GRANDPA

My grandfather passed away yesterday.  We’re definitely sad about it, but there’s a great sense of relief and thankfulness, too.  On thinking about it, we did the majority of our grieving a couple of years ago, and now it’s more like his “formal” passing. My grandfather had a massive stroke about 6 months before Nathan died.  Right after, we weren’t sure he would make it from one day to the next, and we would’ve had no idea he could live for another 2 years.  In any case, though he could minimally function right after the stroke, he slowly deteriorated from there.  He went from 300 lbs. to a mere 130, and didn’t really respond to us at all when we went to visit him.  Sometimes you look at someone and feel like they are jailed in their own body, and that’s definitely how we felt about my grandpa.  My grandfather loved, loved, LOVED to fish and I remember Nathan saying that what we really needed to do was take him out on one of his fishing boats for a last romp in the sun.  Of course, he was too fragile and his caretakers didn’t think it would be a good idea.  But when I think of what my grandpa must be doing right now…well, if there’s fishing in Heaven, he’s doing it.  Probably out with Nathan, actually.  Fishing in their boat, both telling stories for hours. My grandpa’s stories would be about old air force shenanigans, airplane, and childhood in the Depresson stories.  Nate’s would be about traveling around the world, facts about Oregon that no one believes (except maybe they do in Heaven since one probably can’t lie), and college shenanigans which his wife disapproved of.  Must be a fun fishing trip with stunning views.

My grandpa was definitely a family man.  Always inviting us over for dinner and feeding us massive meals.  Usually, to be more precise, lots of steak.  He got it on sale at Albertson’s or the Super Saver Market, and not only would he tell us for minutes about how good the deal on the meat was, he would have saved the advertisement from the paper where he found it.    Then we would dig in.  Always: thick steak- medium rare (the best steak I’ve ever eaten), mashed potatoes, fried okra, salad, and crescent rolls with sweet tea.  He would usually be tired after making steak and eating it, so he and the other men of the family would retire and watch fishing or football on TV while kids jumped on top of them.  My grandpa was infamous for giving us handshakes that crushed our hands, and punching us in the arm with his middle knuckle popping out so it hurt more.  You know, tough, manly love like that.  For all his toughness, he lived to see us grandkids, and I think we were his foremost thought most of the time.

My favorite memory with my grandpa was when he, my dad, and I went fishing about 5 or 6 years ago.  Somehow a minnow had got caught in the bilge water at the bottom of the boat, and I think I had been whimpering about being hungry or something, because my dad told me I should eat it.

“I would because I’m so hungry,” I replied.

“Okay, do it then,” dad said.

“How much will you pay me?” I was a poor college student, and was greatly motivated by money at this point.

Just then, my grandpa quietly pulled out a crisp $20 bill, and gave me a smirk as if he seriously doubted even this would fully motivate me for all my jabbering.

In my non-mathematical mind, even I could quickly figure that this was about 200 Ramen noodle meals.  So, I quickly reached down, picked the slimey fish up out of the brown water and swallowed it whole and alive.

“Uuugggghhh!” my dad said with a shiver. “I didn’t think you would actually do it!  I would NEVER do that.”

But my grandpa…well, who knows what my grandpa would’ve said, because he was laughing so hard we seriously thought he was going to have a heart attack.  He couldn’t speak and pulled out a tissue to wipe his tears from laughing so hard. The saga continued when the fish didn’t die for about 5 minutes, and I could eerily feel it swimming and flailing about in my stomach, which prompted intermittent uncontrollable laughter from grandpa in spurts throughout the day. Then we all started wondering if it was going to eat me from the intestines out, what it would look like when it came out, etc.  Ironically, when lunchtime finally came around, I didn’t feel that hungry after all.  Not with the fish still clinging quite ferociously to its thinning life thread in my bowels.

But my grandpa talked and laughed about it for years.  I think my eccentric toughness made him proud somehow.

In any case, I’m glad I’ll see him again, so thankful for our memories of him, that he lived a long, good life, and finally, that he’s Home.

Love you, grandpa.  We’ll still miss you.

 

WHY, HELLO. FANCY MEETING YOU HERE.

My computer is fixed.  I’m here.

I thought about entitling this post “I Have A Brain Tumor” or something catchy like that to draw people’s attention to the fact that I’m writing again.  But, while that might draw more people’s attention, I realized that announcing I had a brain tumor would, in fact, be untrue– at least to my knowledge.  So, in any case, here I am, still writing and tumor free.

A recap of recent Chicago months…summer in Chicago is wonderful.  The weather is nearly always perfect.  I had no idea there was a beach here. A REAL beach.  Like, with sand and waves and bikini clad people and stuff.  That’s pretty cool.  Jack and I have taken advantage of the city’s many offerings, which means I went shopping one too many times.  The upside to shopping one too many times–great thrift finds and cool city views.

The church I prematurely announced I was dating got dumped, and I dated about 10 million other churches behind that one.  I’ve finally settled on one out, of all places, in Wheaton, which is about 30 minutes away.  It’s the least likely place I would’ve thought God would call me to go to church in.  It’s kind of like Christian Disneyland where there are more churches per capita than probably anywhere in the U.S., everybody dresses conservatively and has McCain bumper stickers next to their “Jesus loves you” bumper sticker, and all the streets are named after missionaries and church founders.  It’s also the home of Wheaton College, a prestigious Christian university that I once upon a time considered going to as a 17 year old.  But the church is great, and I’m especially excited that about 10% of the congregation are missionaries,50% of all church giving is toward missions, and they have so many people interested in missions that they run a small missionary preparation program.  So yay.  That’s some missionary fun.

I had my fourth wedding anniversary on the 21st.  That was not as much of an emotional shocker now that I’ve been through a full year of dates and anniversaries where Nate wasn’t there when he was supposed to be, but somehow it surprised me when I was more sad that I thought I would be.  I got through it all right, though.  Tomorrow, Jackabee turns 2.  I was telling a friend this earlier, and just wrote, “Insert bawl here” after the good-and-evil-at-the-same-time sentence “Jack turns 2 tomorrow”.  It’s especially good-and-evil that he can now tell me he’s 2 out of his own little 2-year-old mouth.  Oh…little ones grow so fast.  I love him so much it gives me wrinkles.  We already had a party 3 weeks ago when my family came to visit, prompting 3-year-old cousin, Levi, to think that Jack’s birthday must last at least 3 weeks, which is oh so disappointing because after Jack’s birthday comes Levi’s birthday.  Anyway, tomorrow I’m going to give him his present from me, and we might go to Chuck E. Cheese or something fun like that.

Last but not least, my sister-in-law and I have started a speed walking club, which makes my coolness factor go off the charts of cool.  Not only are we speed walking, but we are speed walking while driving our huge baby joggers, complete with sunscreen clad babies in floppy hats bouncing around in them, down the street. And, you know, though we might have somehow crossed the barrier from young hip women to borderline matronly/dork with the whole speedwalking club thing– we don’t care because we like it.  And hopefully, we won’t be matronly when we don’t get fat because we speed walk.   That’s the jist we’re going for, anyway.

So I just thought I’d tell about what I’ve been up to. My first Chicago summer in a nutshell.  It’s good to be back…

 

THINGS YOU CAN DO WITH A BROKEN COMPUTER

The charger on my computer lacks the capacity to do the single job it was designed for.  Thus my computer and I are having relationship problems right now.  I couldn’t seem to turn him on, no matter how much schmoozing I did, and, after being rejected so many times, my heart was broken and now I just ignore him.  So he sits there and glares at me from a corner where I’ve put him.  Sometimes though, I remember our happier times and have compiled a list of fun things that others can do with their computers when they are broken:

1.  Take it for walks in the stroller.

2. Use it as a giant coaster or a pretty centerpiece underneath a potted plant.

3. Punch all the keys that you were afraid to touch when it worked.

4. Let your toddler punch all the keys he wasn’t allowed to touch and watch him be entertained for hours.

5. Practice meditation while staring at the blank screen.

6. Hang pictures on the screen and use it like a picture frame.

7. And finally, not write blogs on it…

Sorry.  It would be fixed sooner, but Jack flushed a toy down the toilet the same night the charger went out, and I decided that fixing toilets is a necessary evil that comes before fixing computers.  At first, I went through withdrawals, because I kept all my recipes and got directions to go places online, and literally sat there wondering what people did before they had internet.  I decided this curiosity meant there was something wrong with me.  I found these cool things called cookbooks in the bottom of a drawer somewhere, and underneath a car seat found this antiquated measure called a map.  I had previously assumed that’s where I was supposed to stick my gum when I didn’t have a wrapper.  I’m like a new woman.

All that to say, hopefully my computer and I’s relationship won’t be on the rocks too much longer.  And hopefully, he won’t be too expensive to turn on again.

Love you guys.  Hope you’re having a good summer.

 

STOOORY TIME!

Here’s story that I was reminded of when I locked my keys in my car the other day. It happened while Nate and I were dating and he was living in Chicago. My key locking story wasn’t even half as exciting, so I’ll tell this one since I haven’t posted a story in awhile.
I got a call from an angry Nathan one day after I got home from class. He told me that he had gone out with his brother, Tim, and his mom and sister to try to find a dress for something. Having no desire to shop dresses in the store with them, he and Tim had sat in the car while the women shopped. It was a hot summer day, and they decided to get out and walk in front of the car to stretch their legs. While they were talking, they suddenly noticed that a tow truck was backing up to their car. Within 10 seconds, it had clamped the back wheels and, before their eyes, was carrying their car down the street. Nathan ran after it to stop the guy and tell him that they hadn’t parked it illegally. The guy of course continued to pick up speed. Nate eventually ran up and jumped on the sideboard beside the driver.
“Hey! I’m right here! That’s my car! It wasn’t parked illegally!”
“GET OFF MY TRUCK!” roared a guy with with a long, gray, scraggly beard and a hook on his right hand. I’m just kidding about the hook, I was just recalling the movie “Adventures in Babysitting”. I have no idea what the guy looked like, but it obviously had to be something like what I’m describing. Obviously.
“Stop and let me have my car back!” Nate shouted back.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, the guy pulled a knife on Nate, and Nate’s intelligent brain thus helped him decide to jump off the truck.
Nathan finished the story, and asked me if I could look up the directions to the towing place. I looked it up, and saw it was in a bad neighborhood in South Chicago.
There was a craziness to his voice. “We’re getting our car back. And we’re not paying for it… We’re going in. I’ll see you when I see you. BWA HA HA HA!” He hung up.
Nathan and Tim took the train or drove another car, I don’t remember, until they found their mark. It was a dumpy, dusty towing lot with trash littered around the fence, and in front stood a dirty, dilapidated trailer with tinted windows so you couldn’t see who was in it. They walked up to the window and immediately a grimey metal box shoved out from a slot below the window, accompanied by a voice through speaker holes.
“IF YOU WANT YOUR CAR BACK, YOU OWE US $300!”
Nathan used a voice I can still hear quite well in my mind. It was one that he used for 3 people: 1) the lady in this story or others similar to her in other stories, 2) Satan, and 3) me. When he got into trouble for something and I was mad at him, my voice changed from being the sweet and innocent voice I actually have to this low, chesty, rumbly mad voice in his stories. Our friends knew it well and would laughingly refer to it as the Satan/Lauren voice, while I pouted in the corner and rocked myself.
Anyway. The lady with the Satan/Lauren voice rumbled at him “YOU HAVE TO PAY US $300! NOW!”
Calm and collected: “We’re not going to pay you $300 when we weren’t parked illegally.”
“I DON’T CARE! GIVE US $300!” There might’ve been some cursing involved…
Less calm and collected: “Look, lady, you don’t need to be so rude. Your guy towed our car illegally and he pulled a knife on us–”
“GIVE ME $300! NOW!”
More conversation ensued. There might have been some more cursing involved. Definitely not calm and collected– “We’re going to call the police!”
Satan/Lauren: “PAY ME NOW OR WE’LL CRUSH YOUR CAR!”
Then they threw a grenade Tim had in his back pocket through the window and ran in to save the car. Just kidding. The rescue mission was much cooler.
After the shouting match proved ineffective, they walked away from the tatty trailer, red-faced (they have Irish blood) and brooding. Finally, they stood in front of it, stance wide and arms crossed to make their biceps bulge, like all men do for whatever testosteronely-charged reason, and scoped out their enemy’s territory. Satan/Lauren eyed them suspiciously from her tinted-window fortress…we assume since it was tinted. They walked around the perimeter of the fence, testing weak spots and concocting a mission plan. The trailer sat dumpily and suspiciously in the distance.
Finally, their plan was hatched. They walked across the street to a gas station. An Indian man waited with a turban wrapped around his head.
“Hi. Can you tell us the story about these guys? That towing place towed our car illegally.” They nodded toward the tatty trailer.
The man spoke animatedly in a heavy accent, “Oh! You are not the only one to have your car taken! Everybody hates those guys. The police do nothing.”
“Hmmm…Well, we have an idea. Um, perhaps do you have…a crowbar?”
The man looked at them sideways, paused. Then he nodded decisively and bent under the counter to pull out a crowbar. It was like God’s blessing on their truck rescue mission.
“Just do not bring it back,” he told them.
The men walked outside with new purpose. After a quick talk, the plan was in action. Splitting up, Tim walked around the front toward the trailer fortress. Nate walked around to the back of the lot where the high chain link fence had a gate held together by a rusted lock. He began to beat it with the crowbar. It came off easily (God’s blessing part 2), and he waited by the gate for his next move. He looked behind him.
A crowd of rough, tattooed basketball players had stopped their game and stood watching him, looking menacing.
“Oh…hey guys. Uh, we’re just breaking our car out of the towing lot…”
The air immediately went from cold and suspicious to animated chatter and warmth.
“Oh yeah, man. Cool!” they called.
“Cool.”
End of conversation.
Nate waited. After about 15 minutes, he heard yelling and a commotion inside the fence. A car revved loudly. The tension mounted in the moments as he waited for the storm to rise over the hill…
When it broke, he said it was most of the beautiful and gratifying sights he had ever seen. Tim’s old truck came roaring like the thunder through the towing lot, dodging cars and back wheels spinning out all over the place. In the middle of the lot, it went through a huge puddle of muddy water that sprayed out in all directions from the truck, something straight out of a scene from Dukes of Hazard. Satan/Lauren and a beefy bouncer ran behind, shaking their fists and screaming insults.
Nate quickly swung the gate open, and jumped in the door while the car was moving. They flew away from the trailer fortress to ecstatic cheers from the basketball crowd and curses from Satan/Lauren and her bouncer.
Turns out, sneaky Tim had run through an open gate when Mr. Bouncer wasn’t looking, and quickly jumped an inside fence, while Mr. Bouncer’s bulk prevented him from doing the same and made him wait to open the gate. Tim had gotten to his car just in time to reproduce the Dukes of Hazard scene we now celebrate.

This is one of my personal favorite Nathan stories.

 

SINGLE MOTHER SYNDROME

For some strange reason, I feel especially vulnerable writing this post on single parenting. Perhaps it’s because there are no simple answers for a hard situation. But I know that I’m not the only one who will be feeling this way (Heck, even some married parents have spouses who don’t involve themselves with their children, making them a lot like single parents), and also because it’s good to write about it. So…I’ve got the single mother syndrome.

I’m extremely well off for a number of reasons for someone in my situation. I don’t have to work at the moment and can stay at home with Jack. I have tons of family who are ready to help me and be involved with Jack and I at the drop of a hat. As opposed to some divorced parents, I at least have no custody battles that rip my family even farther apart to deal with, or there’s those cases where even a loving step-parent can wrongly try to overstep their bounds into the role of parent that people encounter from time to time. I’m so thankful God has rid me of these extra trials that many must face.

But obviously, I have my struggles, too– Jack’s a toddler, and my conundrum (SAT word, yes!!!) will worsen as he grows. I guess when one has a baby, the mother gets most of the duties at the beginning anyway, especially if nursing is in the picture (Maybe I’m wrong about that, though. I guess Nathan died too early on for me to really remember much of what double parenting must be like.) Though I get physically tired, I think most parents do. I’m mostly emotionally and mentally tired, and though all parents are, it’s likely the case that most of those that must parent alone have it harder. Perhaps I feel some aspects of single parenting heavily, because there’s not even an ex-husband I’m on good terms with that I could relate to on how to raise my child. For example, there’s no other parent for me to double check my decisions off of. Do you think he deserved a spanking for that one? Should I let him play with that kid down the street? Is his hair too long or does it look cute? Or…I suck at doing activities that specifically apply to having a father…Could you work with him on throwing that ball? Could you take him to the park for some ‘man time’? Want to wrestle with him and let him pull on your chest hair? (I’m running quite low on chest hair.) Or…though I have family that is overwhelmed with love for him, there’s not a person as equally invested in his life as I am to just share in the joy of raising him. Look at what he learned! I think you taught him that! Or How is it that God actually gave the cutest boy in the world to little old me? (I’m slightly biased.)

It seems the male to female ratio is lop-sided in our lives since Nathan died. Outside of my father, Jack has had no consistent man in his life, and has lived with 6 different women. (P.S. My parents are considering moving to Chicago for awhile. Oh my gosh, I want to squeal when I think about that. That would bring both Nathan’s brother and my father here to be consistent men in Jack’s life. Thank You, God, for my parents who have never guilted me by making me feel sorry for them or even complained about us moving away from them to where life was best for us. Thank You for parents who are instead willing to change their entire lives to be closer to us. End P.S.) Anyway, I think Jack has begun to realize something about Nathan as his father, and how other kids have these special man people who they seem to like a lot and call by the name of “Daddy”. He talks about daddies at night when we say our prayers and likes to point out how Nathan is holding “baby Jack” in pictures on our wall. He’s also called Nathan’s brother “Daddy” a few times and will want me to put him down so he can hold his uncle’s hand like his cousins do.

He’s probably still too young to get the whole thing yet, but I’m not going to discredit him by saying he’s not getting part of it already. Honestly, that realization is what I’ve been dreading since Nathan died. As a mother, I want him to have everything that will be best for him in life. I want to protect him from the things that are so difficult even for me. I want him to grow and develop emotionally as a man, not feel this emptiness and void where there should be a person.

In the end, this all boils down to my trust in the Lord that He knows what He is doing with little Jack. He loves him more than I do. He has a plan for His/my boy and that right now He is making me Superparent to meet Jack’s needs, even if I’m trying my hardest but I don’t feel like I am a Superparent. The obvious answer is the “God is Jack’s Heavenly Father” statement that goes right along with the “God is my Husband” verbiage. That’s good and true, it really, really is. I rely on those statements to be the Truth with all of my heart. I’ll get into those in a moment. However, just try actually living the implications of those statements out when you need the toilet fixed, or you just want somebody to hug you or go outside to teach your fatherless son how to throw a baseball. It ain’t so heartwarming, then. This week, I am having a hard time with my trust in Him on this one, though I’ve told him I do trust Him and have given my doubts to Him. My doubts just seep back in 30 minutes later when I have a need again.

I’ve been sitting in front of the Lord’s Prayer. “Abba”, Jesus calls God. How, Lord? I don’t understand. I know You provide/have provided for us miraculously in more ways than just physically. I feel Your love most of the time. I see Your greatness in our lives. I understand how You can be my Father who I go to, mentally sit on Your lap and tell You everything while You love me in spite of it all. I understand how You can lovingly discipline me when You want me to grow, and I can see my trials, even the worst of them, as a blessing in an eternal light. But if You are telling me that my 2-year-old can come to really know what the role of a daddy is in his life through You while You are in Heaven, I begin to doubt. If You are telling me that You are my Husband, when I am a woman who has had a human husband who I made love with and who opened the door for me when I walked through it…well, I begin to doubt. Perhaps you never meant that You would actually be Jack’s Father or my Husband until we get to Heaven. Perhaps we are supposed to go without until that day or another man comes into our lives. Even if we are supposed to go without, I could never adequately complain that You are unfair or unjust in this with all that You are to us. But if Jesus called You “Abba” from earth, I tend to think You actually meant to be Husband and Father now and my lack of understanding is inhibiting me from knowing You in those ways. Lord, I really want to know how You mean it when You say You’ll meet our every need, be a Father to the fatherless and a Husband to the widow.

In the end, I may be an actual widow. Jack may actually be fatherless. But if I know one thing, I know that all of our earthly securities, even people, can go away at the drop of a hat. When they are gone, we realize God really was our Father and our Husband all along, even if He just did His works in us through the hands of another human. My questions come in when there’s no human, and Jack needs to learn to shave (Okay, so I’m jumping ahead a few years here) or I’m lonely (Which, in all fairness, happened sometimes when I was married, too). Hmmm…I’m sure you’ll hear more of my talking about it as I learn. But if you guys have some thoughts on it, I’d like to hear.

 

A MODERN PIONEER WOMAN

First of all, you guys have been so wonderful. Thank you so much for your comments over the last few entries, even though my entries been far spaced (Yep, still working on that internet. We’re… really… slow…). I’ll tell you, I am so blessed by the stories that come out of this blog. Half the time I have absolutely no idea if anyone will be even remotely interested in what I have to say, but then I hear stories of how God uses my good days or my bad…and it’s amazing. I’ve seen how life works like that so much in the last year and a half. When Nate was here, we had a normal life. Just plugging along, hanging out with our friends, getting interested in a good deed here or there, pop out a kid, whatever. Nothing seemed special. But after he died, it was like God took my viewpoint from walking right beside him to turning it on its head, so I was looking at his life from a bird’s eye viewpoint. Only then could I see how powerful the little things, like friendships, like a good deed here and there, like being a good husband and dad–how powerful all these things are and what an affect they have on people, even around the whole world. Who knows what happens with the effects of our lives in Heaven. I guess I’m getting into the whole Ripple Effect again, but thank you so much for letting me know what God is doing with you through the blog. It’s a testament to His graciousness in using mostly confused, sometimes sad/sometimes happy, random people like me for His purposes. But I understand because I’m blessed by reading about your lives so many times, too. Ahh. Blogging is fun. Especially when you have internet that works.

I have to tell you about something that is SO boring and yet I find so thuh-rilling. Not just thrilling, mind you. Thuh-rilling. I’ll preface it, mostly because I’m long-winded, but also because I want everyone to know I’m not a complete nut. I am a health nut, however. I don’t know how or why (yes, I do. Nathan started me on it), but I get really excited about food that is: a) optimally nutritious, b) WONDERFUL tasting, c) cheap as cheap can get, baby. I do not like being one of those that only shop at Whole Foods or some hoity-toity organic store, nor do I like eating cardboard that is supposed to be a fake steak. I like good food and I like to find the way to be cheap, because it seems to me that if God created the things healthy, then why should I have to pay extra for them?

Okay, so in order to combat the high prices of my good-tasting health food issues, I’ve started making a lot of stuff. I’ve been making my own bread, because I want good tasting wheat bread, and it’s like $3-4 for a loaf at the store, and I make it for like 25 or 50 cents at home. Plus, there’s nothing like fresh bread out of the oven. Ahhh… Next is my love for natural peanut butter. The other stuff has so much fake stuff in it, and now I really love a nutty peanut butter. Especially on fresh bread. But it’s like $5 for a jar at the store. Did you know homemade peanut butter is SO easy to make? I just buy unsalted, roasted peanuts, pour in a little canola oil, and mix it in my food processor (which is really a fake food processor, handheld blender thingy), and it’s done in 30 seconds and WONDERFUL. I even add honey, cinnamon, and a little salt to make it even better. Oh me, oh my.

And finally, peeps, my newest and craziest at-home making thingy of all…homemade soy milk. I was reading about something random where a strange someone mentioned a “soy milk maker”. My eyes and tongue immediately bugged out of my head, because we drink a lot of soy and almond milk. Turns out they have machines that can make soymilk, almond milk, rice milk, whatever milk in one machine! So I did a little investigating to find out that making your own soymilk is approximately 30-90 cents for 1.5 liters. At the store, that stuff is crazy expensive. So I bought a soymilk maker ($100 online. They go for cheaper, but I wanted this one because it was safer for kids and seemed to be the best one. A worthy investment if I’ll be making soymilk for 30 cents every week for the next few years). Tonight… I had fresh soymilk, and fresh almond/brown rice milk that I made myself. It was wonderful, I tell you. Crisp-like drinking an almond. My sister-in-law, Mandi, and I were practically dancing in the kitchen at our new found, cheap glass of joy. I told her, “Wow, I feel like a pioneer woman who can make milk out of a nut! I would totally make it as a pioneer woman!”

Mandi, eyes lighting up in agreement: “Yeah!” Then looking at the electric contraption that just did the entire process for me: “Well, almost. Maybe like a pioneer woman with electricity. Which…they didn’t have…so you wouldn’t be one. At all…”

“Okay…um. Well, I’m like a modern pioneer woman! Yeah! Who isn’t necessarily pioneering anywhere, but just making soymilk in a machine. Yeah.” We each look off to the side before getting excited again about the non-pioneer-like soymilk maker anyway.

I’m such a dork. And I know most of you will think I’m totally nutso. But some of you will be excited by this, or at least I hope so. Maybe even get one yourselves, and share in the joy of homemade milk. And in the meantime, I’m basically going to start bathing in soy and almond milk. (By the way, Dawntoya, I peeked outside while the sis-in-law was taking a shower, and we’re totally okay on the see through window thing. Whew!)

 

ONE MILLION THOUSAND PICTURES

You might not have known that one million thousand is a number… As requested, pictures.

The cute, cute porch I speak of. Sipping tea and playin’ guitar. Ahhhh….

The cute, cute living room.

The cute, cute dining room with the table (Thanks for that, Tim and Mandi!) that can seat 10, but only has 3 chairs. There’s a lack of chairs so far. :)

The cute, cute bathroom. We’re in denial about being able to see right through the huge window in the shower (The builder was a few fries short of happy meal on that one). We don’t go outside to check, just in case you actually can see us taking showers. We just choose to believe that you can’t.

My cute, cute bedroom…

(Comes included with cute, cute boy on the side who sleeps with his bottom sticking up in the air.)

The cute, cute boy’s playroom.

The cute, cute kitchen. Again, a little short on chairs. I choose to believe they will materialize out of nowhere. The cute, cute sister in law doesn’t agree, but neither one of us want to spend money on chairs right now.

The cute, cute boy pictured in the backyard with cute juice mustache. Want to know what he’s so flabbergasted by? Just wait until you see…it’s so cool…

Oh yeah. The cute, cute dump truck. SO COOL.

I mean, seriously.

I just like this picture. It’s very…green.

Meet the crew. Here’s beautiful Lottie, the sister in law.  (In case you are wondering where we are in these pictures, you’ll be SO jealous to know it was at a Kenny Loggins concert on Father’s Day!! Oh yeah, you’re so jealous.  I know it.  Um, if you know who he is.  Ear busters such as Footloose, Highway to the Danger Zone, and, the reason we went, sweet Return to Pooh Corner.)

Pam, my beautiful mother in law. She gets very interested in things, too. Like, say, the cake she’s eating in this picture. She’s deciphering every last flavor in the cake to see if she could make it.

Tim, the bro in law. Doing what the men of my family pride themselves on. Drink good beer. But only GOOD beer.

The chillun (peeping Isaac and up front Levi, their personalities defined) with proud mommy Mandi.

Isaac has the uncanny ability to look GQ at 11 months old while slyly using my back as a crutch to lean upon and with spitty crackers on his face. Amazing.

I get laughy and tired at the same time just looking at this picture. This is basically life in a nutshell, right here.

And this is when we make them sit down. Not as laughy.

REALLY not laughy when the mommies do mean things like eat cake in front of them.

And make them do things to please us, like kiss each other, before we let them have any cake.

Cousins. Strawberry blonde hair…check. Blue eyes…check. Cherry red lips…check. Little boy laughiness….check.

Make that one million thousand AND ONE pictures. And one million thousand and one X10 seconds to download. Hope you enjoyed the pics! Love you guys.

Peace out.

 

FATHER’S DAY

Dear God,

I’m sad today. I was last night, too. At first I thought I was mad at You, and I didn’t know why. But then I realized today was going to be Father’s day, and Jack doesn’t have his father and I don’t have my husband. And I realized I wasn’t mad, but very sad.

I was sad because my most favorite activity to do today would be to make a cheesy sign that I print off the computer that says “The Best Father In The World Award”. I would have Jack color all over it, and would display it on the refrigerator for the next 18 years in a magnetic frame. My most favorite thing to eat today would be a Dark Chocolate Tort with Crushed Raspberries, because Nathan loved sickeningly rich desserts. We would call it the “Sinfully Chocolate Nathan Cake” or something like that. He would try to eat it before it was ready and I would have to slap his hand away with a spatula. But, you know what, for today, I might make extra batter and just let him have it. After all, it would be his day. My most favorite thing to say would be “You’re the most wonderful father and husband in the world! We love you! Happy Father’s Day!” I would teach Jack to say “Happy Father’s Day” in advance. He would probably hug Nathan and laugh at him a lot, because Nathan is his papa, and he knows Nathan, and they love each other a lot. But my most favorite thing of all would be hugging Nathan today, because our family is very huggy like that.

But it would be creepy to make a sign for Nate today when he’s been dead for a year and a half. For the same reason, he obviously would never taste the Sinfully Chocolate Nathan Cake made especially for him. And I can’t say nice things to him or tell him he’s a good father because Jack hasn’t seen him since he was 3 months old, and I will spend all my years telling Jack stories about the father he will never know. But worst of all, I can’t hug him at all, and I also sometimes falter at using the word “family” when referring to Jack and I because I don’t know if a single mother and child even deserve the wholesome and unbroken title of “family” in such a dysfunctional and broken state. I guess it’s humiliating even if the dysfunction and brokenness aren’t anyone’s fault.

So I was mad at you about the unfairness of these things, God, but if I promise to just be sad instead then maybe You’ll comfort me somehow. I asked You to bring back Nathan for a day. Selfish, I know. Nate would probably not even want to come back to this unglorious old place, but I need him anyway and thought I would ask. I really ache right now, nothing is easing, but maybe one more day with him. Just one. Having said that, I won’t really be looking out for him…

Sometimes I wish I didn’t still love him as much, so it would be easier. But then I wouldn’t be human. The pain at least lets me know my heart still remembers the man who once made the earth turn in my eyes.

Anyway, if he even cares now, let him know I love him, miss him, and wished him a happy father’s day today. Please help him to at least just remember me, because, once upon a time, I made the earth turn in his eyes, too.

All the same…I love you, Jesus. I know if You don’t fix it today, You will one day.  Thank You for Heaven.  My blindness relies upon Your sight.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen

 

BOSNIAN DAYS

Hey guys.

Sorry about about the sketchy writing lately.  This is due to a myriad of busy things happening, you know, like suddenly traveling to Myanmar out of nowhere and then moving across the country…, but mostly due to a lack of dependable internet at my house right now.  That should be fixed soon, but I’m just warning you in case I show up sporadically.  But thanks for hanging in there with me, you guys are troopers.

Chicago is magical so far.  We’ve been to a couple of summertime backyard barbecues and met some fun people at those.  I made pink lemonade pie, of course.  And I might have already found a church.  But I’ll hold the details on that until I’ve gone a few more times just to make sure I’m fully decided about it.  I feel like I have to date the church for a little bit to see if we work out as a couple or something.  Ha ha.  But it’s true.  So I’m dating a church right now, and there may soon be announcements as to our engagement/me wanting to become a member soon.  Yay.

I think the most interesting days I’ve had were yesterday and today.  Those were Bosnia days.  I’ll explain what I mean by “Bosnia days” like so:  There are about 20 million ethnicities in Chicago.  About 19 million of them live in our neighborhood. Thus you can go for a nice walk and hear any language BUT English as you walk.  It’s really fun.  Anyway, across the street is a Palestinian (I think) family.  On Sunday, their daughter got married.  Apparently the tradition is for all the women to gather in the house with her to make her beautiful, while the men of her family sit outside and smoke cigars in their suits and kiss each other on the cheeks a lot.  After awhile, the groom’s family comes to her house to pick her up.  They are dressed all fancy, and honk their car horns loudly and jubilantly as they arrive.  Then the groom’s father and mother go inside and do something ceremonious, it appears.  All of this is based on Charlotte and I’s conjectures from sitting on our (cute, cute) front porch sipping tea and unabashedly staring at the neighbors for 3 hours.  They were great–they waved and smiled at us.  We waved and smiled back.  Jack even shouted a few things in Toddlerish at them.  They said something Palestinian back at him and everybody smiled.  It was really fun to watch, and I’ve made up my mind to become friends with them so I can eat their food.  Oh yeah, and get to know them, too. :)

This has to do with “Bosnian days”, because it reminds me of what traditional weddings were like in Bosnia (If you remember, Jack and I were missionaries there last summer). The one thing that was different from Bosnia was that there were no kids lining the streets with ropes and sticks.  You see, whenever a wedding party would pass through in Bosnia, all the kids would line the streets and hold ropes or sticks across the road so that the cars would stop.  If they got a car to stop, people would throw candy out the window at them, and then they could pass.  They have smart kids in Bosnia.

The whole Palestinian wedding reminded me of Bosnia so much, I got a hankering for find Bosnian food on Monday.  I remembered a Bosnian bakery Nate had told me he’d gone to a few times when he lived here, and found a place that I thought might be it.  So I called my mother-in-law unto me (she had a vacation day yesterday), gathered up Jack in the folds of my skirts, and pioneered into the heart of the city to find this restaurant.  We found it, it looked all quaint from the outside, walked inside…and we were the ONLY women in the whole place.  It took us awhile to discover this because of the thick cloud of smoke (there’s no smoking allowed in the restaurants in Chicago).  This also reminded me of Bosnia.  There was many a time when I would walk into a cafe, only to find upon entering that it was “man time”.  Really uncomfortable.  So my mother-in-law and I left almost as soon as we arrived at the not so quaint little Bosnian restaurant.  But driving down the street to find another place to eat…we discovered another Bosnian restaurant - this one attached to a butcher shop.  YES!  Nothing like a restaurant/butcher shop.  So we went in and ate and had wonderful bean stew and kajmak cheese.  Yum…

All of this is to say I am very pleased that I am in a place where I can sit on my (cute, cute) front porch and watch a Palestianian wedding show, get a hankering for a rare ethnic food, then travel to a Bosnian restaurant, then go to another Bosnian restaurant I randomly pass after I’ve left the first.  Makes me happy.

Okay, hopefully it won’t be too long before I write again! Love you guys.

 

FOLIAGE

The last few days have been great. First off, the night of prayer for Burma went very well. A lot of people came, and that was very exciting. I didn’t heed peoples’ advice and wore a dress, though. There was no trippage or falliage, though. Oh my goodness, I just realized something amazing as I wrote the word “falliage”, which, in fact, is not a word at all. But it’s close to “foliage”, which is what I almost changed “falliage” into, because it sounded better. But then I realized that “foliage” is actually a word that refers to leaves. And what do leaves do during Fall? They fall! The foliage falliages, and if I were the person making up a word for leaves, I would call them “falliage” or “foliage”. Thus, I just rediscovered the chain of thinking of the person who invented the word “foliage”. That’s so cool.

It’s more cool than the fact that Jack and I just moved to Chicago, and this is our second day here. It’s more cool than our cute, cute house that we now live in. It’s more cool than how Jack and I love our family, one who drove us all the way to Chicago from Denton, sweated and bled to help us pack up/unpack our house to make it cute, cute without complaint. With the other we’ve spent our time making lots and lots of wonderful direct trade coffee, playing hard outside with 3 miniature wild men, and making tons of plans for what we’re going to be doing over the summer. We’ve already had uncountable laughs, at least 15-20 toddler wrestling matches (The brother in law is already working on a family wrestling team. He and Nate were champion wrestlers in high school — from practicing on each other), had 7 injuries, been on 5 walks, eaten 2 ethnic meals, and seen 1 bunny Fufu on our own block. We’re having a lot of fun so far.

But none of that is as cool as my rediscovery of the word “foliage”, of course.