So I Guess That Makes Me A Statistic

45% of people admitted that they use phone calls, text messages, tweets and emails

 to communicate rather than going into the next room to talk to other members of the household. 

How do you promote good communication with your family?

The preceding was a facebook post from a local Christian radio station that I listen to on an (almost) daily basis. I had a few immediate comments:

What? You mean there's something wrong with that?

-or-

You make it sound like that's a bad thing. Some days I really AM that tired.

I ended up not responding with either one and instead headed over to blog land. I suppose that here I can be myself and not wonder what others might think (which is weird because obviously, you... the readers... are considered others right now.

Anyway.

Yes. I have resorted to the text message or the phone call or the facebook route to communicate with family members who are merely one uninsulated wall away from me. I've texted my kids goodnight from one bedroom to another and/or reminded them to do something or other via the virtual world. To me, that is no different from the original post-it note.

Granted, I also make it a point (much to their annoyance, I'm sure) to talk to them whether it's in the car on the way to school or by greeting them at the front door when they come home. I'm learning little by little how to navigate the teenage world (why is it so different from this end?) and I have little doubt that by the time I do figure it out, they'll no longer be teenagers.

The point is, I think any kind of communication is a good thing. Let's face it... we are in the electronic age. I learned how to text because of my kids. I'm on facebook because of my kids. If I ever end up on twitter, you can be sure that it will be because of my kids. I'm not their buddy. I'm not their friend. But I can sure learn a thing or two from them.

And hey, if that lets me stay in my warm, electronically-heated bed while I send them some random message of love or a reminder about the next day, then more power to the techno world.

Count me in on that forty-five percent.

Timing IS Everything

Time (noun): A particular period or part of duration; a proper season; an opportunity.*

The Book of Esther in the Old Testament contains one of my favorite stories and one of my favorite people. What's not to love about a good Jewish girl who wins the ultimate of beauty contests? So what if the grand prize was a rather moody, fickle, and conceited man (my opinion only)... her testament of courage and faith outshines the infamous golden scepter of the king. I also admire the get-to-the-point kinda guy her Uncle Mordecai was:

Do not flatter yourself that you shall escape the king's palace any more than all the other Jews, chapter four and verse thirteen.**  In other words, Get over yourself, Esther (purely my translation).

Continuing on with verse fourteen: For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance shall arise for the Jews from elsewhere, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows but that you have come the kingdom for such a time as this and for this very occasion?

I go back to this story a lot because I think it's a great example of God's timing and plan. Just this afternoon I was thinking about some things that I shouldn't be thinking about (shocking, I know) and I decided the best way to readjust my way of thinking would be the Word of God. As I read through some of my favorites, my path crossed Esther more than once. I eventually closed my Bible and continued on with my day.

Coffee. Nap. Cats. Kids. Husband.

And that's when the issue of time came up.

Time as in,

We have to wait that long?
What are we gonna do 'till then?
But that's not part of our plan!

In the midst of the rising panic within me, however, a still and quiet voice spoke to my heart:

Have I let you down yet?

I kid you not when I say that in that very moment, the sweetest sense of peace rushed through my mind, my body, my spirit. The calm that took place was so immediate that I had to sit down, take a deep breath, and once again raise my white flag of surrender. Even so, I still can't make sense of this whole timing thing. On the outside, this latest setback is the last thing we need. But on the inside...

On the inside I know that I know without a shadow of a doubt one thing to be certain:
He has not let me down. His timing is everything. There is a proper season.
And He knew I would need to be reminded of Esther earlier today.


Thanks for the head's up. =)



*   Definition courtesy of my beloved 1892 Webster's High School Dictionary.
** Scripture Verses taken from my beloved duct-taped and well-worn Amplified Bible.

Happy It Stinks To Be Single Day!

At least that's what I've heard it called this week by no less than four women, two men, and one rather sarcastic cartoon character.

Ahhh... Valentine's Day. Another day/holiday/event for women to shamelessly try to out do one another on "what a great man" they've got. Bleck. If you've got to facebook it, instagram it, tweet it, text it, or otherwise... maybe that man ain't so great every other day of the year.

There was a time I was into all that. There was also a time when I was young, immature, and seventeen. Now all I see is stores bathed in pepto-bismal colors four days after Christmas and endless commercials for flowers, cards, teddy bears, and cake. Yes, cake. I saw one local ad the other day informing me that if I really loved that special someone in my life, I would show it with their signature strawberry-layered cake. Of course, that cake will set you back about forty bucks, but hey... that's just three-quarters of a tank of gas anymore, right?

Anyway.

Maybe I'm jealous at the core.

(deep soul searching at the moment)

No. I really don't think I am. I know the husband loves me with or without that five-dollar Hallmark card. He loves me with oil changes and new tires and a little pond with a trickling fountain outside my kitchen window. He loves me by filling a bubbling-massaging thing for my tired feet when I complain that they hurt. He loves me by fixing fluffy omelets filled with cheese and extra pepper because he knows I can never fold one on my own and keep it whole. He knows I love him by the dresser drawer filled with clean, rolled socks and neatly tri-folded underwear.

I aim to please.

I watch my kids encounter their own dilemmas with this heart-shaped, drippingly sweet, lace-trimmed day. One wants to pull off the perfect surprise. One wants to find money hiding in the couch. One wants to sleep through the day. I can relate on all three accounts, Valentine's Day or not. I just hope they can see through all the fluff to know that love and tenderness and putting someone else first should be a priority on any day, not just the day that Wal-Mart tells us it should happen.

How in the world this turned into a ramble about Valentine's Day, I have no idea. That was really not my intent. I suppose I was just thinking on the way home that even if I wanted to get something, I could not. The five dollars in my purse is destined for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread, not Valentine chocolates. Even so, I can do better with a container of Hershey's cocoa powder in my cabinet than anything I could find on a shelf at Walgreens. The family will be treated tomorrow, regardless of my feelings surrounding another over-commercialized day on the calendar.

Any day's a good day for chocolate.

Is That My Wooden Spoon Being Used As A Prop For A Knife?

I've been thinking today about my middle- not my midsection, but my middle child.

My second-born.

My third pregnancy.

My ever-changing boy.

He has always been unique, as each child should be. If you've been around this blog long enough, you've probably watched a few of those changes with me. I well remember the days of the hair growing out and the mostly black clothes and a few chains swinging from his skinny jeans. He left us scratching our heads on more than one occasion, and yet always had us laughing. He's got a way of doing that. 

This has been a good year for him. He's part of a criminal justice program at his school and has his sights set on college after he graduates next year. Last night the husband, a former criminal justice guy himself, decided it was time to show his boy a thing or two. I had already turned in for the night when the house shook... literally. I cautiously peeked out my bedroom door to see the husband and the son in the midst of a little self-defense training that involved props for weapons and scenarios of criminal intent (I'll omit those as to not cause alarm... or phone calls of worry).

An hour or so later the husband came to bed and I remarked how happy he looked. Nodding his head, he said his only wish would be that we could afford to provide the middle with some kind of professional (physical) training in addition to his education. I looked at him a little surprised. 

What do you call what you were just in there doing? I asked.

I'm not exactly a professional, he replied. 

Really? I wondered out loud. I mean, you're only somebody who has lived it. Somebody who has actually fought the bad guy, more than once, and is still around to teach your son. If that's not a professional, I don't know what is.

He sighed and we moved on to other topics, but I was once again reminded of how thankful I am that I married a man who is absolutely, positively devoted to our family. This morning the middle remarked how much that meant to him... his dad showing him a thing or two. 

And that made me smile and think about our kids most of the day.

Each one special.

And in no way my favorite. =)

January, Shamuary. Glad That Month Is Over(ary)

I look back on the month of January and realize I really didn't have a lot to talk about. Even now, I can't really drudge up enough of anything interesting to warrant filling this blank white space. I've got plenty to ramble on about, don't get me wrong, but I seriously doubt much of it is nice or encouraging. January was not the best month, let me tell you.

I did pick up some temporary part-time work that will take me through the end of May. Now there's some stories I could tell! But, because I happen to admire the lady I work with, I would not want to risk stepping on anybody's toes. Let's just say that I've learned a lot about position in this world. I have now seen the the world- well, a school anyway, from the front of a classroom, the front door of  a reception desk, and the line behind the lunch counter. Might I add that from the position behind the lunch counter, I look much different to people who knew me from the front of the classroom or at the front door of a reception desk. A hair net has the magic ability to transform a person.

And some people never notice you're the same person.

Like I said, it's all about position.

Position: noun. 

Manner or place in which a person or thing is placed... place in society; social rank.

Webster's High School Dictionary, 1892.

Anyhoo, I'll save those stories for another day and another time (and most likely will never share). For now, I will remain content with where I am for the time being. I am thankful. God has provided. Plus, I've learned many things in regards to how I treat people. Things I never noticed before.

The Good.
The Bad.
And The Somewhat Disturbing.

All the workings of a great novel.

And great things to come.