I'm a Christian and I have tattoos

Bohemian Bowmans is having a *very interesting* talk over christians and tattoos! 

Here are two of mine.

It's a cat.  

*sigh* people ask me if it's a wolf.  

Wish it was so cool - it's just a picture I found in a coloring book.

Yeah

My very first! Plank Pulling Thursday

This is my first Plank Pulling Thursday that Bohemian Bowmans has been hosting for quite a while now.

She says " . . . The one day a week that we strongly resolve to ignore the multitude of specks and sawdust around us and pull one bona fide plank from our own eye. Matthew 7:3-5, style."



So bear with me -

Recently, I've had two great friends celebrate their birthdays.  One, her hubby set up an elaborate surprise getaway to a Bed & Breakfast followed on their return to a surprise pot luck party with friends.  The other had her friends *our* friends throw a surprise black and white party. I just love both these ladies and every one of 'em that set all this up.  And I *love* to celebrate birthdays!

Here's the plank.

I've got childish envie up the wazoo.  Yes.  Grown woman, mother of three, former Army National Guard, field missionary since 1997, I. have. jumped. out. of. planes!  For crying out loud!  Picture me, on the floor, kicking my heals, pounding my fists.  IWAANNAABIRTHDAYPARTY!  I WANT SOMEBODY TO REMEMBER ME!

*sigh* (give me a minute to gather myself)

And my plank is big enough that I want someone else to remember my birthday.  I don't want to tell them - because it just. isn't. the. same.

My birthday is in May and very often gets rolled into Mother's day and so it's kinda "shared" *if* it's remembered at all.  Other years my birthday was remembered by my beloved, with a weak "Happy Birthday honey, but it's the end of the month . . maybe we'll do something when we get some money."

I sound ridiculous to myself.

Yet - ther' be a plank there, no doubt.

It's more like a pool for me.  A self pity pool that draws my interest and just makes me want to dive in and swim around in it.

So - now to pull this sucker.

I will chose NOT to swim in that self-pity pool.  And if I get my toes wet, I will pull them out quick.  I will give thanks for what I have.

I know that I have friends that love me.  I know my husband loves me. I know this.  And if I want a birthday party - next year - I'm going to let people know.  Oh - and I'm going to set aside a sum for my sweet hubby to go get something, and I'll provide him a list to chose from!  And I'll give God the thanks for another year.

So be warned friends and family . . . May 29th. It will be a true "memorial weekend" if I can help it!

The good (out of the bad and ugly) in Mexico

So, about 10 days ago I think I broke my foot.

But *WHO* wants to go to the doctor and pay for the visit and x-rays and more if all they are going to do is tell you to take ibuprofen and stay off it.

That I can tell myself.

Like I just did.

Anyway.  My mom is now with me, and my foot is still hurting, and she is -lovingly-persistantly- telling me I need to get it looked at.

I'm gonna let her sway me, and I'll tell you why - Mexico.

Mexico doesn't have the doctor, pharmacy, radiology, labs and so on all rolled up into one package - you visit a doctor then you go and visit a lab clinic and then you go to some pharmacy nearby . . .all separate from the other.  And on a bad day, I hate this.

But today it sounds just peachy because it means that I can just hobble myself down to the radiology clinic and get x-rays for myself (for about 35 dollars) and if my foot is badly broken *THEN* I'll take the x-rays to the doctor and see what he has to say about it.

Otherwise, I'm just taking myself home and downing some ibuprofen.  Thankyouverymuch.

UPDATE: went and got the x-rays, and yes, it's official, it's broken.  And I'm back to *less than in love* with Mexico because the doctor put a cast on my foot but I'd have to go somewhere else to find a boot for it.

Well, it's May.

I suppose I should catch everyone up since hubby got back from Honduras A MONTH AGO!

I had hardly any time to do anything, including facebook or blog time, but when he got home it just meant we were BOTH busy.

But I don't think I'm gonna finish it up today.  *sigh*

Maybe I can pencil blogger in . . . hmm . . some time in June?

*Whew*

Two weeks of hubby being gone to Honduras for 2 months and I'm POOPED!

Thank goodness my box of Jolt-caffinaded gum- just came in . . !!!

:-)

Shooting straight from the heart here -

My aunt tells me on the phone she's HAD IT!

She is not going to help my mother no mo!  Not checking her mail, not watching her house - NOTHING!

I'm not at all surprised.  I've felt that way several, several times.

And I'm kinda relieved that my aunt is expressing this . . .this . . . frustration.

Long I've been aware my mom is 'off'-or as I say it; has an undiagnosed mental illness- and it is a world of difference being related, to her, like being a sister or brother, and being this person's child.

World.Of.Difference.

Among my siblings we have concurred that one of the strongest reasons we have any relationship with my mom right now is because of the love and respect we've had for our aunts and uncles.  And I used to seek them out with questions and seeking answers and reasons - but more and more I found them asking me about mom.

And I understood that they didn't understand and that they still were running on an ideal relationship assumption - that blood is thicker than water.

*LIFE SPOILER ALERT*


Here's the deal folks - it's not.  And at times where for my, and my own family's good, I've had to be what would seem cruel with my mother - I would get frustrated that my extended family didn't always understand this - couldn't see it, couldn't support me.

Now finally - in my dear aunts desperations I'm seeing her come to a point - I hope - of understanding.

It's different is all -

And then they bless your heart . . .

Trying to put my priorities into practice I started - at the beginning of the school year - to gather the kids up at 6:30 in the morning, sometimes piling them all on the couch or into our bed, to read the Bible.  They'd be barley awake if awake at all . . . with the two year old running around . . .

"OK!  Where are we?"  pause  "you awake, Andrew? . . . Can you hear me, Sarah? . . . Alex . . shhhh!  Be quiet . . we are going to read the Bible now."

The past couple of days the 2 year old grabs a small new testament and announces "I read Bible!  SHHHHH  BE QUIET eb'y body, I read Bible"  over and over . . . what funny little mirrors they are of us!  Ha ha.

Sometimes . . ok, OFTEN, I would just go on thinking that even if they WERE sleeping, their spirit is awake and can take it in.

Then yesterday I drove their father to the ER state side.  He's had a bad cough for two weeks that just kept getting worse and we were concerned it was pneumonia.  He checked in at the ER at about 3pm and was moved to a room about 10:30pm.  Finally about 11 I left and drove home.

It was a late when I arrived home.  I looked forward to sleeping in.

I blame the stressful day for my laps in thinking

. . . I mean really - WHAT WAS I THINKING?  I'm a MOTHER of SMALL CHILDREN and every mother knows that even when you're pulling teeth to get them up on the weekdays, come Saturday and everyone is UP AN AT 'EM at the crack of dawn.

First the 2 year old came buzzing around, I don't know what time it was, I didn't look.  Didn't have to . . I knew it was still Too Early, my headache told me so.  That and the grey skies.  But said two year old was in distress because he Couldn't Find his Bible (the little new testament) . . .

Soon the 5 year old comes crawling to my bed shortly followed by the 6 year old.

And then my 5 year old says "Why are you not reading the Bible to us?" . . .

and that blessed me to my core -

Because he WANTED to hear it - so I can assume he wasn't COMPLETELY asleep all those other mornings?

He LIKES to hear it?

Alright - so maybe I'll get up now, after all.

It's time for a name change here!!!

I'm done with diapers - mostly -

The middle one still wets at night - but we are otherwise all done . . so I'm no longer "between" diapers . ..

Any thoughts on a name for this blog, then?

I'll have to think it over.

Meanwhile:

Because "No Bake" is my middle name . . .

Planning my boy's 5th birthday was a no brainer.

I *REALLY* like no-brainners.

He's all into soldiers, half his wardrobe is camouflage , and most of his toys follow suit.   Army theme then . . . 

So I googled images of army cakes to get an idea - and was thinking I would have to order something 

that whole "no bake" thing . . . you know

And I asked my boy to come over and choose which one'd he'd like.  I'm thinking a Jeep, or a Tank or something . . . but pictured was one simple chocolate cake with a bunch of toys on top . . .

And that was what he wanted.  The toys win the vote.

So I went to Costco - got one of their chocolate cakes with some pretty chocolate roses in the middle.

We got that home and I whacked those roses off - softened them in the microwave and made a road with them  . . . then sprinkled the rest of the cake with green sprinkles and had the kids line the cake with m&m . . .

and the boy and I topped it off with toys . . .

VOILA!

It turned out so well and was easy-peasy like I like it . .. .

We are happy people.

What is one to do?

Beware: I'm taking a different turn here on my blog.

If your interested in our ministry - I still am posting about our work with the deaf over on www.bajacompassion.blogspot.com

Anyway - so I ask, what is one to do when one's mother has an undiagnosed mental illness?  Hmm?

When said mother is not stupid by any degree . . . but rather in her own world?

Need to know where I'm coming from?  Then you need to read "The Glass Castle" and watch some episodes of Hoarders (paying special attention to the cases that has animals living in the house) and add to that the movie "Anywhere But Here" and you may have a small taste of what my life has been like.

Even then, your only going to get a sense of it.  Everyone's "crazy" is a different as a person's musical tastes.

My relationship with her comes from a place of obligation and compassion rather than a true feeling, or warm fuzzes.

So mother's day is kinda hard on me - I see all these "best mother in the world" type thing . . all the "you are so special to me" stuff . . .

it's just different for me . . . you know.

I have yet to see the card for mothers day that says "Thank you for birthing me."  but I'm sure I'm not the only one who could use one of those.

How do I even start?

Update! I found I was misinformed - it was Miriam's sister, Mitzy, who passed away.  She was 3 years old. 


This was good news only to Sarah, who didn't lose her best friend. Apparently after Miriam recovered from chickenpox her little sister came down with it.


It's a different child, but the same sorrow.


Miriam died last night.

She was 6 years old.

The doctors prescribed bad medicine.

She was out of school for a couple of weeks because she had chickenpox.  But she was back in class with my daughter, Sarah, on Monday.   After school Miriam's mother and father were hosting, in their very humble baptist church that he pastors, a VBS put on by a visiting church group.

So thrilled was Sarah to be romping around hand in hand with her best friend.

At the surprise baby shower for Sarah's and Miriam's teacher today we noticed that Miriam and her mother were absent - but it wasn't dwelt on.

Then later at the VBS I was talking with the youth pastor's wife . . . she told me the news.

And I grieve.

I'm actually surprised at how my heart hurts for Augustina - Miriam's mother.  I came home and just sobbed on my husbands shoulder.  Then I asked him to tell Sarah - which he did, and she came out of the room all red eyed and we hugged and cried together.

They have two younger children than Miriam - the youngest has down syndrome.  And they are a humble, poor, family.  How does a Pastor continue after burying his daughter?  How does a mother function?  If you remember, would you please pray for this family?

I'll be hugging my kids a little tighter tonight - that's for sure.

I am From

I am from the thunder storms and the lilacs.

The nectar from each small blossom is sweet.

From the green house in the city. A Pandora’s box

I am from lefse and quesadillas,

bad spellers and the gifted,

from Showalter and Alvarado.

Sticks and stones my break your bones,

but words can wound much deeper.

And bones heal.

I am from Christmas shoe boxes with toothpaste, mittens and Rose Art™ crayons.

From the Marie Sandvik center and the frowning old lady with the whistle around her neck.

I am from the HUGE snow piles on the outskirts of K-marts parking lots.

With John and Paul,

and I try to keep their hands warm by blowing on them while we wait for the bus.

I am from those that march to their own drummer.

I am from Conviction and Commitment; “Go into all the world” and the Great Commission.

I'm from Minnesota? California? Mexico?

I am from the North and the South.

(This poem is an inspired idea from here)