So, I Want to Do Mornings Now

This year, I've decided to try something new. It's called getting up before I have to. I tried it before the break. I don't like it, and consequently stopped while on the break. All of you morning people that wake up excited about life and a new day, and I mean this in the most loving Christian way possible, I can't stand you. Or, at least I can't stand the part of you that makes you that way, the DNA I didn't inherit. I suppose it's jealousy.

I've often thought life would be so much easier for me if I could wake up and start the day with as much energy as my dad used to. Poor man. Morning person to his very core, and always so happy to see us when we emerged from our slumber. My mom, myself (obviously) and my brothers, not so fond of mornings. The rest of us made a rule that my dad couldn't talk or sing until we had been up for half an hour. This was honestly for his own protection. Some mornings, it seemed to kill him to be quiet. After all, he'd been up for hours and had so much to share about what he'd been reading or thinking. Many mornings, after the allotted time had passed for us to get used to the fact that we were no longer snuggled warm in our beds, he would begin conversations with vibrancy and go on about his day like the world was his to conquer. That right there is what I wish I had inherited. If he had to wake us for anything, usually church because he was off to work before the sun rose most weekdays, he would enter our rooms with inhuman joy, playing some military wake up call on his pretend finger trumpet or singing Patch the Pirate's Rise and Shine Lazy Sleepy Head until we rose from our beds just to get away from the sound. [And, now you know why I am the way I am. That crazy (albeit awesome) man tortured me every weekend and holiday my whole childhood.]

I used to pray that my children somehow inherited that trait from him. Then I came to my senses and remembered that they already rise with the sun, why on earth would I pray that they would continue to torture me after their baby wakefulness came to an end. Needless to say, God knows better than we do, and He in His providence did not grant my early prayers. However, I will say that it is unbelievably hard for an adult who doesn't want to get out of bed to wake children who don't want to get out of bed. We're talking about serious battles before the sun comes up. Who wants to argue with a 6 year old about the importance of school or the reason we should go to church before the sun comes up? Every part of me except the mom part wants to say, "you're right, let's just crawl back into bed until noon."

The thing is, I'm always complaining about not having enough time to myself, time for reading and study, journaling and blogging, design and art projects, exercise and planning, things you can't do with three kids around. I'm usually spent at the end of the day. By the time I survive the day, get the kids to bed, lay out clothes, make lunches and pack back packs, the only thing I feel like doing is to crawl in bed for the best kind of alone time, sleep. So, waking earlier in the morning, is really my only option.

School starts back tomorrow for Jackson, the next day for my other two. We will resume leaving the house before the sun, and all that goes with it, minus an hour or two of sleep for me. I'm trying to get happy about my new morning person trial and having time to wake up myself before I have to wake the kids. Then maybe I'll have kinder answers for when they whine about how tired they are and ask why they have to go to school.

Have I ever mentioned I don't like coffee? In order to make this work, I might need to start. Maybe I'm gonna need to switch from my yummy green tea with honey to something stronger like chai, or I guess I could get back to my roots with a little earl gray or Irish breakfast tea. Or, I could just suck it up, grow up and make it happen without the use of stimulants.

I'll let you know how it goes. This has the potential to be a life changing resolution. Of course, it also has more potential to be one of those resolutions that gets scrapped by February. We'll see.

Cinnamon Rolls [Whole Wheat, Low Sugar]

Drizzling maple syrup over the roll in stead of icing adds sweetness while keeping it natural.

 I've shared before how frustrating it is that Jackson doesn't like chocolate. Chocolate cupcakes, brownies, cookies, all that is so much easier to cook without eggs, but he just doesn't like it. He does love cinnamon, though, and I've capitalized on the power of that spice. It adds flavor and masks the 'health' of many things. For instance, my quickie go-to when we were doing the gluten free, casein free thing was to make cinnamon toast using a honey and cinnamon spread concoction with the gluten/egg free nearly tasteless bread available in the health food section of our local grocery store. He loved it, and I think it was the cinnamon. I still make him cinnamon toast, but I use wheat bread and butter now.

Something he considers a big treat is cinnamon rolls. Since I make these from scratch with yeast, they're more labor and time intensive than say muffins or pancakes. That's why he considers them a treat, they don't happen very often. I love how easy it was to healthen up the recipe and provide him something he loves that's good for him, too. Someday, when I get him over his texture issues with nuts, I'll add them to the filling for protein and crunch.

Here's the recipe:

Dough:
 2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (or one yeast packet)
1/2 cup warm water (between 90 and 105 degrees F)
1/2 cup scalded milk (it is very important that you scald the milk)
1/4 cup natural sugar (I use Florida Crystals organic cane sugar most of the time)
6 Tbsp organic butter, melted
1 tsp salt
1 egg (I use my mom's free-range, corn-free eggs)
3 to 4 cups flour (I usually mix whole wheat pastry flour and all-purpose flour in a 60/40 mixture. I've found that the more whole wheat flour I use, the more dense and less sweet the roll tastes, but obviously the more healthy it is. You could go more or less on the mixture depending on your purpose for the rolls.)

Filling:
My current go-to filling is homemade apple butter sweetened with honey. I've found that Cracker Barrel has a natural unsweetened apple butter with good flavor to use in a pinch. You could use a pumpkin or banana filling, too. If you're not using sugar and butter (like the usual cinnamon roll filling), though, you need some kind of fruit to make it work.

Apple Butter
 3 cups apple cider
2 lbs apples, peeled, cored and chopped
1/2 cup honey
1 tsp ground cinnamon

In a large saucepan over medium heat, bring the cider to a boil. Stir in the apples and reduce the heat to low. Cover and simmer, stirring frequently for about 1 hour or until the apples are tender. Remove the apples from the heat and mash. Stir in the honey and cinnamon. Return to heat and cook uncovered on low until thick, stirring often. Allow to cool before spreading onto rolls. You won't use all of this recipe on the rolls, so have a container ready to put the leftovers up in the fridge. I'm not a canner. So, I'm not sure this recipe is safe for canning.

Pumpkin Filling, combine ingredients and mix well.
1 15oz can pumpkin (not the pie filling, just the pumpkin)
1/2 cup honey
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ginger

Directions:
Have filling prepared and cooled. Scald the milk and melt the butter (in separate containers).

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water and set aside. In a large bowl mix milk, sugar, melted butter, salt and egg. Add 2 cups of the flour and mix until smooth. Add yeast. Mix in remaining flour 1 cup at a time until dough is easy to handle. On a well floured work surface, knead the dough for about 5-10 minutes. Place in a well-greased bowl, cover and let it rise until it's doubled in size, usually 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

After the dough has doubled, punch it down and roll it out on a floured surface. You're going for a roughly 9x15 inch rectangle. Spread the filling over the dough. You want to get enough on there, but not so much that it all squeezes out when you roll up the dough. Jackson likes cinnamon, so I will often sprinkle more over the filling after I'm done spreading. Beginning with the long side, roll up the dough into a log and cut 10-12 slices.

Grease and flour a round 9 inch cake pan like you would for baking a cake. Place the cinnamon roll slices close together and bake for about 30 minutes or until nicely browned. If you want to, you can use a bigger pan or a square or rectangular pan, place the slices close together and let it rise one more time (about 45 minutes) before baking. I'm always so tired of waiting by this point, I just put it in the oven.

Yummy!

For the 'icing' I just warm some maple syrup and pour it over the top. Jackson will eat it without the syrup or icing, too, especially if we're running late for school, and I like not having the stickiness in my car. The pumpkin filling is from my homemade pop tarts, and you could use the same icing recipe on these. You would probably have to double or triple it, though, to make enough for a dozen rolls.

Now, I'm going to have to make these while we're still on break.

Chicken and Dumplings

It's New Year's Day, and I currently have a ham in the oven for our traditional lucky meal. However, I decided I would sit down and go through my photo app to see what I cooked, photographed and never blogged. This one stood out to me because of how cold and rainy it is outside right now, Chicken and Dumplings.

It was dark out and all I had was the light above my cook top.

I LOVE this old Southern staple. I always have. It is one of those comfort foods that fills me with warmth and helps sooth whatever is ailing me. One of my favorite restaurants to eat chicken and dumplings at was the Whistle Stop Cafe in Irondale, Alabama. Cracker Barrel's aren't that bad, either. My kids think mine are better than theirs. They haven't always been that good, though. When I first started trying to cook this, like a lot of things in my life, I had a tendency to over complicate it until I ruined it. I would use chicken breast, and pre-made stock. It would be bland. I would add veggies and herbs to add flavor, but then it wasn't chicken and dumplings, at least not the kind I had grown up on. It was chicken soup with dumplings. I would use Bisquick for the dumplings and I would drop them in. They would usually disintegrate into the broth. Then Jackson's food allergies began, and suddenly I became a chicken expert.

One of the few things I could feed him without complication was chicken and rice. Once we cleared wheat as an allergen, I began making chicken and dumplings for him, too. Now, I think they are as comforting to him as they are to me. My daughter loves them, as well.

Some of the things I learned from my mother in law, my Memaw and from my favorite cooking blogs/websites helped me figure out how to make them perfect every time. I learned that the flavor is in the bone and started using whole chickens. I learned that to maximize that flavor, it needs to cook a LONG time. If you use a whole chicken, fill the pot with water just until the chicken is covered and cook it on low heat for a few hours, the broth won't need anything but a little salt and pepper. I cook mine in my pasta pot with the colander part on. Once the chicken is cooked until it is literally falling apart, I lift up the colander part (the part for draining the pasta), and I let the broth drain out. Then I flip it over, dropping the chicken out onto a plate. Then I pick the meat off the chicken dropping it back into the broth as I go. This way, I don't have to strain the broth or fish through it with a straining spoon to get all the boney bits out. I add milk to the broth, too. I couldn't tell you how much since I just go until it looks right, but if I had to guess it would be about half of how much broth is in the pot, maybe 4-5 cups.

My daughter loves to help me with this part.

Then there's the dumplings. I roll mine out and cut them into squares. I've heard of several different ways to mix up the dough, but I've started using 1 part whole wheat pastry flour, 1 part all-purpose flour and 2 parts self rising flour. Sometimes I ditch the all-purpose and just split the whole wheat pastry flour and the self rising flour. My husband doesn't like it when I do this. He says I'm ruining a good thing with too much whole wheat flour, but my kids haven't noticed. They gobble it up like they always have. After I mix up the flour, I use 2 parts flour mixture to 1 part milk, give or take a little bit until I get the right looking/feeling dough. It should feel like biscuit dough, not wet and sticky, but not hard and dry like cookie or pastry dough. Then I dump it out onto a floured work surface, roll it out to about a 1/4 to an 1/8th inch thick rounded rectangle and cut it into squares with a pizza cutter. For my family of five, that translates to about 5 cups flour to about 2 1/2 cups milk and a nice long sheet of dumplings.

After I have pulled the chicken off the bones, returned it to the broth and discarded the bones, I add the milk along with some salt and pepper to the broth and bring it to a boil. While it's heating, I make my dumplings. I turn the broth down to a simmer and then add the dumplings one handful at a time. I cover it and let it cook for about ten minutes. Then I uncover it and let it cook for another ten minutes. I use a ladle to push the dumplings down, stir and separate them as they do tend to stick to each other.

This is the best way to cook chicken and dumplings, but I rarely have the time these days. I've found some short cuts that have helped me manage to have this comfort food even during the busy school week. One is to unwrap the chicken, remove the insides and freeze it inside a slow cooker liner (inside a freezer bag, too), the day I want chicken and dumplings (or chicken pot pie or soup) I can just pull it out and stick it into the crock pot in the morning (out of the freezer bag, but still in the slow cooker liner). If I use the liner and a frozen chicken, I don't worry about adding water. It seems to provide enough for itself, but I would keep an eye on it to make sure there is enough liquid for it to cook appropriately. After several hours on low, I pull the liner out with the chicken, hold it over a stock pot or a bowl and cut a few holes in the liner for the broth to drain out. Once I've drained it enough, I set the bag onto a plate and pull the chicken off the bones dropping it into the pot/bowl with the broth. If I'm going to cook it right away, I just add water to the stock pot and continue as always. But, another thing I've learned is to put this slow cooked chicken and concentrated broth into a freezer safe tupperware container and freeze it for later. The fat will rise to the top and it will look separated, but it will all mix back together when you get ready to cook it. When I pull it out of the freezer, I run hot water over the bowl part loosening the contents. Then I drop it into a stock pot on my cook top, add enough water to cover it and turn the heat onto medium low. Then once it comes to a boil, I add the milk, bring it to another boil and add the dumplings. Cooked meat never freezes as good as raw. The texture and the flavor seem to suffer greatly, but I've found that with plenty of broth to cover the chicken, it works for meals like this. I freeze my own pot pies, as well, and they freeze ok, too.

Now, I'm wishing I could have a bowl of this to warm up today, but we'll soon be having ham, greens, corn bread and black eyed peas. So, I guess I'll save this for another cold wet day this year.

My Super Power Is...

My poster, sitting in my basement collecting dust.

When I was a child, I used to dream about what kind of super power I would want if I could actually have such a thing. The ability to fly was at the top of the list most days, but a few times I wished for super strength or telepathy, healing powers or super speed. I made [not printed, hand MADE] this poster when I was in college for a blood drive at my school. [See that little guy? I painted him freehand, and there's a super girl, too.] Most kids dream of what it would be like to be a super hero, to be somebody big and powerful, someone who makes a difference as well as a name for themselves. Someone important. Someone everyone can look up to and admire. Those innocent aspirations often morph into the things that drive us as we grow up. Sometimes, we adults need reminding that it is often the little things, the things that go unnoticed, that really make a difference. For the purposes of my poster, it was giving blood, something I believe very strongly in and have done many times since. I don't know who got my blood each time, but I know that if it was instrumental in saving just one life, that qualifies me as somewhat of a hero. The unsung, behind the scenes kind, but a hero nonetheless.

I've been thinking a lot this December about what it is I want out of life. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to give up this stay at home mom thing and go back to work. There are days when I wonder if I'm even going to make it to bedtime. The never ending messes and meal planning. The whining and complaining, the constant battle for control. Any of you who know me well, know the struggles of parenting autism very often pale in comparison to raising my 3 year old daughter. She seeks every day to be in charge, and every day, I have to remind her how this whole thing works. Literally. My husband will often remind her before leaving for work, "Who's in charge? Are you in charge, or is Mommy in charge?" She has learned to answer, "Mommy's in charge."Before he reminds her to, "Listen to your Mommy." One day, she came to me and said, "Who's in charge? Are you in charge, or am I in charge?" I reply, "Mommy's in charge." She chimes back, "That's right, you're in charge today, but tomorrow is my turn." This is a constant battle, and most days winning that battle, teaching her to be respectful and obedient doesn't feel like winning. It feels like I'm losing my daughter and my mind. I could whine some more, but I know if you read this blog, you have already heard it.

I had big dreams when I was a kid — big, important, saving lives kind of dreams. I was going to make a difference and see lives changed before my eyes. I was going to use my light to burn a hole in the darkness of this world. Now, I change diapers, (NO. She is STILL not potty trained!), wipe noses, prevent mass chaos or death by childish foolishness. I manage schedules, pack lunches, administer homework. I sit back and watch my friends, family and most annoyingly, my husband do things with their lives while I'm stuck in never ending monotony. This is NOT how I expected to live my life.

Ideas have been swirling around in my head. Some good, some not so good. Finish my masters, (I'm STILL two classes away from being done) and go back to work. Being challenged creatively and spending my days around creative adults sounds like heaven to me right now. Divorce my husband and let him try to figure out how to do all he does without my doing what I do. Stop using the word 'someday' to refer to something I can do today. Stop feeling guilty about doing things that I enjoy because I have to beg for help with the kids to do them. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

Basically, I've been thinking about making BIG changes. There's this thing though, this word that keeps coming up when I'm thinking about some of these things. Surrender. And, here's that same fight I talked about years ago in my other blog. Why can't I get over this hurdle. It's like I stand there and stare at it like it's just going to shrink so I can step over with ease, or like my staring eyes will somehow burn it to ash crumbling at my feet. See, the truth is, I can't do that. I can't surrender because I don't trust God to do what's right by me. I believe if I give Him my dreams, if I surrender, I'll be permanently fixed as Cinderella before the prince. I'll work and struggle and watch as first my husband and then my children live their lives and leave me behind never looking back to thank me for holding everything together, as if God has chosen me to be a footstool or stepping stone for others to walk over on their path to success.

Surrender? To that? No thank you. That's when the anger swells up, and it seems like all I can think about is how God has let me down, how the talents and gifts He gave me turned into tools life has used to tease me or to break me. I find myself often thinking, "that's alright, I'll make my own way."

Let's pause for a second and think back. I worked full time all the way up to the birth of my second child, and once I became a mom, I HATED it. I liked my job and the people I worked with, but the guilt of leaving my son every day ate away at my soul like nothing I had ever experienced before. Then working full time and going to school while taking care of a baby. Being pregnant with a husband in residency while doing all the other things I just mentioned, I was so burned out by the time Jackson was born, it's a wonder I could deliver him. After that, I had a taste of being a single mom, and it was HARD. I managed to put on a happy face for most people and my kids, but it hurt, and I was tired, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not be both mommy AND daddy for my kids. The grass isn't really greener, it's just my mind sees the past in technicolor. Back to reality.

"Have you ever dreamed of saving lives?" One small act, like giving blood, can save a life, can save many lives. Sitting in a chair, enduring the sting as the needle goes in, pushing through the light headedness til the juice and snack they provide take affect. Those minor discomforts that barely interrupt your day. That has the power to give a mother back her baby, a child their father. There's no parade as you leave. Not even a pat on the back, but it makes a difference. It makes a big difference to those who receive the blood because they receive life.

I didn't get to fulfill many of last year's resolutions. Obviously, from the previous paragraphs, I blame my kids, my husband, this crooked old body I'm stuck in, and God. I can't help but make more, and there are plenty of things I want to change and accomplish this year. But, more than all that, I'm praying for super powers. Well, one power actually, the power of invisibility.... The power to clean my home and not resent the mess makers. The power to plan and cook the meals and be ok if I don't get rave reviews. The power to do the laundry and focus on my family looking their best rather than resenting the fact that no one notices or cares that they have trampled that same sweater and sent it back to the laundry room without wearing it over and over again. The power to manage our schedules and be ok that mine pretty much revolves around theirs. I'm praying for the power to be ok living an invisible life, to be ok with being the invisible force that launches my husband and children into a world that needs them. I'm praying for that word, surrender, to mark my life rather than plague it. I'm praying for God to teach me to be more like Jesus, invisible but infinitely powerful through His Spirit, and see what His power can do for my dreams. I can't yet, but I want to trust Him. I want to trust that this is just a season, and if I hold on, the seasons will change, and Spring will come bringing with it the promise of new life.

So, happy new year! I hope you are blessed in your resolutions, and I hope your new year is filled with love, laughter and life!

It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

Ok. So, it's not midnight yet, and it's pretty yucky and wet outside. But, it came! That Holiday peace that seems to avoid me like I have the plague every year since I got married. Most of my adult Holiday memories involve lots of anxiety and struggle. In fact, I think I've shed more tears during the month of December than any other month of the year. There is nothing like being bombarded with joyous Christmas merriment and family bliss everywhere you turn for an entire month to make you feel lonely and forgotten.

I am not really alone for Christmas. I'm not homeless or hungry. I haven't lost a loved one before their time. I'm not facing cancer or another life threatening illness. I am married with three beautiful, healthy children and surrounded by lots of family and friends who love me. I know it's crazy that Christmas would be hard for me, but I think that's part of the problem. How I think I should feel or at least look like I feel, this whole pretending thing I do. That and the struggle I went through in my marriage, and all the time spent holding my breath, waiting for the bottom to fall out, wearing that fake smile and happy mask I carefully crafted so everyone around me would feel comfortable, those years took their toll. Anxiety became my default mode, and we all know anxiety is a bully that pushes peace out every time. Then there were the Holidays when I was trying desperately to STAY pregnant and absolutely miserable. The ones near a big move or a looming diagnosis. December just has bad timing for me.

Then tonight, I read Luke 2 with my kids at bed time. They sat captivated as if it was the first time they had ever heard the Christmas story. As I read, I realized I almost didn't have to read it, so much of it coming back to memory from my childhood (and Charlie Brown's Christmas special). That's when I could feel it, the peace settling in. Remembering what it's all about.

[My favorite part:]

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2:8-14

Peace and good will toward men possible because our uncontainable God bound Himself inside a tiny little body to experience life as we do, to shiver in the cold, sweat from the heat, puke from the stomach flu (sorry, that little bit of suffering is fresh in my mind), to be tempted, tried and acquainted with our suffering. Our immortal God choosing to become mortal and die willingly at our hands, all so that He could give us the gift of life, eternal and whole.

I'm usually in a big rush at bedtime, hurrying through the routine so I can get to my insane to-do list that is never done, but tonight, we sat and talked about Jesus, about why He came, about the fact that Christmas isn't about Santa's naughty or nice list, but about the gift God gave us in His Son, a gift none of us could ever deserve.

When I finally said it was time for sleep and prayed with three of the most precious gifts I have ever been given, I was overcome with gratitude. They sat quiet and still (yes, even Allie) hanging on every word I said.

"My dear heavenly Father, thank you so much for each of my babies, my Jacob, my Jackson and my Allie. Thank you so much for giving up your baby so that I could become Your daughter and share Your amazing Gift with them. Please fill our home with Your Spirit and bring us peace...."

I then went through our usual prayer requests for family, friends and no nightmares. Then I kissed each one of them walking out with total peace and great big fat tears rolling from my eyes.

Now, the trick here will be allowing peace to stay and forbidding anxiety to return, but for now, I'm going to enjoy it and pray that the peace that passes all understanding will settle in your home, as well.

"I need a man's potty."

So, we had to potty at the mall today. We often have to potty in public. I hate it when we have to use a public restroom, but it's been this way since I started potty training my oldest son (now 8). This has resulted in my knowing all the best restrooms in our area, and several on popular interstate routes.

I am no longer surprised when the conversation begins. "Mom, I've got to go to the restroom." "Honey, can it wait?" "No, I have to poop." This child has single handedly cured me of my public restroom phobia. Now I just chant to myself the whole time. "This won't kill us. People do this all the time and survive. I can do this." There are many memories of my children's early lives that have seemed to fade over time. That's code for my psyche intentionally blocking them from my mind so I can continue to move forward and love them with that irrational, all-consuming love that drives me to do what I do for them every day. Case and point, how many mothers do you know that recount their birthing stories with horror? Oh, no. They're all neatly coated in fuzzy happiness because all the pain and struggle gets lost in those beautiful, gunky, squished up faces.

These lovely public restroom situations would be among the blocked chunks of time for me. This is due to the fact that they mostly contain me reluctantly entering this dreaded place lugging my infant daughter in a carrier, my autistic son, Jackson, who was horrified by all the sights, sounds and smells, and this little guy whose bowels only seemed to move in public. I did my best to control Jackson's screaming while keeping my oldest from touching anything he did not absolutely have to touch all the while managing the carrier and diaper bag. I'm getting chills just thinking about it. Things are easier now. Jackson can handle it. My daughter is older and potty training, too. It is generally not a struggle anymore.

...What a glorious day it will be when ALL of my children are out of diapers and pull-ups and asking to go potty in the most inconvenient places....

This time, I made them go into the family restroom so they could all go together and I could be with them. I know it's a little paranoid, but germs and crazy people are everywhere, Y'all. Besides, the men's room was all the way down a hall and opposite the lady's room. There's no way I'm sending my two boys in there without me. This was super embarrassing for my 8 year old who thinks he's big enough to do everything on his own. Upon opening the door we saw a changing table, one small potty, one large potty, one small sink and one large sink. My 3 year old daughter, who can find excitement in the drying of paint, details what she sees out loud with great delight. Jackson goes straight for the little potty, and has his pants down before I can shut the door. Realizing it was too small for him. he then exclaims loud enough for the whole mall to hear (the door is still open, darn hydraulic hinges), "I need a man's potty," and moves to the larger toilet beside him. Meanwhile, I get the door shut and locked and my daughter decides to go all by herself. Her hands are all over the tiny little commode. I see the concentration face and begin to panic. "Not here." I keep repeating to myself. "This won't kill us. I CAN do this. I'll just make sure she washes her hands really good." My 8 year old suddenly decides he doesn't have to poop after all. Besides, it is super embarrassing to go INTO the bathroom with your mom and little sister. Bored with the whole thing, he decides to put his brother in a head lock while he's washing his hands. Water and screaming all around. They are now tussling and I start panicking that they might end up on the floor.

What happens if mom has a public meltdown due to sensory overload? Hopefully, I'll never know. Someone tries to open the door. I'm trying to break up the fight. My daughter shouts, "coming!" And tries to open the door with her pants still down (the concentration face was a false alarm, thank goodness). I start scrambling to figure out how I would explain the scene to a local DFACS officer, while having flashbacks of earlier times. I begin to remember why I rarely left the house for a huge chunk of Jackson's early years.

Mustering up my quick-as-lightening mom reflexes, I stopped my daughter from opening the door, broke up the fight, and got us out of there mostly dry and clean. Emerging victorious and feeling like super mom, we then move on to the carousel as if everything about what just occurred in that tiny little room was completely normal.

I then laugh to myself when the thought of blogging this came to my mind. This desire, to not only record this memory before my brain can force it into the section of my brain I never use but to share it with the world, is quite strange, maybe even insane. But, the best part, the pies de resistance, came later.

We have a bedtime tradition of asking the kids to share their favorite part of the day. I think it started as an attempt to cause them to think about something they could be thankful for every day, but it has morphed into a one-up tournament, most nights anyway. Tonight, though, when I asked my daughter what her favorite part of the day was, she exclaimed with great delight, "going to the bathroom at the mall."

So, on those days when you feel like they should post a sign outside your house that says looney bin, maybe you can think of this post and remember, normal is just a setting on the dryer.

The End Is Near

The end has come....for the 2012 election, that is. It's over, finally. No more ads or political telemarketing. No more celebrities jumping on one band wagon or another. For this I am very thankful. However, the end of the election has sparked the beginning of something else, doom.

There is nothing like the election or re-election of a liberal President to bring out the doomsday prophets. My Facebook news feed was immediately filled with all kinds of angry and fearful posts about how this is the end of the US and probably the world. Well, some of those posts were from friends up in Sandy's path, and for them, it probably really did look like the end of the world. I had one friend posting about how eerie it was to see New York City dark and how she was fully expecting to see zombies come out of the deserted buildings and try to eat her. Maybe she watches too many horror films, but I digress.

The depression and disillusionment of so many Americans, particularly conservative Christians, was palpable in the days following the election, and is still very tangible even now. I live in the conservative South, and it felt like it was almost in the air or the water or something. The sadness seemed to fuel the theories. I've heard all kinds from Obama is the anti-christ to Obama is working with Al Qaeda to destroy us from within. I didn't see the movie 2016, but I've heard all about it, more so after the election than before. There's talk of demonic activity in our government, the old Illuminati conspiracy theories, and more practically, the inevitable collapse of our economy. Now, I'm not going to tell you who I voted for, or where I tend to lean on some of these theories, but I will say that I feel very strongly that in the eternal scope of things, for those of us who believe in God and Jesus, it isn't the end of the world, even if it is the end of this world.

Even if the last days, prophesied for thousands of years, are actually upon us.... even if we are facing the possible revoking of our right to worship God as we see fit.... even if things do progress to something similar to the days of Nero when Christian men, women and children were fed to Lions for the entertainment of the 'civilized' Roman people.... even if we do find ourselves in another depression that creates a national famine.... none of this changes who we are and what we've been called to do.

"But now thus says the LORD, he who created you....He who formed you.... "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine." Isaiah 43:1

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself." Luke 10:27

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." James 1:27

"O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:8

I particularly like Micah 6:8. It's so simple. Yes, we should seek justice in our homes, our churches and our government, but true justice will not come to this Earth by any human hand. And, I'm very thankful I will not receive justice but mercy from that Hand. I want to extend the mercy and kindness I was given by my God to those around me. If the times do get dark, how much brighter the Light will shine.

We are not called to fear the times in which we live, but to trust the God who put us here. Take heart in the stories of those who have come before us, those who suffered and must have believed the end of this world was upon them, too. I often look at the life I've been given and wonder to myself, why me, why now? Why wasn't I born into a time when living out my beliefs meant being burned at the steak or stoned to death? Why wasn't I born in a time of great revival and church growth? I don't know if I'll get the answer to that question in this life, but I know that if I can't trust the God who put me here, then I can't trust anything. Even if my idea of the perfect president is elected and everything is going the way I think it should, if my God is not in control, then I have nothing.

Now, Lord willing, I intend to enjoy the Holiday season, plan my next trip to Disney, train for a half-marathon, help my children grow and develop into healthy, happy adults. I intend to see them go to college, get married and have children of their own. I intend to enjoy the life I've been given by loving my God and the people He has placed in my life, by walking humbly with Him and offering kindness and mercy to everyone I can. All the rest, the details, the things that are out of my control, all that is up to Him, and I trust Him completely.

So, Happy Thanksgiving! Let's ditch the doom and gloom and be thankful for our God, our Country, our families, and our lives. Let's thank God for the food we will spread out on our dining room tables, for the souls that will gather to eat it with us whether connected by blood or another bond, and for each breath He allows us to take. For those who know Him, there will never be an end. The feast will continue with Him for eternity. Thank you, thank you, Jesus.