Confessions

The package was still sitting on my desk here this morning.
Accusatory.

Gloating.

Condemning.

So I'm going to confess it.

Bully

Yes, I'm an un-objective mom and all, but I do think that 3 of 8's film making skills are coming along nicely. This latest piece is all of his doing, from script writing to acting to filming to editing. Take notice of the various shots that tell the story in a minimum of words.

Camera Grab

I do it to my parents virtually everytime.
They drive in from several hundreds miles from their winter roost on their way to their summer roost.

We spend a couple of days telling stories and laughing and eating.

And then, right as they get ready to jump in the car, I bring it out.

Tutorial

So I was all set to compose a post this morning, birds singing, hot coffee in hand.
Well, hot coffee in a mug, not in my hand. With the mug on the desk next to my computer.

You understand.

But before I could compose, I had to go play a little round of Octamom Parking Lot.

Tetris Twins

I loved playing Tetris back in the day.

Loved it.

And apparently is was a good training ground for figuring out how to keep eight kids and all their stuff somewhat arranged in a certain amount of square footage.

Sunday Selah

Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city.

Revelation 22:14

It's that time of the year.
Those few weeks each season that my house looks like a pillaged warehouse in the garment district.

I speak of the Changing of the Wardrobe.

With ten people in the house and an archive of hand-me-downs, each shift in seasonal temperature and growth spurts brings the need to go through mounds and mounds of clothing.

Even though my best intentions are to have all the backlog well organized and labeled, the task of trading it all out seems to result in chaotic jumbles of jumpers and jackets and jeans. Toddlers wander through and construct new ensembles of stained t-shirts over skirts, Christmas dresses combined with boys boxers.

And before I know it, the Great Clothing Exchange Project has spilled out of the room where I'm working and has left small mounds cascading down the stairs and secreted in the bathrooms and outlier items tucked behind sofa cushions.

Such is the condition of my house this morning.

And that doesn't include the weekly laundry accumulation.

We do tend to spend quite a bit of time in our culture on clothing. In the course of a day, I change from nightgown to running skirt and shirt to casual chore wear to dress pants and blouse to lounge wear. The kids practice multiple costume changes throughout the day, pajamas giving way to shorts to leotards and soccer cleats and swimsuits and princess dresses.

But there is a outfit I don't want to neglect.

It will be woven of the deeds of my life and laundered by the Lamb. It will be a uniform of unity and a inscription of individual intent.

The robes of eternity.

Washed, white, all-weather.

The white robes we will always wear. Worn after the Memorial Day of His coming. Always in season as the Labor Days of our strivings will be over.

I'm looking forward to that fashion. May we walk today with an understanding of what we want to be clothed with in eternity.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~April Showers~

~bring May flowers~

~and cute rain boots~

9 of 8

I like this kid.

Even when she's not making faces.

Miss LP. 6 of 8's pal.

She's taken to calling herself 9 of 8.

Bless her.

She had a school assignment recently to journal about a quality she likes in a friend at school. She carefully took pen to paper and wrote this about a schoolmate:

"He has a good self of steam."

Yep, Baby.

I've met those kind of guys too.

Facials

It was part of my psych training.

To look for patterns.

To observe a collection of human interactions and to try to detect repeated themes, echoes of behavior.

I think I'm detecting a theme with 8 of 8.

Sweet Sixteen

This one turned Sweet Sixteen last week.

2 of 8.

A decade and a half and one more year.

Such is the height of my algebra skills.

My Girls

7 of 8 had to stay home with the boys.

I'm sure I'll hear about it later.

But the 'big' girls and I got to have a Girls Day and we had us some fun.

Pen Pals United

Had an absolute thrill this weekend.

I got to meet a long time bloggy friend.

As in, in person.

MommyVictory and I virtually met while composing digital scrapbooks. Remember back in the '90's how we'd go to scrapbook nights and cut and tape and embellish 'til the wee hours? Well, online scrapbooking is kind of like that. Except the kids don't get into all your stuff.

So MommyVictory and 4 of 8's Auditory Verbal therapist, AVT Coach, and I met a couple of other friends through online scrapbooking. I've known AVT Coach 'in real life' for many years now, but had not met the rest of the gals face to face...until now.

MommyVictory made a drive south to attend an event I was at this weekend and we got to meet 'for real' for the first time. It was such a delight to hear the voice I've been reading. It was a delight to know, not just the color, but the shade of her eyes.

Friendship acquired through pictures, written words and now arm and arm.

Thanks for coming to town, MommyVictory. I'm so glad to have you in my web and my 'real' life, however those lines intersect.

Sunday Selah

My son, keep your father's commands

and do not forsake your mother's teaching.

 Bind them upon your heart forever;

fasten them around your neck.

When you walk, they will guide you;

when you sleep, they will watch over you;

when you awake, they will speak to you.

For these commands are a lamp,

this teaching is a light,

and the corrections of discipline

are the way to life...

Proverbs 6:20-23

Sometimes it makes me smile.
Sometimes is makes me reconsider.

What I hear coming from my children.

The scripts they recite in response to events in their lives.

Sometimes it's cute.

Sometimes it's funny.

And sometimes it's defeating, a line of drivel repeated from a favorite show or a sassy remark.

Can't imagine where they get it from.

Probably their mother.

Those phrases that we recite, that sit ready on the tongue. 'When the going gets tough, the tough get going." "Easier to catch flies with honey than with vinegar." "No fair!" "Snap!"

All at the ready because of repetition, habit, belief.

We spend much of our childhood days reciting math facts, memorizing dates and historical figures, cramming a poem or two into our heads for good measure. We rate intelligence on one's ability to quickly recite litanies and liturgies of literature, periodic tables and physics equations.

But what of wisdom?

What of truth?

And what of the eternal?

Am I practicing those lines? Am I committing those treasures to memory? Am I preparing myself and my children with the sayings and proverbs, the lines of acumen that truly equip and arm for the battles of life?

Or am I still stuck back at "Snap"?

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~6 of 8 and Miss LP~

~buddies~

~creative partners~

~ready to take over the world~

~one tube of lip gloss at a time~

Letter of the Law

I know I'm outnumbered trying to run this house.

And I'm very clear that I'm also out-gunned.

Case in point.

Treasure Found

That's 5 of 8. Back at Christmas of '03.

We found a treasure chest yesterday.

In the form of a photo CD.

Chameleon Confusion

Okay, maybe he is technically a gecko green anole. I just personally like the alliteration of Chameleon Confusion.

And maybe technically this he-gecko green anole is a she.

Whatever.

But this he/she/gecko green anole/chameleon wildlife has certainly chosen a busy place to roost.

Daddy Dates

There are several things I like about my man.

Michael.

And by several, I mean oodles.

But there was a little something he did recently that made me like him even more.

Stowaway...

It happened again this morning.

Pre-dawn.

Early, early.

Our bedroom door crashed open.

And a sleepy, disoriented toddler came bursting through, slammed the door behind him, launched himself onto the bed, jumped to the center, landed a la trampoline, wiggled himself between Michael and me and promptly conked back out.

While I lay there, heart palpitations rocking blood and jitters throughout my body.

We've had kiddos come to nest post midnight many a time through the years.

But when 8 of 8 comes crashing our slumber party, it's something of a hostile takeover.

Though he immediately falls back asleep, he's still romping through fields and jumping off of couches and flying with Buzz Lightyear on the stage of his mind. First he'll kick Michael in the ear during a deep dream sequence and then I'll get a heel to the kidneys.

Once 8 of 8 takes over the middle of the bed, he sleeps soundly and Michael and I doze, ready to defend ourselves from his pugnacious fiesta of a siesta.

But when the sun begins to rise and gilded light saturates the room and I hazily awake with him curled into me, he makes for a sunny morning. He's becoming a little boy, the baby fat on his cheeks still in evidence but his face elongating. He's becoming a little boy, the sparse curls of his baby hairstyle having given way to a little boy haircut. He's becoming a little boy, rejecting zip-up feety jammies for the cooler Star Wars and SpiderMan pajama homages.

He's becoming a little boy.

So I'm happy to keep our 3 am dates, heart palpitations and kidney kicks and all. To nest a little longer, to be the place he finds comfort, to be the place where he can dream and jump and find warmth.

Even at 3 in the morning.

Sunday Selah

My eyes stay open through the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promises.

Psalm 119:148

It happens from time to time.
In a pack.

Nights of waking up at 3 a.m.

Night after night.

After night.

The blue light of the numbers on the bedside clock highlight my wakened state, the two dots keeping the hour digits separated from the minutes blinking in accusatory cadence.

"You should be asleep. You've got a busy day tomorrow. You'll feel all fuzzy and grumpy and you'll drink too much coffee to compensate."

Blink, blink, blink.

My mind refuses to re-enter a slumber state.

Mental index cards of duties, chores, faces, conversations flicker through my thoughts.

And after playing all the relaxation games and tensing and releasing muscles and engaging in deep breathing, I give in to it.

No. Not to sleep.

I give in to the fact that I am awake.

Alert.

Not asleep.

And that's when the conversation begins.

A face comes to mind, a need that was mentioned. I raise a pre-dawn prayer. And then another need bobs to the surface of my consciousness. Another prayer is lifted. And as more people and more prayers come to my heart, I begin to hear the heart of my Father.

I hear of His love for the people He has placed in my life. I hear of His care for them. And I realize that He's up all night as well. Now questions begin to form, the momentum of my inquiries flowing into realizations and insights from Him. More queries are composed. And while I don't always hear explanations, we discuss trust. And peace.

In the watches of the night.

And, yes, when the sun rises, I am tired. And I drink too much coffee through the day. And I'm a little fuzzy.

And truth be told, sometimes a little grumpy.

But I am renewed. To have time to talk with Him, when the house is quiet and distractions are down, when the world is suspended between the day past and the day to come. To tune an ear to the receiver of my heart and to hear His voice quietly speak into my today.

While the blue light of the numbers of the clock keep beat.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Blue Eyes~

~Blue~

~yes, the photo is a little fuzzy~

~because 8 of 8 is always in motion~

~and a six-year-old took the picture for me~

~but still~

~those are the blue eyes he gets from his Daddy~

Adventures

We arrived back on our street the other day after a long walk to find our little avenue transformed.


It was no longer just a suburban thoroughfare.

Hero

That cute little guy up there?

He's got a big, big birthday coming up.

I won't mention the actual numeric value of said birthday.

Because he might just pinch me the next time I see him.

But to suffice it to say, it's big.

That's my daddy.

The Twins vs. Mr. Clean

Yes, I've been mothering a long time.

Yes, I've picked up some skills along the way.

But this twin thing, my 7 & 8 of 8 cabooses, well, they're kicking my hiney.

Particularly my housekeeping hiney.

I thought I had experienced the messes a bunch of kids could make.

But these twins?

They are just particularly gifted.

And grubby.

Dare I say, they are Olympic in their efforts.
I blow through boxes of Mr. Clean Erasers every week. Boxes.

From about the fout-foot level up at my house, things aren't too shabby. But anything within the twins' arm reach down? Yikes.

Mr. Clean and I? We spend a lot of quality time together.

Crayon, mud, high-jacked mascara marks on the baseboards, Hot Wheels car tracks along the drywall, popsicle juice cemented to the tile~that's where Mr. Clean and I get cozy. A lot. I'm starting to think that there should be such a thing as the Mom Olympics...no, no, wait...the Octamom Olympics. Points scored for number of messes cleaned in a day, boxes of Mr. Clean erasers used, form, distance, artistry...I'm on to something, don't you think?

See that little box-thing-a-ma-jiggy down there? In the spirit of Olympics moms, check out some of those stories. Give a thumbs-up to your favorite. Team Moms. Hey, if curling made it into the Olympics, surely Baseboard Scrubbing should be an event.

Leftovers

In honor to the fact that I've been cleaning out closets and garages and attics and drawers and my hard drive, I thought I would post another teaching I did back in November so that I can feel like I'm making some headway in getting caught up to current.

Even though I'm posting stuff from Thanksgiving here post-Easter, I'm feeling all productive and sassy.

Just wait 'til I post the Christmas teaching in July.

It'll be a big day, I tell ya...

John Howland.

That's who this teaching is about. He's going to inspire you.

So How Goes That Botox?

It's been a couple of weeks now.

14 days since 7 of 8 received her first therapeutic Botox treatment in her left arm.

It is a little odd to tell folks that your two-year-old is doing Botox.

Sunday Selah

"You are a king, then!" said Pilate. 

      Jesus answered, "You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me."

 ³⁸"What is truth?" Pilate asked. With this he went out again to the Jews and said, "I find no basis for a charge against him.

John 18:36-37

Ah, Pilate.


I feel for the guy.


Stuck in a dusty outpost in the service of Rome, trying to get his head around the uniques customs and petulance of his subjects.  Trying to co-rule the region with a maniac named Herod.  Different culture, different geography, different.


He probably entered the Roman legion hoping to make history.  A historic win on a battlefield, the glory of Rome lifted for all to see.   A skilled ruler over a pivotal Roman territory, momentous leadership the mark of his legacy.


But he is sent to Judea.


To oversee a people feuding over various sects, spouting about Jewish dominance and rights and kingships and traditions.


It must have felt like the furthest thing in the world from history making.

JPEG of the Week

~sunny afternoon~

~blue eyes~

~blue skies~

~freckles~

Contagious...

We live within walking distance of a great little shopping village.

Awesome Tex-Mex restaurant.

Amazing Thai food.

Starbucks.

And an ice cream parlor.

My little people were restless on a sunny afternoon this week. So I told them we could walk up to the ice cream parlor.

Sweet Tooth and Blood Sugar; The Great Debate

Got some fun info for you today...but you're going to have to click over to my review site to see it.
So get your mouse-clicking digit ready and go here to see me referee the ongoing battle between my Sweet Tooth and my Blood Sugar. On your mark, get set, go!