the past if this legislation becomes the law of New York.  This got me fired up a bit... just really get sick and tired of the government sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong (which is most places, if you ask me).  For example:  seat belt legislation... safe?  YES.  Good for me?  YES.  Do I abide by it?  YES.  Do I agree it should be a law.  NO.  If I don’t wear my seat belt, I’m not hurting anyone else.   Freedom should take precedence.  Another example:  (and this one got people a bit annoyed, but that’s fine)  Smoking...  Unhealthy?  YES.  Dangerous to others?  WITHIN CERTAIN PROXIMITIES, YES.  A disgusting habit that should be wiped off the face of the planet with extreme prejudice and without regard to personal choice?  NO.  I believe business establishments should have every right to determine whether or not their business is a smoking or non-smoking (or both) business.  I don’t think that’s the government’s job.  Public buildings - absolutely should be non-smoking, because those are places most people MUST go.  Restaurants and bars?  Nobody HAS to go to these places.  It should be left to the proprietor’s discretion whether to allow smoking - just like it’s the individual’s choice whether or not to patronize said business.  Curly light bulbs:  Good for the environment?  QUESTIONABLE.  Good for health?  NO.  Annoying as all get out? ABSOLUTELY.  So why must I buy and use only those types of bulbs?  Because it’s so being unfairly legislated.   Having mentioned these things, I came to the conclusion that a governing body that can ban my ability to buy a Big Gulp or a Big Mac and at the same time feed public school children lunches that are heavy on chicken patties, “cheese food product”, and chocolate milk is completely hypocritical and “goin’ off the rails on a crazy train”.  


I can’t tell you how much I HATE facebook comment battles.  They have the unique ability to make me feel dirty - even if I have no part of them.  People get all “I’m’a snatch that horse-hair weave off your ugly head” Jerry Springerish and then they start to talk all crazy and can’t spell right anymore, and... you know what I’m talking about.  Despite the hypocrisy of this next statement, I’m going to say it anyway - sometimes I just can’t resist them.  Some lady below me went all 5 paragraphs comment crazy, and - if I can reduce it to a nutshell - said that it should be illegal for the government to “sell” (she seemed unaware that McDonald’s and Marlboro aren’t actual government agencies) ANYTHING less that organic, non-GMO, healthy, whole foods.   (She seemed confident that the government conspires to make us stuff our gullets with gummy bears - which are “addictive”, diet pop - which “makes us feel hungry so we eat more”, and cigarettes “all of which” - she claimed - “the government” hoped to use to kill “the uneducated”).  Then she referred to me and told me that I had said that schools should have Big Macs on the menu.  This is one reason that I hate the comment wars.  I had said nothing of the sort.  She, however, was convinced I had single-handedly invited McDonald’s into the public school system.  In my short retort (which is what it was), I told her that I agreed with the virtues of whole foods and I do my best to feed such to my family, but that if my neighbors want to smoke cigars and feed their kids ho-hos for breakfast, I will defend - with all that’s in me - their right to do it.  I told her that forcing your views - however “good and virtuous in your mind” - on another human being or group of human beings was tyranny and that she was being a “crunchy tyrant”.  

(Somewhat boring aside:  I understand that a large part of the problem we face with regard to legislation is that the US government pays ridiculous amounts of money in health care costs every year for people who have abused their bodies with substances including cigarettes and excessive foods.  However, having worked in narcotics enforcement, I am equally aware that making a substance illegal does not make it unavailable.  It just makes people sneakier.  As long as people are the problem, unless the government outlaws being a person, there will still be a problem.  I understand, to a degree, where they’re coming from.  They figure - much like my parents when I was living under their roof -, “If you use our money, you abide by our rules.”)

I’m a notorious scrapper.  I try to mature past it, but ever since I can remember that I knew there was a way to get letter grades other than S and U, I worked to excess to get the highest ones... and A’s weren’t enough.  They had to be better A’s than everyone else’s A’s.  I didn’t dislike smart kids - I just wanted to beat them.  Sports effected me the same way.  I was fiercely competitive.  Fortunately (or unfortunately - I can’t decide) for me, I was rarely frustrated.  Things just came naturally and easily.  Student of the month, student of the year, valedictorian, MVP, all-tournament team, etc. - I collected them all like trading cards.  

My freshman year of high school, I was gawky and trying to grow into a head of ridiculously curly hair that I got when my mom cut my hair too short one time.  I hated me, and I tried to fix that with blue eyeliner.  (Not recommended.)  I resembled Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles with black hair.  Well, that brought on a series of events that led to an unfortunate incident.  I sat in Bible class - of all places - in front of Jake Turner.  He was calling me “afro woman” and throwing spit wads in my nest of hair.  I told him to knock it off or else... He said, “Or else what?  You gonna hurt me? Oooo, I’m so scared.”  He continued, undaunted by what he had perceived as a hollow threat to his personal safety, through the whole hour of class.  It was test day, and I had finished my test early.  I sat quietly as others were finishing tests, but my face burned red, my neck tingled, and adrenaline surged through my whole body.  In a blind rage, I stood up, turned around, wound up, and - with an open hand - knocked Jake Turner - not only from his desk chair to the floor but from completely (if not obnoxiously) conscious to completely unconscious.  As he lay there, I returned to my seat - shaking from head to toe.  The teacher of the class (who could not see through the other students from his seated position at his desk) asked, “Who did that?”  I raised my hand, “I did,” I said.  He said, “Come here.”  I went to the front, and he said, “What did you do?  That was the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in a classroom.”  I said, “I slapped Jake.”  He replied incredulously, “You did what?”  “I slapped Jake,” I responded somewhat weakly.  He asked, “Is he alright?”  I said, “I don’t think so.”  After Jake regained consciousness, he bore my right hand print on the side of his face for the entire remainder of the school day.  I went to the principal’s office that day.  I was required to apologize, and he admitted that he’d deserved it.  Jake and I never had another problem after that day.  

I think it’s funny that electronic communication makes lions out of mice.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen the mildest mannered persons (when you meet then in person) be obnoxious via electronic communications.  People will say things to you in an e-mail you know they’d never say to you in person.  I guess, when we “let our fingers do the talking”, we’re more likely to say the awful things that are in our heads.  I’d say I’m guilty of this, but I can honestly say I’ve never typed a thing I wouldn’t say in person if the opportunity presented itself.  That doesn’t make it right.  It just makes it more honest I think.  I wouldn’t say it as thoughtfully in person though.  After all, I consider myself borderline socially awkward.  We all know that there’s ugliness inside of us, and that, if all that enters the mind were to come out the mouth, we’d likely all hate one another.  

Our 5 year old boy has suffered migraines for a few years now.  He sees a neurologist a few times a year.  At our last appointment, the neurologist appointed Levi to see an occupational therapist for what he believes is a Sensory Processing Disorder.  This disorder causes (among so many other things) what Levi likes to call “freaking out” at what would seem minor issues to most people.  It also contributes to bouts of extreme social honesty.  Most kids tend to be honest, but he does it loudly - which makes it more... how do I say it?  Truth minus the love.  Well, we're finding out so much about his disorder and how it effects his relationships, and it's truly refreshing to know that it's not just something we've done wrong with him or something that is some kind of permanent personality defect.  It's also made me more sure that we are given the children/parents we need to have to contribute to who we will become.  He likes to three-way communicate our schedule for the week, and when I told him he'd be seeing the OT for the first time this week, he asked what she would be doing with him.  I told him she'd do some tests and exercises... both of which he loves, and he was thrilled to go.  He asked, "Is she going to help me not freak out so much?"  Bless his heart, he wants to have the self-control he lacks.  Don't we all?  

Levi and me

As we ate dinner with some friends of ours a few nights ago, we got on the subject of pet mortality, and our friend relayed an incident his brother, a veterinarian who has had to work hard to develop some compassion, had recently experienced.  He said that his brother had to put a dog to sleep for a client, and that he offered to carry the dog out to the her car for her.  As the client wept, she agreed that'd be the best thing for him to do.  So my friend's brother decided to put the dog in a cardboard box he found there in the office and carry it out to her car.  As he made his way across the parking lot, the bottom of the cardboard box dropped out, and the dog landed on the pavement - right in front of some neighborhood kids.  As our friend told the story, he laughed so hard and said he'd have loved to have been there and seen it happen.  (It's a brother thing.)  He then traded stories with Mark (they both grew up in Dutch farming families) about life and death on the farm.  He said that they often had small pets or livestock mortally ill or wounded, and that his dad, not wanting the animal to suffer, would swing the animal against a fence post or wall and kill it.  He said he still couldn't really believe his dad had done that.  I was momentarily mortified.  I recounted a memory of when I was a single mom.  We'd had to give away our Boston Terrier, because we weren't home often enough for him to be happy, as I was working.  The girls and I adopted a cat from the vet office.  The cat developed some kind of sickness about 5 months into being at our house, and it died.  I felt awful, because Sadie said to me, "Well, dad left, our dog left, and now the cat's gone.  When are you going to leave?"  I hated that she thought I would abandon her and Claire.  I also felt pretty sorry for myself that it was February, and I was going to have to try to dig a hole in the cold, winter ground to bury a good-sized cat.  When the cat died, I scooped her up and into a cardboard cat carrier.  Her paw started to rigor grotesquely out of one of the air holes in the side of the box.  We put her in our van to take her out to my parents' country home to bury her.  As I explained to someone in front of the girls later that morning, "Our kitty went to heaven this morning," Sadie (3) piped up with, "No she didn't.  She's in a box in the back of our van."  I worried she was scarred for life.  I've been thinking about these things this week.  My friend is a paramedic.  His brother is a vet.  Had they not grown up with the dad they had (however insensitive his actions might seem to some), they would likely not be as well-suited to their current vocations.  Sadie still doesn't shed a tear.  She still takes the deaths of pets in stride.  I figure she might end up being a nurse or a mortician.  


Another friend of mine is a local teacher's aide.  As she told a story about some local 1st-2nd graders who'd vandalized a series of houses locally this past week, she said, "When we called the mother to tell her the kids were still missing, her only response was, 'Well, we need to wrap all this up by 1, because that's when my soaps come on.'"  When people argue about parenting or about food choices or about politics... we are showing how out-of-touch with reality we are.  Parenting styles don't matter as much as just simple parenting matters.  If you love your kids enough to be present with them, you are parenting them.  That's what matters, because it's overwhelming how many parents don't even give their children that much.  Feeding your family strictly organic food doesn't matter as much as being able and willing to put food on their table.  It's sad how many are unable to do even that.  Politics... well, I can't even begin to imagine just how corrupt the government is, and I live in Illinois - where politicians go to lie.  So discussing issues doesn't make an ounce of difference in light of the depth of corruption we'll never overcome.

(When I posted this on facebook about a month ago, 

one of the comments was "those signs are just for former governors").

Levi is mine, and I think that is so that I am constantly reminded that there is no cookie-cutter approach to parenting.  What worked with my girls doesn't work with Levi.  What works with him doesn't work with Violet.  I don't want other people to parent like I do.  I just hope they parent.  I don't want to parent like anyone else.  I just get through each day by God's good grace.  God is the same yesterday, today, and forever... dependable in His responses and true in His character, but He is also most personal.  The relationship that I share with Him is one I hope no one else shares.  How He parents, chastens, and handles me is as unique to that relationship as the union I have with Him is unique and completely set apart from all of my other relationships.  I think this is because of all the many ugly things He needs to change and fix in me - those things are, at the same time, unique to me and universal to all humanity.  I like to communicate, but I am constantly met with the frustration that no matter how thoroughly I use my words I will be misunderstood.  There is only one place I'm truly understood... in the privacy of deep relationship with the One who imagined my person and created it with the greatest of care.  The same is true of you.

The Man who Discovered Cheese

I like gender differences.  You may notice this if you've read me much.  I've met people that are annoyed at gender distinctions.  Some people like to claim that gender differences are merely learned behaviors.  The fact that boys smell their shoes after taking them off, try to belch the alphabet, and chew their breakfast toast into the shapes of guns at the breakfast table are learned behaviors.  Yeah, because my husband does those things - okay maybe he does the shoe thing.  The fact that girls find a way to make people figurines out of every, conceivable thing from popsicle sticks to grapes and play "family" with them - learned behavior.  Right.  What about the fact that we're born anatomically different. Learned behavior?  Obviously not.  How about hormonally different?  Learned behavior?  Not so much.  I once read that an unborn baby boy's brain undergoes a testosterone bath in utero that severs connections between the left and right sides of the brain.  In contrast, baby girls are born with these connections - virtual highways of communication - intact.  These connections are highways between the emotional/creative and logical sides of our brain.  As a result, girls more readily understand the implications of the physical realm on the abstract.  Girls more easily make relational and emotional connections to physical situations than boys.  (Incidentally, the same article claimed that as boys/men mature, these connections rebuild with time and with emotionally taxing experiences to the place where older men are much more sensitive and make connections between right and left brain much more readily.)  My 5 year old son has two older sisters and one younger - girls on both sides of him.  99% of all his playtime is spent with girls.  However, when they are playing house, his character - instead of coming home to his loving family after a hard day of work like they would prefer - "gets blowed up", and Levi (5) takes great delight in this.  Violet (3) will be the first to ask the "blowed up guy" how he's feeling... if he's okay... if he thinks a bandaid would help his blowed-up-edness.  A few minutes ago, Levi and Violet burst through the door, and he announced that he could NOT play with Violet anymore, because she, "let's me win at tag!!"  Well, whether or not she lets him win is debatable, because she is compassionate enough to let him win (which he hates), but she's also 2 years his junior which works in his favor (apparently much to his chagrin).   Levi often hurts himself.  I'm never quite sure if it's his actual body that hurts or if it's mostly his pride.  He comes through the door or down the hallway screaming at the top of his lungs several times a day.  Violet inevitably makes a fast break for the bandaid closet.  She comes running with a box of baindaids, and he screams at her that he doesn't need one of those.  She's in her greatest glory if he actually needs and wants a bandaid.  She's thrilled to open it and apply it herself.  She's dying to nurture something/someone.

We've come to a stage with our kids in which we're finally able to do some things.  Diapers are a thing of the past.  With the exception of Violet, the kids all know how to ride two wheel bikes, and we can go places without diaper bags/sippy cups/bibs.  This brings a mixture of happiness and sadness to me.  I was just old enough to start liking babies, and then I didn't have any anymore.  I lamented last night as we relaxed after the kids went to bed, "I want another baby!"  He smiled and said he said, "Yeah.  Babies are nice," but then he went on to remind me how nice it is to have some freedom with the kids... nice to be in this stage of our lives.  In fact, we've recently become members at both the Shedd Aquarium and the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago now - which is something I used to think only rich people did.  Turns out, if you have more than 3 children, it's the only cost-effective option you have.  It was more expensive to buy individual admissions for us and the children and pay for parking for one day than it was for us to purchase memberships for the year - which include all sorts of perks.  So... looks like we'll have to go to both a lot this year to get the worth out of it, but, hey, our kids are at the age where all we need to go is a couple bottles of water and some sunscreen (and maybe an extra change of clothes for the car)!  Voila... my temporary baby insanity is gone by the wayside.

We're starting to bike ride/hike with the kids a lot lately.  We could all use the exercise, and it's possible for everyone to keep up without needing carried a lot.  Two nights ago, we biked about 5 miles on the local bike trail, and that seemed just right for everyone.  Last night, we decided to stay closer to home, and we biked down our road about a mile and a half.   About a mile and a half from our house are two cool things to see... a creek and an eagle's nest.

(the eagle's next as seen early last Spring)

Last night we checked out the creek.  As we approached it from the south, Austin (15) spied something in the field next to the creek.  It was a

snapping turtle.

It was a little way off the road and down a steep ditch.  He went down to check it out, and the rest of the kids (except Violet) were able to follow him.  Mark wanted Austin to pick up the turtle and bring it over for Violet to see it.  Austin looked at him doubtfully, and Mark said, "If you just pick him up by the back sides of his shell, he can't hurt you.  Go ahead!"  I said, "Um, I'm not so sure about that."  He urged Austin on, and, after a bit of taunting, Austin reached down and grabbed the sides of its shell.  I'm not sure what happened next, because it happened so fast, but either the turtle jumped or Austin jumped or they both jumped.  It hissed, snapped, and Austin dropped it like a hot potato.  His heart undoubtedly in his throat, he glared at Mark, and Mark laughed hysterically.  Austin then began to taunt Mark to get him to come down and try it too.   Mark and I took Violet down to check it out, and Mark decided (after a little begging from his wife) that he would try to keep all his fingers.  (Incidentally, this is another male-thing, I find: the taunting-into-doing-something-dangerous thing.  I can scarce imagine myself saying to my girls, "I dare you to poke that hornet's nest," or "I bet you can't jump this ravine on the four-wheeler."  I am thankfully inclined to consider the possible consequences.  My guys seem to get a high off of daring each other to do the ill-advised.)  The boys poked at the turtle a bit with a corn stalk, and it snapped off the stalks in its mouth.  Violet also took a stick and touched its shell, and it turned around and hissed at her.

All-in-all, it was a pretty fun lesson about snappers.  It reminded me of a few years ago.  When we lived in town, Mark had taken the older kids down to the river, and they'd returned home with a cute, little, unique-looking turtle.  It looked like one of these little guys.

Turns out, he had told the kids they could keep it.  Turns out it was a baby alligator snapping turtle.  Upon further investigation into what it would require for care, we decided that, in order to give "Snappy" a good home, we would need to plan to live about 100 years, have a large bathtub we did not intend to use, supply him with an almost unlimited supply of raw fish, amphibians, and reptiles for food, be personally resistant to salmonella infection, and have fingers that are impervious to being bitten off.  "Snappy" was returned to his home at the river, because "his mommy and daddy were missing him".

Okay, so back to the bike ride.  Our road is great for biking - when you're going away from the house.  When you're coming toward the house, on the other hand, it's a steady, uphill climb for about the last 1/4 mile... all the way till we get home.  I made a deal with Claire (8) that if she didn't stop the whole way up the last incline stretch I wouldn't either.  So we biked, without stopping, up the incline.  About halfway up the hill, I inhaled a bug of some sort.  Some people might have found this daunting.  I, on the other hand, was grateful for the distraction.  All the hacking and spitting while I was biking took my mind off the burning in my legs and lungs.  I was up the hill and home before I knew it.  We made it up the hill - no problem - and realized that, although we'd biked farther the night before, we got a better workout last night.

Last night at supper we had some Caesar salad - which has Parmesan cheese.  We somehow got on the subject of cheese, and the girls and I decided that it had to have been discovered by a man.  What woman would smell something and say, "Hmmm... this smells like my shoes.  I bet it's delicious."  Sadie (11) is OCD about her food.  She likes me to ensure the quality of her food before she tastes it.  She wants to know that it's not nearing expiration, does not contain any foreign material, and will not disappoint.  Well, last year we had garden broccoli, and it gets these tiny, green worms in it.  I washed and scrubbed, and yet she found a microscopic green worm.  This has ruined her trust in my ability to inspect food; so she does it herself.  A few weeks ago, there was a question as to when the next home school field trip was.  When I said the date, she piped up, "That's the same day the sour cream expires - and the corn chips I think."  She memorizes expiration dates.  I defy them.  Yet, she is my daughter.

Mark and I divide duties around here.  He does "man stuff".  I do "woman stuff".  Sometimes he crosses over to doing dishes, laundry, etc. (what we consider "woman stuff), but he never lets me do man stuff.  "Man stuff" by definition 'round these parts is taking out trash, mowing lawn, shoveling snow, etc.  Now, I don't have trouble doing these things.  In fact, in my first marriage, I did it all.  I mowed.  I took out trash.  I maintained vehicles.  I shoveled snow.  Even when I was 9 months pregnant, you could have seen me doing any of these things.  However, since I married Mark, I've not even been schooled on the new lawn mower.  He simply says, "You have a husband and two sons.  You should never need to mow."  Do I want to do these things?  Sometimes, but mostly I have enough other things to do to keep me plenty busy.  Mark is great at man stuff.  He can fix (or learn to fix) anything I can imagine.  Before I notice some thing's in need of repair, he's ordered the part to fix it.  Last week, he took a scooter that I'd run over with the van, and he cut a piece of wood to fix it.

Leviolet helping dad fix the scooter

I don’t know what you notice about this photo, but what I noticed in all of the photos I took of this project was that Levi was looking up at him like his dad was the god of scooter repair.   It reminded me of this photo of Levi and Mark when Levi was first learning to smile.  Mark could get him to smile better than anyone else. 

Mark's a great dad... to all of our kids.

the day Levi was born

Mark with Claire

parasailing with Austin

Levi smooches

Violet smooches

But then he doesn't get it from anywhere strange...

my father-in-law snuggling Violet

I feel blessed that He loves our children and treats them with so much tenderness.  When he acts like a man, it makes me feel more feminine.  I can't count how many times he's thought I was sleeping, and I felt him pulling the blankets up to my chin.  He never leaves for work in the morning without tucking blankets around me and kissing me.  When he provides tenderly for me, it doesn't repulse me and make me want to take charge.  It envelops me in love and makes me want to be more lovable.  I am glad that our sons have a good role model.  For their sakes, I hope there are some women left who want to be taken care of someday, because they'll do just that.

Levi giving Austin baby kisses

Austin and brother

Daddy and Levi loving on their babies

Levi pushing Violet around

Austin and Levi riding a hog

Levi posing with Violet

Levi "doing school" with Austin

brothers watching a movie

brothers in front of Grandpa's love boat

Last fall, when Austin was taking driver's ed, I took him to his class 2-3 times/week.  His teacher was a middle-aged man - very gregarious and somewhat on the flirtatious side.  A few of the times when I would pick him up from class, the teacher would say, "Wow!  You look too young to be Austin's mom," or "You're in such good shape to have so many kids!"  Although this obvious flattery was somewhat nice to hear, to some degree, it was creepy.  (For the record, for Austin to have been my biological son, I would have been just barely 18 when he was born.)  On the last night of driver's ed, I took all the kids with me to pick him up.  I got out of the car to thank his teacher... shook the teacher's hand, at which point his teacher pointed out again how he couldn't believe I had so many children, and then his driver's ed teacher hugged me.  Levi immediately piped up from the back seat, "WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING MY MOM?!"  Classic.  That doesn't even touch the time Austin followed a random stranger out of Menard's to confront him about whistling and making a remark at me in Menard's.  They're blessedly honest and fiercely protective.

I believe in creation.  I believe there's a God.  Because I believe these things, I believe the differences between male and female are not just coincidental or cultural or learned.  I believe He intended these differences to somewhat define us.  Don't get me wrong.  I know men that are killer chefs/cooks and crafters.  I know women who can hunt and/or fish with the best of the men and clean the kill afterward (and my mom is one of those women).  However, I realized a few things as I was sitting in church last Sunday.  Some of the kids snuggling up around me - especially Levi.  He kept laying his head on my chest and sighing long - at rest.  I told Mark on the way home, "Women are built with pillows.  When we're grandmas we have even more pillows.  Isn't that great?"  I am starting to appreciate my female "cushion" more lately.  I used to hate any extra padding.  As women we're told that we should work our butts off (literally) in order to lose our fat and look less cushiony.  I joke that I used to pray for dimples, because I thought they were so cute, but that I should have been more specific, because God finally gave them to me but in all the wrong places.  My kids seem to appreciate my cushion.  I can remember snuggling up next to my grandmas and appreciating their extra padding.  We are built for nurturing.  If we choose not to do it, it's denying what we were built to do.

The other thing I noticed in church - that we are all born to worship.  From the earliest civilizations on record, people all over the world built temples, idols, shrines, towers, and altars - places of worship to their god(s)/goddesses.  These days, worship looks more like grabbing the latest People Magazine to see what is happening with the "beautiful people" or raising your hands/lighters, etc. at a concert, or putting money, time, and effort into a person or people or group or cause.  Humanism as a religion, it turns out, started with the Greeks - who made superhuman statues and paintings of humans that were so perfect they were called "gods".  Humanism is also the most popular religion of humanity today.  "I elevate me.  I am the most important person I know."  We were born worshipers.  We automatically assign worth to everything/everyone around us... admiring and adoring those things to which we assign high worth.  We all instinctively know that there is something/Someone of higher worth and value than ourselves.  All we have to do is look around to realize that something/Someone infinitely smarter than we formed what we see around us.

The dictionary definition of worship is "the feeling or expression of reverence and adoration for a deity (God or ancestor)".  The words lack when compared to the acts of worship that people are capable of when confronted with the God who created us.  Beyond reverence or even adoration there is worship:  what we were created to do - who we were created to be.  There is beauty when fulfilling the purposes for which one was created.  Can things be used in ways other than their intended function?  Yes, but it's kind of depressing.  I could use a pen to clean out my ears, but wouldn't it be better used in writing a sonnet?   I could use a piano as a display shelf for knicknacks, but wouldn't it be better used in playing Debussy's Claire de Lune?  I could use me to be brash, manly, and serve only myself, or I could try to fulfill my Creator's purpose for me.