Reflecting on Our Words

For those of you who are regular readers, you may be familiar with a little feature that come at the end of each month. Four other blog friends and I agreed to participate in a little challenge back in January that we would choose a word for the year that would represent the theme of our New Year's Resolution. Each month we have virtually gathered to share what we are learning on our word journey. We've developed acrostics, made mosaics, selected a photograph that represents our words. And now it's time to wrap up Month 8.

AVT Coach came up with a great idea and challenged each of us to write one sentence about what we have learned concerning our word. For verbose little ol' me, one sentence is, uh, certainly, uh...formidable. But I chose to take on the dare, I accepted the one-sentence throw-down, I decided to declare in brevity the observation I have made on my word, EXCELLENCE, to date:

Excellence: A process and a discipline, not a destination.

And now I offer up the single sentence succintities of my fellow word bloggers.

AVT Coach writes:

In August, I recognized the ABUNDANCE of seeing old friends, listening to great music, feeling the cool mountain air, and having a real time phone conversation with a good mate!

FlyGirl pens:

I have found that JOY is all around me.... It just takes opening my eyes and heart to really see it and feel it!

MirusPeg says:

Striving for BALANCE between complexity and simplicity, constantly evaluating and re-evaluating the trade-offs I have to make to get there.

And last but certainly not least, MommyVictory has this to say:

Discipline is setting your eyes on the prize, recognizing what you need to do to get there and removing all obstacles that will prevent you from finishing the race.

And there you have it, our further reflections on the words shaping our years. What word is on your mind as we head into fall?

Sunday Selah

Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.

I Cor. 9:25-27

I'm a runner.

Well, let's amend that to 'dedicated jogger.'

I'm not fast.

But I'm not too slow.

And I love to run for miles and miles.

I don't possess a lot of athletic skills, but I do have the ability to put my body into a repetitive motion and stay there. For a long time.

Which causes some issues.

Because that consistent, unchanging training can wreak havoc on joints and ligaments, even with good running shoes. And once the body adapts to the same pace and the same mileage, the fitness benefits of running begin to decrease.

Enter interval training.

It's a method of running that involves increasing and decreasing the speed at which you run in a way that forces the body to constantly be re-adapting to a new pace. It quickly increases stamina and strength because of the timed stresses it places on the runner.

And here's the part where I admit I don't like it all that much.

I get comfortable at a consistent pace. I don't have to think all that much. I don't have to watch the stop watch or the miles-per-hour meter on my treadmill.

Which is precisely why it can stunt my training and put undo strain on my joints and flexibility.

Kind of like what happens with my faith when I don't have to make the occasional climb, when I don't have to push the muscle of my faith to stay in the race and push myself to the next level.

I get the feeling that God believes in interval training. It may be why He allows some steep climbs to come our way from time to time.

It can be a jolt to our system, when we've been jogging along the paths of belief in a way that has become familiar and comfortable. We know where the errant pothole might be. We know how much further until the next curve.

But then our Heavenly Trainer takes over the treadmill dashboard. He hits the incline button and increases the speed. And we gasp at the effort and feel unfamiliar twinges and stretches as we try to keep up. And we wonder at what He's doing and why we've been bumped from our comfortable run.

He's making us stronger. He's making us faster. He's making us tenacious. He's making better runners of us.

Even when the burn of exertion leaves us feeling depleted, even when the pace makes us wonder how much further we can go.

He's making better runners of us.

Which will make the finish line all the sweeter.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~August Sunset on the River in My Town~

Wii, Wii...and a Winner!

So we all know that I love educational resources and games, particularly things that leverage technology to get at a variety of learning styles. I reviewed a new website and computer game for JumpStart a few months back and was delighted when they contacted me recently about a new game.

A game for the Wii.

Specifically for the younger set, ages 3 to 6.

And educational no less.

Can you spell h-a-p-p-y?

This newest product from JumpStart is called Pet Rescue and is the first game of its kind for Wii that allows younger kids to enter the ranks of gamers. 6 of 8 was my game tester with older brother (and all-things-Wii-expert) 5 of 8 as her tour guide. The game is designed for one player and has simple enough movements of the Wii controller for younger kids to navigate easily. The graphics are bright and fun, but not so busy as to overwhelm younger minds. There are 30 games to reinforce numbers and letters, along with matching skills.

It had been my goal to bring you another review by 5 of 8 and 6 of 8 for this game. I like to let you hear reviews from the horse's mouth, so to speak. But I must tell you that this go-around, you're just going to get some full-out comedy. A concise review by 5 of 8 does come near the end of this video offering--and I must say, it's worth the wait....


And now for some exciting news: JumpStart is sponsoring a contest so that perhaps an Octamom reader might be able to win their very own copy for their spawn! Just go here for contest information and entry. If you're one of those organized souls who is already thinking this would be a great item to stick in the Christmas stocking (you organized thing, you) be sure and visit this link for more information about Pet Rescue.

As for our crew, this was a game well received. 6 of 8 was thrilled to play something geared more for her age range and I do think the twins will be playing in short order. And as a mom, I like the fact that the kids can be on the Wii like their older siblings with a product that reinforces the skills we are teaching with content that is appropriate to them. Viva la JumpStart!

As promised, I'd also like to announce the winner of the Smelly Laundry giveaway...Lucky Number 13, Becky, come on down! I've tried to access your blogger profile but keep hitting an error message.  Shoot me an email, Girl, and I'll get you in touch with those Smelly Washer folks, pronto! Congrats! And I must give a shout-out to Boy Mom to one of the funniest entry comments made to date. And I quote:

Dear Smelly Washer Folks,

I have 8 children as well, ALL BOYS. Not only am I daily faced with laundry batches that make Gulf Water Towels stenchy knees shake; but, I'm also dealing with trying to get out the smell of all the Axe related products boys douse themselves with in an appeal to the fairer sex, which I used to be until all this stinking laundry.

Please help me reclaim my olfactory sanity and my femininity. Send ME your product!
Boy Mom

Beam Me Up...

I'll admit it.

I'm a Trekkie.

Not to be confused with the more zealous Trekker.

I'm just back in the fan gallery, not the 'Go to the Conventions' group.

I speak, of course, of Star Trek.

I watched as a kid. I watched as a high schooler. I watched as a college student. I watched as a young mom. And now as a, uh, a-hem, mature mom, I still watch. Original Series, Next Gen, Voyager.

But I just never got Deep Space Nine.

And I don't think I was alone in that.

But I digress.

While some might argue that I wasted precious hours of my life watching Kirk, Spock, Picard and Tuvok plum the depths of the galaxy, I believe it simply has made me a woman before my time.

Take last night's agenda for example.

First there was the two hour physical and occupational therapy session for 7 of 8. On the way home was the critical Costco trip to procure more dairy and carbohydrate supplies for a ravenous family. Once arriving home was the 45 minute quick clean up and put away groceries session, followed by a relaxing gulped-down dinner. Then it was off to the dance school for two of the kids, then the screaming streak across town to get another kid to youth group, followed by the 30 minute session called 'Sitting in the Parking Lot With Two Unhappy Toddlers' while rush hour traffic was allowed a chance to dissipate. Once the rush hour gridlock was quelled, it was time to drive halfway back across the city to the dance school to pick up one of the dancers. Then was the quick trip back to the house, quickly followed by another trek to the church to pick up the youth group-er and then another swing out to the dance school to get the remaining dancer, then back to the house.

There is an oil rig in Venezuela with my name on it.

All that said to prove my point: I obviously had greater faith that by this time in my life, NASA would have perfected transporter technology which would have allowed me to have had a transporter unit in my home by which I could beam the children to their various activities. Smirk if you must, but what is a Star Trek communicator if not a cell phone? What is Bones's medical scanner if not a miniature MRI? I don't believe I set my sights too high.

It's just maddening that NASA budget cuts came before the in-home transporter could have been made a reality.

As I state, I am a woman before my time.

Expect for when I'm running behind time trying to be four different places at once....

(Last chance to sign up for the Smelly Laundry Giveaway--I'll be announcing the winner tomorrow!)

Dollars of Sand....

Are you tired of my travel pics yet?

'Cause I just can't seem to stop posting 'em.

But this is the last batch...for a while.

While at the beach a couple of weeks ago, 2 of 8 felt something brushing past her feet in the surf. She reached into the water and brought up these gorgeous creatures...

Of course, we've seen sand dollars in the surf on the island before, but they've already been bleached and preserved by the sun. These sand dollars were still moving their tiny tendrils and were their natural gray color.

After letting all the kids see them, 2 of 8 released them back into the wilds of the surf.

Which seems to be the best way to get to experience them....

Time in a Bottle...er, uh....Bag

*Be sure and enter the Smelly Washer Giveaway--contest ends Thursday at midnight!*

Going on vacation is hard work.

And coming back is downright field labor.

I spent last night shoveling the last of the vacation vestiges from our master bedroom. Clothing that had migrated from suitcases to piles on the dresser. Sandals that left a mate under the bed. Travel bags of magazines, games, DVDs. Chargers of all varieties and stripes.

And yes, I've been home from our latest trip for a week and a half.

And then there are my purses.

I admit it...I'm a bag junkie. I just love me a good purse...and a good purse....and a good purse.

On my various travels this summer, I've carried a variety of bags, often taking at least one purse change with me.

Last night was the evening of reckoning. It was time to clean out the purses.

It was like cracking open time capsules.

In the patent red purse, tickets for a show. Mints from a restaurant a thousand miles away. An ATM receipt. The lens to a broken pair of sunglasses.

In the black leather bag, maps. Peanuts. Sand. Hair pins.

And receipts. Receipts from the coffee shop when I needed an extra caffeine jolt somewhere in Missouri. The valet receipt from the gorgeous hotel in San Antonio. The crumpled receipt from the worst McDonald's in America.

Maybe I'll keep that one to remind me to not stop there again.

And all that variegated pile a time capsule of memories from a summer that has flown too fast. All the little bits of the stuff of our travels, gathered, sorted, discarded, put away. And the little things I'm not sure yet where to put, the dried flower 6 of 8 picked for me in Michigan, the lucky penny 5 of 8 found. The collections that make up the discoveries and moments of those travel days.

Poignant, to be sure.

Except that right now, I'm just a bit more focused on how much work it takes to be a world national traveler.

Maybe I'll just watch a little more Travel Channel and call it good.

Parenting in Black and White

Michael took a rare week off a couple of weeks ago and we celebrated by throwing a Staycation, hitting the beach, heading to the River Walk for our anniversary and meandering around the sights and trails in our fair city. While walking along the river one evening, I captured this shot of Mike and a few of the kids as they were highlighted by a glorious sunset.

Our local school district starts classes today and thus, so do we hit the books hard here at The Octamom Academy for Young Ladies and Gentlemen. But I have a feeling I'll be a bit nostalgic for these kind of summer evenings....

Sunday Selah

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

James 4:10

Helium balloons.


The bane of mothers everywhere.

Our local grocery store gives helium balloons to the kids. So do the math and you can imagine the population of plastic popware that comes home with me at the conclusion of a shopping trip.

The joy lasts for a few minutes, and then I hear it.

The wail that means that someone has accidentally released their grocery store prize and it is now residing along the crown molding of the great room ceiling.

Conveniently twenty-plus feet up.

Far from the reach of any extension rod that might be put to use to try to grab it.

And within a couple of days, the balloon begins to deflate and gets wrapped in the ceiling fan.

There's a yellow balloon trapped around the blades of the ceiling fan as I type.

8 of 8 received a shiny red balloon this week. We tied extra string to it so that if it were released we might have a chance of retrieving it. But somewhere along the way, the string was pulled off of the balloon.

And then the inevitable happened.

The balloon floated out of reach.

Right into the confines of the foyer chandelier. Approximately seventeen feet in the air.

8 of 8 quickly came to let me know of this turn of events. He pulled me by the hand into the foyer and began enthusiastically gesturing to the red helium globe now inhabiting the light fixture. He made a couple of jumps for it. And then he encouraged me to make a jump for it. I complied, showing him that the balloon was just too far out of reach.

But I did appreciate that he assumed I could out-jump Michael Jordan.

After a few more jumping attempts on his part and after I assured him again that I would not be able to make a leap for it, he studied the problem for a bit.

And ran quickly from the foyer.

To his nursery.

Where he grabbed his bed pillow.

And returned to the foyer.

He placed his little pillow on the floor, centered under the chandelier, checking his position. When all was appropriately adjusted, he stepped gingerly onto the pillow. And then he looked up to see if he could now reach the balloon.

Sweet boy. Standing on his little pillow, reaching for a balloon seventeen feet in the air.

I do it too.

When there are circumstances, challenges, dreams that get tangled in the chandeliers of my life, I'm more likely to try to reach them myself. I begin by thinking I can jump those heights if I just work harder, work faster, work longer. When those attempts don't work, I grab something to try to prop myself up. Sometimes that pillow can be an old habit. Sometimes it can be a familiar path.

But none of it brings me closer.

Because there are those things that are simply beyond my reach.

But not His.

The Lord sees me standing there in the entry to a new season. He knows the limits of my reach.

And He waits. Waits for me to realize I can't jump that high. Not without Him.

So I learn again. Learn to not necessarily reach for the dream but to reach for His will.

His perfect will.

And when I reach simply for Him, He is always within my grasp.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Tower of the Americas~
~San Antonio~
~no, I didn't go to the top...~

Laundry Authority Giveaway!!!

I am a Laundry Authority.

And I earn it.

Every day.

Laundry for 10 People simply defies the Western mind. Thankfully, I'm responsible for Laundry for 10 People in 2009, not Laundry for 10 People in Pioneer Times.

No wonder the women look so grumpy in those old sepia pictures.

But I digress.

As a Laundry Authority, I was interested to try out a new product called Smelly Washer. I must admit, my washing machine from time to time is a bit, um, fragrant. I've particularly noticed this phenomenon since I went from my old top loading machine to my front loading Whirlpool Duet.

Not that I'm bad mouthing my Whirlpool Duet.

I have a serious love affair going on with that modern appliance. And I love it deeply.

Back to the funk.

Occasionally I do catch a whiff of something, so when I was contacted by Smelly Washer to give their product a whirl, I was game. The product is a powder that you allow to soak overnight in the drum of the washer. I didn't find the instructions to be specific as to how to clean a front-loading machine, since they do operate a little differently, so I improvised.

After a good soak, my machine did smell quite a bit better. But I did find that I needed to wipe down the rubber sleeve that seals the door. The residue that gathers there needs to be mucked out manually. After the overnight Smelly Washer soak and my follow-up detailing, my machine was fresh and clean.

So I decided to take it one more.

As you know, we hit the beach early last week. I'm sure it was on purpose, for the purpose of testing this product, that I left some, ah, damp beach towels in the back of the van to bake and moulder for 24 hours in 100 degree heat. Yeah, that's it...I did it all in the name of science.

Nothing creates quite the fragrance of Gulf water trapped in terry cloth super heated. It's a unique recipe.

Needless to say, I thought this could really put Smelly Washer to the test, as it is also intended to be used as a laundry freshener.

I crammed my moldy beach towels in the washer, added a capful of Smelly Washer and backed out of the laundry room slowly, once again drawing breath once I was far from the reaches of my seashore potpourri.

45 minutes later, everything was fresh and clean.

That was the acid test to me...or should I say, salt water test?

Anyhow.

So I was overall very pleased with my experience with Smelly Washer. While I did need to detail my machine a bit more after a soak, my Whirlpool Duet washer is sparkly inside. And my beach towels were definitely rescued from a future in a landfill.

And those folks at Smelly Washer have offered to let me give away a bottle to one of you. So let's go over the rules.

Leave a comment to enter. Tweet, FB, post and receive another entry for each mention. I'll declare a winner next Friday morning.

And I might even bestow an honorary Laundry Authority title to one lucky girl....

A Product of My Surroundings...

As I wind up a month and a half of being on the road, I turn a bit philosophical.

As philosophical as I can get with the twins having a screaming competition and only a half cup of coffee to my brain.

Anyway...

While on my travels I visited places that I had once called home. Places where I built a life. Places which are still so familiar and yet are changing.

Changing without me there to watch it morph.

Life marches on.

It still surprises me how quickly I can revert to my previous 'lives', if you will, when I head back into a place that I once called my hometown. I take the same familiar shortcuts, I run by the favorite coffee shop. I hit my favorite beach where I know the tourists won't come. I go to my favorite running trail, the one that winds along the river.

I slip back in to fitting in.

An aquaintance once told me that I was a 'chameleon'. I don't think it was meant in a flattering way. They were talking about the characteristics of people from various regions of the country and how I blended in with those groups, regardless of how wide-flung they might be.

Chameleon or not, I can claim diverse areas of the country as home.

My roots are in the South. The waters of the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Gulf have all been in my proverbial backyard. I've lived in the mountains and I've lived in the Plains.

It changes a girl.

My mom laughs about when we moved to the upper East Coast after having lived in the South. When addressing my elementary school buddies, I would call them, "Y'all guys."

Y'all guys.

That would still fit.

A personality stitched from the patchwork of places and people of my past.

It feels good to be back to the stretch of yard I now call home. The sand of my previous habitation is sprinkled in the back of my van. I still have a few things left to put away from the suitcase from my Sooner trip. There are little items and remembrances from the time on the road.

All little bits of the things that shape me.

Y'all guys.

It still feels like the most natural thing to say.

Ol' San Antone....

Ah.

This was my view at this time last week as Michael and I made a quick trip to San Antonio to celebrate our anniversary.

Mike treated me to a posh hotel right on the Riverwalk. We walked. We went to restaurants. We meandered.

It was just lovely.

We've been to San Antonio several times, but it is always a treat. The Riverwalk reminds me of a Spanish rendition of some of the towns I visited in Italy, little alleys and vistas, shops and pedestrians gracing each bend of the path.

And of course, like the good Texans we are becoming, we walked through the grounds of the Alamo. We've taken the tour on a few occasions and so just strolled through this time, but it always makes an impact.

The bottom portion of the walls of the Alamo are original and the lower portion of the long barracks also date from the time of the Battle.

The site itself goes back to 1718 when Franciscan priests founded it as the mission of San Antonio de Valero.
As in, 58 years before the Declaration of Independence was signed.

So I was little surprised to read that this guy thinks a trip to the Alamo is overrated.


Maybe he thinks history is supposed to be like an Indiana Jones movie.

I took particular photographic joy in taking shots of the bridges, the cornices, the statues which accent the pathways of the Riverwalk.

It seems there's always a pretty something to see around every bend.

Like this...

..and this...

and this...

But of course, there was one site on the Riverwalk this trip that was my very favorite, one that takes my breath away and makes me smile.


And makes my knees a little weak.


And that would be this one...

Yes, sir, that's my baby.

Genius? Why, Thank You!

So we've established I've been mothering for a long time now and to a large group of people.

And one of the unique things about parenting is that you never know it all and even through almost two decades can continue to learn new tricks.

Perhaps a little discovery I made last week won't dazzle you all that much. Perhaps you have already thought of doing this yourself.

But let's just pretend that this is all new and fresh, shall we?

Thank you.

When we headed to the beach last week, I was not at all convinced that I would be able to sit down for even one minute. Toddler twins at the beach do not spell rest and relaxation.

Or is that just me?

Of course, the whole point in taking little ones to the beach is to let them enjoy the sand and surf, sunshine and seagulls.

And the whole point in going to the beach yourself is to have a bit of a break, a chance to take a deep breath and slouch in a beach chair.

So to honor both purposes of hitting the dunes, I re-purposed a baby item that has been featured on the blog before.

Behold.

Yep, that's a baby yard, baby gate system, what-have-you. Yep, I took both sets we have and dragged them over the sand and set them up seaside. Yep, I put the twins in this pseudo-sandbox. Yep, they loved it. Yep, I got to sit in a beach chair for a while.

Yep, I do believe it is genius.

And I want to share my discovery with the world. You can use this idea too, should you be hosting wildly active and adventuresome toddlers at the beach. And, bonus points: I had to have burned some serious calories hauling this thing through soft sand.

Which should help justify all the beach-side Twizzlers I ate...

Didja Miss Me, Didja Miss Me, Huh?

I'm really still around.

Though you couldn't tell it from my recent habits as a blog pen pal.

Michael and I headed out of town last week (yes, I was on the road again...) to celebrate our twentieth anniversary. I wrote up a few posts ahead of time but then tried to stay off the computer while we were away.

Hence my poor performance in responding in a timely matter to your comments.

Hence my better performance at being an attentive wife.

But I'm back now. Mike heads back to the office. The kids' dance classes begin again. And then there's that little project I'm overseeing called home educating my children.

Back to the day-to-day.

It's not a bad thing, you know. We've loved our time off and our time away. And I love our more regular routine as well. The mornings at the table with my 'bowl' of coffee (as Mike accurately has named it) and the kids at their books, the washing machine humming in the background and the giggles of the twins as they empty every drawer and cupboard in the nursery. The time away is refreshing...and it also makes me grateful for the school days, the errand days, the busy days and the slower ones. Because those are the days that have made up these twenty years with this amazing man I'm married to and those days are the ones that make up the backdrop of my time with my children.

Vacations are good.

Holidays are wonderful.

And plain ol' Mondays can be just quietly blessed.

So I've missed you. I'm off to catch up on the news in your lives, to answer your emails and to look at your pictures. And on this plain ol' Monday, I'm very aware of how glad I am to have this little window called a computer screen into your worlds and into the friendships that have developed via the web.

I'm glad to have a plain ol' Monday to catch up with you.

Sunday Selah

Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done

and what I had toiled to achieve,

everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind;

nothing was gained under the sun.

Ecclesiastes 2:11 

written by King Solomon

It was sitting there when we arrived at the beach last week, turrets and moats overlooking the surf.
It was a large sandcastle, complex in its design, shells decorating its cornices, whales made of sand circling the boundaries of its kingdom.

It was pretty spectacular.

It had been left by who ever had been occupying that plot of beach before we arrived.

We set up our site just adjacent to it.

Beach canopy. Beach chairs. Enormous cooler filled with fresh water and ice. Plaid bags of plastic shovels, a basket of brightly colored towels. Grass mats for the floor of the beach canopy. Large bags of food for the day, sandwich makings, chips, fruit, snacks. Bags of diapers and dry clothes. Within a few moments of our arrival, we had created our beach homestead, our marked territory for a day in the surf and sand.

And the sandcastle sat as landmark, a beacon of our beach squatting.

The day was glorious, tongues of tide licking the caramel sand. The seagulls pestered for bits of our picnic. The twins giggled and shrieked as the waves nibbled at their toes. Mike kicked a soccer ball with the kids, impromptu rules governing scoring and fouls. Sand, salt, snacks.

And the tide began to move in.

The sandcastle showed little affect at first. The water inched near its berms and moats, adding to its defenses. One of the boys stumbled through the interior of the sandcastle grounds in an attempt to retrieve the soccer ball. A turret collapsed in the aftermath. Another beachcomber walked over one of the sand whales.

The sun began to dip lower in the sky, the temperature cooling a bit. More sunscreen was applied. More wave riding was taken. We began to send the kids up to the showers. We took the cooler to the van. We rinsed the beach toys in the salt bath of the sea. We took down the canopy. We shampooed the sand out of our hair.

I came back over the dunes as the sun was setting. Our beach site was empty but for a few footprints. And the sandcastle had been reclaimed by the water.

It seemed a bit forlorn, to see this patch of beach we had claimed as ours for the day, to be empty again. It seemed a bit forlorn to see our neighbor sandcastle reduced back to its original grain. And I knew that in just a few more laps of the tide, it would look like we had not been there.

I wonder if King Solomon built sandcastles by the sea. He seems to know the feeling.

It goes so fast, this human experience thing. We move into a place, we build our structures. We create a way of life, we cut paths through the sand. We decorate the turrets of our lives with sea shells and we make sand whales to guard our borders. And it stands for a while, the sandy confection of our engineering and math and construction and sweat.

But eventually the sun sets and the tides of time come to again wash the beach we have occupied. We stand from a distant dune.

It's not what we built that day on the beach. It's not the little habitat we made for ourselves. It's not the sandcastle.

It's what we take with us from the sands of life.

We took from that day time as a family. We took from that day joy and laughter, amazement at God's creation, memories, tickles in our tummies from the waves and deeper fellowship as a family.

That's the real achievement. That's the real monument.

And as beautiful as sandcastles will be, I want to remember that they are designed to return to the sea. They are made to be enjoyed for a day and then to wash away.

I want to build something lasting. I want to build on the landscapes of the spirit, to scale the heights in towers of love and compassion. I want to decorate the turrets of the heart with mercy and faith.

I want to build something lasting.

Something that will come with me to an everlasting shore.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Tangerine-o-saurus Rex~
~the most vicious of the orange dinosaurs~
~...made out of papier mache...~

Wonder Lab, Part Two

I get the feeling that sharing Wonder Lab with you may turn into some kind of made-for-Lifetime-Television-Multi-Episode Event. That's what happens when you go to a really cool place...and fill up half of your flash card with pictures.

As I told you yesterday, we visited this amazing little spot called Wonder Lab on our recent road trip and all the kids (and moms) got to engage in a little hands-on science. 3 of 8 felt like a magician using air to propel ping pong balls to his will.

His younger brother and cousins were appropriately impressed.

Then there was this configuration, a wall of hoses that contained strong airflow that could be changed and directed by turn certain levels. You could load a bandana into one of the chambers and watch it chase through numerous twists and turns before the bandana would come shooting out of the top.

This is another one of those exhibits that I really wish I could have on a wall at my house--you can't imagine how long kids will stand transfixed in front of this kind of stuff.

And while we're on the topic of Octamom Dream Home Decor...

This is a climbing, interconnected, lily pad sort-of-a-thing.

4 of 8 and 5 of 8 spent a fair amount of the morning scaling these heights.

I think I might need one of these in the house too.

And I haven't even shown you some of the exhibits that are on the second floor. And I've still got over 70 shots to go.

Are you in Wonder Lab overload yet?

But it does make me wonder. With all that we are spending on education these days, whether public, private or homeschool, it makes me ponder if this is the way that classrooms, learning environments, should be set up like this for young minds. When you observe the excitement that accompanies this kind of learning lab, it inspires me to rethink how I'm teaching, how funds are being spent, how kids are being taught.

Wonder Lab. It does make me wonder....