Life lately

Kebabs!!! Katie with Vera

Dustin and "Char Char"

The lovely Vera's first swim

Warrick kicking around with Floties

Deanna Rose petting zoo. "Favrit Goat!" He says

Grandpa getting a workout and a close encounter

mama's workout

Happy and sleeping with Grandma

Helping Dustin study for Anatomy

Bye bye curls

BEFORE Your son's hair is too long when . . .

AFTER Still adorable

_____________

I'm grieving today.

Last Sunday our church held a baptism celebration/ice cream social at so-and-so's inlaws that have a unique lake front property with a private sandy beach. It was really beautiful - from the wisteria vines over the covered patio with hanging swings, to the deeper significance of second chances, starting over . . . hope.

We didn't bring appropriate gear for swimming or sand, but that has never stopped the Mighty Warrick. Frankly, I don't have the energy to try to keep him FROM the water and would rather spend my energy with him IN the water. So, in we plunged in our jean shorts and tank tops.

Brett was standing at the edge of the water with our daughter next to my friend Candace. She's pretty raw - in a good way. You get the impression when you are around her that if she tried to lie, she'd never be able to pull it off. And she's certainly not afraid to shoot you straight.

Candace, while watching me drag W through the water, "Brett . . . love the curls, but I think it's REALLY starting to look like a mullet. It's about time for a hair cut."

Strange that the front couldn't quite keep up with the back, and also strange that his hair is so curly in the back, but not in front. Apparently, mine was the same way. I had been noticing how far down his neck his hair would reach when it was wet.

So . . . we didn't quite make it to his 2nd birthday with his baby hair. He's still the cutest little boy I've ever seen. And truthfully, my goal was simply to shorten the curls. But unfortunately . . . his hair just didn't quite curl up the same way after the trim.

For the record, it's not easy to cut the hair of a moving target (although this was easier than cutting my friend Billy's hair. Imagine shaving a dancing bear . . . seriously, he has the thickest hair ever and never seemed to comprehend "sit still")

model photo shoot

Ant Farm

I was warned about this . . . what happens to your house, brain and body when you have two small children (or 3, for some).

BUT, when you start off with some organizational issues, have unusually limited counter space, no dish washer, an addiction to watermelon and cantaloupe, a semi-violent son whose little sister needs a full time body guard (me, of course) and pulls you from the kitchen you might try to be cleaning, and a deep rooted character disease we call laziness . . . . (breathe) you wind up with some problems.

We have a bonafide ant farm. LOTS of ants. A highway, if you will, that takes over our unusually limited counter space. And the bag of M&M's in the baking drawer. And the box of Clif bars. And the watermelon I left on the cutting board at lunch. And the dirty dishes from that yummy peanut butter/apple sauce/soy sauce Thai stir fry we had last night. I have even found two frozen ones in ice cubes. How does that happen?

I would like to say I'm grossed out by them, but the truth is, I'm just not. I've become accustomed to them. I say to myself "they're way better than roaches or silverfish or spiders." Which most would agree is true. BUT this being accustomed to them is the symptom of my deeper disease . . . on a more serious note.

I've said for a long time that I'm just not very organized, or have limited space, blah blah blah. But the truth is, as my husband said so graciously the other day, we are lazy. I don't hang up my clothes when I take them off or try them on. My shoes don't have a home, other than the floor somewhere in the house. I don't even rinse dishes after I eat - tempting our little six legged friends. The back of the couch substitutes for hooks (that we don't have) for back packs, baby carrying devices of all sorts, even dirty diapers all twisted up tight and ready for the trash. (Why don't I just take it to the trash? . . . I gross myself out.)

Funny that Brett should tell me the other day that we are lazy, (also calling us slobs) as I had been convicted about my lack of self-control. I kind of don't want to write about this right now, because I was wanting some ice cream and now I'm arguing with myself about it. But really, I think my remaining "baby weight" might just be ice cream and too-big-of-portions weight.

So . . . I had a confession, of sorts, with Brett and asked him for prayer about my self-control issue. I don't want to put too heavy a burden on myself and know I need grace - I had a baby 6 weeks ago, for crying out loud. HOWEVER, you know when you have a character/perspective problem. Well . . . sometimes you don't. But I do now and know I need to change.

The other night Brett and I were in my parent's pool and I said I wanted some ice cream after we got out. We were kind of having a little date after the kids were down . . . He reminded me that I had been complaining about my fatness just moments before. Nasty. Stop it. He's so blasted bottom line and sees everything in black and white.

Brett's thoughts: "she doesn't want to be overweight. she wants ice cream. too much ice cream = overweight. eliminate ice cream."

My thoughts: "STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!! I WANT ICE CREAM AND SKINNY NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!! date officially over. Not responding to you anymore. "

Brett's response: "that's immature"

My response: get out of pool and pout. Come to grips with the fact that he's right. Be honest about making changes a little at a time. Don't eat ice cream, drink more water, have confession and ask for help.

So . . . this week has been better as a result. Small strides. Worked out twice and felt great. Thankful the ants ate the M&M's. Really - they ate the colorful candy shell right off of some of them. Now I don't have to eat the M&M's. And I'm much more optimistic about seeing results with this newly adopted practice of self-control . . . be it over food choices, hanging up my clothes or putting things where they belong. God help me. Seriously.

Baby sister

My uncle Dave, enjoying some quiet time with Vera Bear

Helping with her "night" (pacifier)

from the lips of babes

We just got back from a 5 night stay at my parent's house, during which we celebrated my Grandmother's 90th birthday, the independence of our country and our family. I think 13 family members from Chicago flew in, several from all over KS . . . my parents hosted the reunion.

As other parent's will testify, sleeping away from home with small children may actually involve little sleeping, unfortunately. Our kids are actually pretty good sleepers now, but Warrick got some sort of bug - fever, loss of appetite and fatigue being the only symptoms we could detect. Of course, he can't say, my ________ hurts. He did tell us his thumb hurt, but that was from a slam in a door.

Anyway, he woke up in the night on Saturday night and Brett brought him downstairs. He ended up really waking up and being chatty. Kept repeating "Josh . . . Amy" "Josh . . . Amy" - some of our friends here who he, honestly, doesn't see that often. Brett goes to school with Josh and talked with him last night. On Saturday night - very late, they had been in a car accident. They were on their way home to their apt. north of town, came up over a hill and hit a man who was standing in the middle of the road. He was drunk and had been kicked out of the car by his wife, and was then trying to flag down another driver coming from the opposite direction in efforts of getting home.

Josh was driving their truck and saw him in just enough time to brake. The impact smashed the 25 yr. old man into the grill and hood and then threw him many feet away. There are fingerprints and dragging smudges in the hood ( along with significant denting )- Brett saw it this morning and described it as "eerie" . . . only time I've ever heard him use that word.

Josh had to administer CPR until paramedics came. I don't know every detail of the story, but I know that he should have died and he's alive and heading home from the hospital 5 days later. He had knee surgery and a badly broken leg. There is more, but he is alive. Josh and Amy visited him in the hospital and told him about Jesus.

The guy is 25. He has four kids. He has a wife. He is alive and shouldn't be.

AND, Warrick woke up in the night saying their names shortly after the accident happened. Brett and I both heard him saying "Josh ... Amy" over and over. We hadn't even talked about them or seen them recently.

So, I'm thankful today that this man gets another chance. I'm also sobered and stilled that God used the tongue of my son to get our attention. When he does this again (and there have been other times when he's repeated someone's name over and over at a seemingly random time), I will more quickly recognize it as God borrowing my young son's voice to get our attention to pray. To love our friends. To call and listen. To help.

Because, I don't think this was a coincidence.

Fence

So . . . I'm realizing very quickly that trips to the park and playing in a fenceless yard are a little more complicated with two small children. Arms are full of tiny babe and defiant toddler won't come back inside or walk back home. So . . . . there we are, all three of us, stuck on the corner until I can figure out how to physically carry all three of us back home. So much for "don't-lift-anything-heavier-than-your-baby-until-6-weeks-after". ...

BUT, my man of action built me a fence around our yard so I can be normal (i.e. be outside). He used palettes and other cheap materials and I think it looks pretty nice considering. Regardless, it is keeping the tiny man in, and that was the goal.