Mary.

Merry Christmas!

I hope your celebration this year has been all that you hoped for and more with constant reminders of the Reason for the season.  And I guess that's what this post will be about, though perhaps from a different angle than you've previously considered.

Do you have a favorite Christmas carol?  Mine are:

1. What Child is this?  
2. Mary, Did You Know?
3. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

The first two always make me think of Mary, a woman who has forever intrigued me - a young woman who is more esteemed and more mysterious than perhaps any other female in history.  So little is said of her in the Bible, and so often I have wondered about her.  One of my favorite passages of Scripture is Proverbs 31 - I even get the name of this blog from that passage - which describes a woman of noble character.  I feel like I know that woman - I know how she respects her husband, how she labors day and night to care for her family, how she nurtures her children so they arise and call her blessed, how she cares for her household and those in need around her.  We are given a glimpse of who she is - and though it is only 1 chapter, I feel like I know her.  I want to be her.

But what about Mary?  Word for word, I think (though I didn't do an exhaustive count) Mary is talked about more in the Bible than my Proverbs 31 woman whom I claim to know.  But who was Mary?  I want to pretend to be her best friend for a minute and ask a few questions...

Mary, I have something to tell you!  Ok, ok, you go first!  WHAT!?!?!?  You're pregnant?!?  But you haven't... No.  I didn't think so.  Then how?  Really?!?  Really.  Oh.  An angel?  Uh-huh.  Ok, I guess I trust you - I have known you forever and you're not one to lie.  Have you told your family?  How did they take it?  Have you told Joseph?  Well, we'll just have to see how things play out.  I'm sure Joseph will handle the situation in an honorable way, I mean, he is a good man.  Oh my - it's so overwhelming!  The reality is we can't solve all those problems now - what's that?  Oh!  I can't even remember what I was going to tell you!  But I have more questions...

So tell me about being pregnant!  What's it like?  Have you had morning sickness?  Even when bearing the "Son of God!?!"?  Wow.  So what about sleep?  I hear pregnant women complaining about getting up in the night to use the "facilities" - do you?  Have you talked to a midwife?  Are you exhausted?  Have you felt baby kick?  Does the baby keep you up at night with wiggling and kicking?  Are you sure it's a boy?  Can you really be sure?  Do you feel alone?  Are you feeling calm or anxious or a little of both?

[A few months later]  So you're nearing full term now.  Have you had any scares - a fall, bleeding, early contractions?  Any braxton hicks?  Does baby hiccough a lot?  Catch me up on your life - where will you deliver?  WHAT?!?!  Joseph is taking you WHERE?!?  Doesn't he know that you'll be about ready to have that baby?  What does he think, that you can just birth a child anywhere?  Well, I guess the worst that could happen is to have the baby along the side of the road in some little shack or cave or barn, Ha!  What are the odds of that happening!?!  Are you upset that you're going to travel - too bad the midwife won't forbid the travel this late.  Who would help you if you go into labor so far away from home and family?  I wish I could go with, but I have to be counted elsewhere...

I mean, can you imagine what it would be like to be her best friend?

It sounds so gentle, "she brought forther her firstborn son."  Not so I'd wager.  I bet it was just like God said in Genesis - painful.  After my first was born, I needed help from professionals, some time to recap the events with my husband, to blog and share with the world my newest, most valuable treasure.  I needed rest, peace, and encouragement as I embarked upon this new, exciting, terrifying journey called motherhood.  I wonder, what about Mary...

What did she think when a band of stinky shepherds came to see her baby in a manger?  Was she proud to show him off?  Insecure about where she had him (in a stable, with nothing better than a manger for a bed, but then, the shepherds wouldn't think less of her for that, would they, that she didn't have the latest Caesar-Augustus-safety-approved cradle)?  Did she wonder why these riff-raff were there?  Did they ask to hold Him?  Did she make them "Purell" their hands?  Did they ask about how her labor went?  Did they leave in a timely fashion so she could feed Him and get some much-needed rest?  Who was there to shoo them away?  Nurses?  Her mom? Her grandmother? And how soon did she get to/have to leave that stable?  Traveling is NOT pleasant after giving birth, but maybe she got moved into a room in the inn?  Would someone have taken pity on them or have fallen in love with Jesus's adorable newborn baby-ness and let the new little family have a room?

Arrrggghhh!  The questions I would ask if I had Mary's ear for a few minutes!  But alas I don't.  And I don't get to ask her about raising the perfect Son either.  She was the mother of the Savior, and yet I get no parenting advice from her.  (Wouldn't you hate to compare your kid to hers - Jesus, literally the perfect child, compared to *insert your child's name here*?)

But then, I suppose that these unanswered questions are intentional.  You see, if the story included much more about Mary, I would be tempted to focus my attentions on her.  But important as this blessed woman is to the holiday, she is not the reason for the holiday nor the one who ought to be studied.

Instead, on this day, Christmas, we honor and remember and worship the Christ, the Son of the Living God. What a privilege it is to know Him, to know that He knows me, that He calls me by name and claims me as His own.  Mary is only valuable as an individual to study in so much as she points us to the Savior.

Perhaps someday I'll get to bend Mary's ear for a minute or two over some cup filled with a Heavenly nectar as we stroll the streets of gold, but for now and for always my focus must be on the One who I can know, the One who has shared with me His character, the One who deserves my honor, respect, submission, my all.

So although 2 out of 3 of my favorite Christmas carols make me think of Mary, I'm reminded this day, yet again, that my focus must be on Jesus.  May those carols henceforth point me from Mary directly to the Christ child.

Merry Christmas, dear reader, and Happy Birthday, Jesus.

A time to grieve

It may seem a little late to be writing this post, but it's been a full weekend for us, and I had to hold myself together.  You see, I have that luxury - I can grieve when I have time to rather than feeling the weight of the grief every second of every minute of every hour of every day.  The tragedy that happened Friday morning has been, by now, blogged about, read about, talked about, speculated about, and here I am writing yet another piece about it.  Why?  Because I need to grieve, and now is the time.

Friday night was the Festival of Lessons and Carols, a sacred Christmas music concert at the school where I work.  It was phenomenal - Fairest Lord Jesus, in particular, was moving for me.  And it seemed like every song talked in some way about Heaven, children in Heaven, and no surprise, really, as the topic was the Christ Child who later stated that we must become like little children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Saturday night my husband and I attended The Singing Christmas Tree, a musical drama at a nearby church. It tells the story of Christ's birth, miracles, death, and resurrection, and every year it's a great reminder that Christmas is only a celebrated holiday because we also have Easter.  This is a bit of a rabbit trail, but go with me for a minute...

During The Singing Christmas Tree, there's a scene they do every year where Jesus heals a lame boy (once played by my husband - you can imagine the family jokes "he was the best lame boy ever - he was made for it!"  etc, etc).  Later in the scene, a blind man comes onto the stage.  Last year when we went to the drama, I was so impressed by the blind man's acting that I leaned over to my husband and whispered in his ear, "That blind man is such a good actor!  Is he really blind?"  (Keep in mind that I was at that point the first-time-mother of a nursing 3-month old who had never had a bottle in her life...)  Chase responded, "Yep.  They just call the local blind group before every showing and have them send over another blind guy to be healed."  About that time I realized the error of my thinking, and we broke down into uncontrollable silent laughter!  I'm telling you, the guy that plays the blind man is REALLY impressive.

This year, as we watched that same scene unfold(they work it into the story every year), we again dropped into pew-shaking giggles as the blind man was healed.  But they quickly turned to sobs for me as I watched Jesus walk from the blind man who could see to the young dead girl cradled in her father's arms.  In the drama, Jesus brings that young girl to life as he did many years ago in real life.

And in that moment my heart broke, again, for the mothers who would give anything to get the call, "Come!  Bring your kindergartener!  Jesus is here and he can raise children from the dead."  I know the impact that would have - I watched my mother bury her first born, a son.  She - we, any of my family - would have given anything to get that phone call, to have that opportunity.

Friday night I thought about all the Christmas presents that are neatly wrapped or stashed away that will never be opened or enjoyed by those children.  I thought about the mothers and fathers and siblings and grandparents and friends and family who will have to figure out what to do with those presents.  Return them?  That seems cold and uncaring.  Wrap them and put them under the tree?  But that's not really living in reality and what do you do with them after Christmas?  Hide them?  Bury them?  Throw them away?  Nothing you do with that kindergartener's present is ok.  And what about their still-empty precious little Christmas stockings?  Their little art projects and favorite outfits and backpacks and lunchboxes are a little easier.  You hang on to them.  Those things are a piece of who your child was.  But the unopened Christmas present and the stocking - those are pieces of who that child would be come - of who that child will never become.

It's not fair.  I hate it.  I hate what those kids lived and died through.  I hate the horror and fear they had to deal with.  I hate the trauma they were exposed to.  I hate it.  I'm sobbing as I write, because I just can't handle it.  It's so not ok.  And I question - why God?  Really?  Kindergarteners?  Totally defenseless children?  Without even their dads or moms or anyone to stand up for them?  And the crappy part is that it's not that there weren't people to stand up for them.  It's that they were going to a safe place, so their protectors and defenders didn't need to be there.  But they did.

I ache for those mothers.  I've waited until now, when I can be alone and really break down to write this.  If by some miracle you are reading this and you are close to the situation, a mother or sister or father or brother or relative or friend of one of those children, I want you to know that I ache for you, and I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because I tucked my daughter into bed tonight and you didn't get to.  Why your school?  Why your town?  Why your child's classroom?  Why not mine?  Why do I get another day with my baby, but you do not?  I feel guilty.  But I also feel so relieved.

I'm relieved that it's not my child who had to be placed in one of those tiny little caskets.  Why do they have to make caskets that small?  It shouldn't be!  At least when we burried my brother he was 17 - a full size casket - not that it makes it any easier.

I'm relieved that it wasn't my town.  The lives that were touched by the "tragedy" (and doesn't that seem a totally inadequate, completely deficient word to use - it doesn't even begin to carry the weight necessary for such a situation) are seemingly endless.  At least I keep realizing more people who have been directly touched.

First I ached for the mothers - the families too, but the mothers especially...  Then I ached for the kids and what they experienced in those last frightful moments - what horrors...  Then I ached for the other children in that school and the surrounding schools - no place is safe now.  They will have to go back to school there.  I don't know how they'll do that.  Then I ached for the parents of the other kids who go to those schools - they will have to send their kids back into that school.  I don't know that I could...  Then I ached for the teachers and administration and leaders in the community who have to somehow grieve themselves while leading others in recovering from the... from the...  what does one even call it?  No word is grotesque enough.  Most recently I realized that there were emergency response personnel who witnessed unspeakable horrors - what of them?  What of the coroners, the morticians, the funeral home directors, the pastors, priests, and reverends who will have to conduct services?  And what of all the others who I haven't listed and who I'm not thinking of?

Over the past year, my husband and I have seen up close the effect that severe trauma can have on a person and the overwhelming uphill battle it can be to work through it and live a normal, healthy life.  A friend has done this, and done it well, but oh my word.  Oh. My. Word.  The battle was crazy.  It was a blessing to be a part of it and see progress and even success, but it will be a life long battle.  And having witnessed it, it now drives me to my knees in situations like this.  I feel so helpless.

I can do nothing for the people directly affected except to do the one thing that pulled me through burying my brother and helping a friend face the unthinkable:  pray.  Say what you will, believe what you must, but prayer is powerful and my God hears me.  I feel like it's the only effective defense I have to protect my daughter from whatever this world will throw at her.  In reality, it's the only protection I have against what this world throws at me.

There are articles flying all over my Facebook about mental health care and gun control and everyone has an opinion.  I certainly have mine.  But the reality is that whatever laws or reforms are made, nothing will make sense of this.  And nothing will fix the "broken system."  Who are we kidding?  We're broken people.  Does anyone question that?  Really?  Would you call yourself anything other than imperfect?  I wouldn't.  I'm imperfect, and gosh darn it, so are you, and I don't mind saying so, because I'm in exactly the same boat.  And if we're imperfect, what makes us think that we, imperfect people, would be able to somehow form a perfect system?

News flash:  It's NOT going to happen!

So what do we do?  I can only share what I do.  I think of Ephesians 6:12-13

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood,
but against the rulers, against the authorities,
against the powers of this dark world, and
against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
Therefore, put on the whole armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.   

This verse comes to mind because imperfect as I am, and imperfect as you are, I don't think even imperfect, sinful humans would do such a thing as Friday morning to each other if not for other influences.  Call me crazy, I don't care.  I only know that what I can do is call the battle what it is - not against flesh and blood.  And I can do what verse 13 says - take up the whole armor of God and absolutely wear out the knee guards.  Pray.

Pray for my baby who will, when she's old enough, go to school.  Pray for her school.  Pray for her classmates and teacher.  Pray for her classmates' families.  Pray for our town.  Pray for our state.  Pray for our nation.  Pray for each of the individuals touched by this horror.  Pray that somehow, in the midst of the grief, the loss, the hurt, the anger, the everything that Truth will be known and Comfort will be found.

And if somehow you're reading this and you're a mom of one of those kindergarteners, know that you are prayed for and I hope that offers you some measure of...  Look, no amount of praying will make it not hurt - I know.  I tried when I suffered great loss.  And no amount of prayer will make things make sense or be worth it or make you feel better or restore your loss.  You could have 10 more kids, but none of them would replace the one you lost.  I get that - really I do.  My prayer is not that you won't hurt, because hurt, pain, sorrow, grief - they're all a gift.  They're what help us remember, they're what help us heal, they're what remind us of the validity and intrinsic value of the one we lost.  Rather, my prayer is that as you hurt, as you grieve, as you experience sorrow and pain in ways unique only to you, that you would also experience Love as you never have before.  That as you feel that you can't take the next breath, it will be like Someone else is breathing for you, that the One who gives life will show you a Life like you've never known, and that in that Life will be fulfillment, peace, hurt - there will always be hurt and that's good - but resolution within your soul and rest.

If this ever actually reaches you, it's likely that you're so deep in grief right now that you can't see past the next minute, and that's ok.  Keep grieving.  But I can see farther ahead than a minute, so that is my prayer for you - Life and resolution and rest.  But for now, just ache.  And know we ache with you.


**NOTE** I wrote this post directly referencing the children, but I know there were adults who are no longer with us as well.  I wasn't overlooking them, and the post and my feelings and prayers apply equally to their families and friends as well.  I realized this after I completed the writing.

A little piece of Heaven: cookie recipe

Have you ever eaten something, and after the first bite you knew that you would spend the rest of your life trying to find that heavenly flavor again?  I had that experience in December of 2008.  A coworker gave me a little Christmas tin of her mother's signature cookies.  There were maybe 8 or 10 little Christmas-tree-shaped cookies and they were...  *sigh*  ...life changing.  Chase can't remember the heavenly flavor, which simply means that I hid the little golden nuggets from him and consumed them all myself - they were that good!

I kid you not, I have spent hours on the internet at various points over the past 4 years trying to find the recipe.  But, you wonder to yourself, Steph, why didn't you just ask your coworker for the recipe?  Yes.  Yes, that's a good idea.  However, my coworker's mother made them - a family recipe - that was not to be shared outside of the family.  

Really? you wonder.  Really.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I groveled.  I whined.  I wished.  I prayed.  I dreamed. I salivated.  All to no avail - I walked away from that Christmas knowing the flavor of Heaven, but unable to recreate it.  This family is as serious about cookies as I am (except they protect their recipes - I like to share mine).

Now, I consider myself something of a cookie connoisseur.  I know a good cookie when I see/taste it.  I specialize, generally, in the heavy, moist, gooey, rich, classics like chocolate chip, monster, peanut butter, and chocolate sandwich.  But my versions of these classics all have a little something to make them special.  I like the concept of the annual Christmas cookie exchange, but I actually don't like the practice, because it's rare to find cookies as good as mine.  (Also, I'm very humble about my cookies.)  I put my heart and soul into my baking, and I don't waste time making stuff that is mediocre.  My recipes are top notch - at least in my book.  :)

So yesterday when I, again, searched for "flaky Christmas sandwich cookie," I wasn't very optimistic.  When  what to my wondering eyes should appear, but 286,000 search results, the fourth of which shone from the screen like a beacon.  From the website "Tasty Kitchen," a blessed baker by the tag of "lisaslater" posted a recipe titled, "Cream Sandwich Cookies."  Oh. My. Word.  It's them.

I know you're wondering what they look like, so here they are:

They look innocent.  They look homely.  They look plain.  They're only about an 1.5 x 1.5 inches.  But they are 1.5 square inches of pure taste bud ecstasy.  There's a cake out there called "Better than Sex Cake."  These are SO much better than that - if you can even begin to imagine!

The top and bottom cookie part is actually more of a pastry/pie crust-type of square.  The green in the middle is such a rich frosting that a tiny bit goes a long way.  But, you're wondering, Steph, what are they made of, and how can I, too, enjoy this little piece of Heaven?  Well, my friend, you are in luck!  As they are NOT a family recipe, and as I am not of the habit to hide my recipes, here it is:

Swedish Tea Cookies

For the cookies:
1 cup butter (softened)
1/3 cup heavy cream
2 cups sifted flour
Granulated sugar for sprinkling

Mix together the butter, cream and flour.  (It will be like a pie crust dough.)  Place flattened baseball-sized portion between 2 layers of wax paper and roll to 1/8 inch thickness.  Repeat with rest of dough and refrigerate.

Once chillded, remove wax paper from one side and sprinkle with granulated sugar.  Replace waxed paper and press down to help sugar stick.  (You want the sugar to all stick, but you don't want to skimp on the sugar either!)  Repeat sugar sprinkling on other side of dough.  Turn onto cutting board and cut into 1.5 inch squares - I used my pizza cutter.  (If I can find a cookie cutter that wouldn't waste any of the dough, I might try cutting them with a cookie cutter next time instead of just squares - it would be more festive, but I don't want to waste a crumb of this dough!)

Place 2 inches apart on baking sheet.  Prick each square 3 x with a fork.  Bake for 7-10 minutes at 350 degrees.  Baked cookies should be puffy but not brown.  Carefully move to wire rack to cool.

For the frosting:
1/4 cup of butter
3/4 cup of powdered sugar
1 egg yolk
1 tsp vanilla (or 1/4 tsp almond extract - I used vanilla)

Mix butter, powdered sugar, and egg yolk.  Add vanilla.  Put the frosting on the cookies to make sandwich cookies and enjoy!

These are delicate, light, sinfully buttery... *sigh*  Heavenly.  Seriously.  I don't rave about food very often at all.  You NEED to try these.  They're worth the effort (and the calories).  Merry Christmas, and happy baking!

The ideal woman

Last week I went to a girlfriend's house for some quality girl time.  Over wine, spiffy cheese, good chocolate and homemade cookies, we solved the world's problems - or at least aired our thoughts on husbands, children, and life.  What else would mommies do when we finally make time to get together?

We spent the evening in a fantastic manner - not bashing husbands or whining about children or lamenting life, but rather sharing our experiences and uplifting one another with positive conversation.  At least that's the way I felt as I drove home: uplifted.

The conversation got me thinking about Plato's Theory of the Forms.  It's been a very long time since I've actually studied any Plato or Aristotle or Socrates or any of those really old guys, but what I remember about the Forms (which might be completely wrong) is the following:  

Let's take a chair for example.  We all know what a chair is. It's a reliable place where one sits.  But what is "chair?"  Does it have 4 legs or 3?  Could it have 5 legs or 10?  Does the seat have to be flat or can it be curved?  Is it cushioned?  What kind of fabric is "chair?"  Or maybe it's not fabric, maybe it's wood, or plastic, or metal, or some other material.  So what is "chair?"  Chair, as a Form, is a definite thing that exists only in theory.  There is, in fact, no one perfect chair by which we measure all chairs.  Instead we have the idea or theory of chair that we then apply, in a variety of ways, in real life.

Why, you may wonder, would a girl's night over wine and chocolate get me thinking about chairs?  It is true that I sat in a chair during the evening, but it was the Form that really had me thinking.  There were 5 of us that sat for nearly 4 hours and discussed many of the facets of life and womanhood.  As I drove the 20 miles home, alone on a 2-lane highway in what most would call "the middle of nowhere," I thought about that word, "woman."  What does that mean?

Each of us has in our minds the Form of  "woman," the idea of what the perfect woman looks like.  And each of us holds up our life against the Form of woman that lives in each of our heads.  I did this as I drove home, and you know what I found?  I found that I fall miserably, inescapably, insurmountably short.

My dishes are never caught up (and even if they are there is always that one cup that was hiding in the living room behind the lamp... How do I miss it every time?), my clean-but-unfolded laundry pile swells like a marshmallow cooking in the microwave, the supplies I buy for projects I intend to do collect in my basement, I never seem to have enough time to write those thank yous that are months overdue to be sent (when has enough time passed that I can just "write them off" my to do list? [no pun intended]), and why don't I have enough time to really invest in all the relationships I want to invest in?  *sigh*

I decided on my drive that I needed 4 of me - one to care for the house and do projects, one to raise my kids and meal plan/cook nutritious meals, one to work and manage the finances, and one to simply have relationship with the people I love and to read.  Wouldn't that be great?!?

But alas, that is my dream, and the Form of woman in my head does all those things, but she is one woman.  I'll never achieve it.  Why do I hold myself to the standard of the Form of woman that I have in my head?  I know it's unattainable!  And yet...

And yet, I have that Form of woman in my head, and she is good.  Daily I have to come to grips with the reality that I cannot, will not, will never be her.  But she pushes me, taunts me, drives me to be a better version of me.  The danger of the picture of female perfection is that she could either drive me to madness or to despair.  Despair that I will never be her, so why try; and madness in trying in every facet of life to be her and yet failing at every point.  And somewhere between madness and despair lies the balance, the middle ground, the sweet spot of motivation to be a better me and still contentment in who I am in the Lord.  

Does that ever really happen?  As we savored the final drops from our wine glasses and prepared to let the evening together end, we discussed the horrible lie of "balance."  We tell ourselves "I can find the balance in all of these things I'm doing."  But I'm convinced that balance, like the Form of woman, doesn't exist in real life.  

Instead of finding a positive balance for all the facets of my life, I feel instead like I'm merely keeping disaster at bay.  I have to let the dirty dishes sit in the sink so that I can have time to have real, quality relationship with my husband and daughter or do my personal quiet time, but if I let the dishes pile too much or the laundry overflow out of my bulging bedroom door, then I don't feel comfortable enough to have people into my home to enjoy relationship with friends and family.  It's not a balance - it's maintaining just enough to keep total deterioration at bay.  

Am I making sense?  Maybe you have it all together.  But if you say you do, I simply think you're lying.  Those women (sometimes I'm her) who bring fresh baked goodies to every party and still have clean counters/sinks - they have to have dirty mixing bowls hiding in their ovens, right?  And the women (sometimes I'm her, too) whose homes are spotless (ok, maybe I'm never her...) can't possibly keep them that way for more than the 30 minutes I'm in their home, can they?  And if they have a family and/or a job and/or anything of a social life, they "sometimes" (for months on end) miss their quiet time too, don't they? 

The reality, I think, is that I have around me amazing women who inspire me, who encourage me, who motivate me.  And I think that the Form of woman I have in my head comes from gathering the very best bits and pieces from each of the women around me - the great qualities, the impressive habits, the positive traits - and assembling them together into the woman in my head who doesn't exist in real life.  

If you are a woman with whom I interact on a regular basis, know that you are having an effect on me, and I suspect I am on you too (I hope for good and not ill).  When you see me walk into a church function with freshly baked cookies, know that either my sink (or if I have to hide the dishes, my oven) is full of dirty mixing bowls and measuring cups.  Or if you see a project I did recently, know that my living room was a disaster for a week while I scrambled to finish the project in the late evenings and through nap times often instead of doing my quiet time.  (Yes, I feel guilty about it.  Please don't chastise me or tell me I can do better - I know I can.  And I will.)  

I'm not perfect.  I'm no where near the Form of woman I have in my head.  But maybe you've learned something from me like I've learned something from you.  The Form of woman you have in your head, I'm sure, has similarities to mine, but I'm just as sure, has differences.  That's the great thing about the Forms.  Just like there is no one chair by which we measure all chairs, there is no one woman by which we measure all women.  We each have the privilege of being simply and only who we are and pursuing the unique Form of woman that we admire. I get to pursue being the unique form of woman who will be the best form of me.

And you know what else is great?  Because my "perfect woman" exists only in my head in my unique Form of woman, you will never know how close or far I am from being her.  That gives me freedom - freedom to hold myself up to her, evaluate what to work on, and then live confidently as who I am, aware of but not hindered by my shortcomings, and motivated to remedy them.  

So here's to wine, and chocolate, and women, and forms.  What a privilege it is to be a woman.

Everyday Thanksgiving

Did Thanksgiving really happen?  Has it come and gone so soon?  What did your Thanksgiving look like?  To evidence that it did, indeed, happen, here are a few pictures from our Thanksgiving, and perhaps you can relate:

1.  The Black Friday ads.  The paper on Thanksgiving Day weighed at least 50 lbs.  Seriously.  Poor paper boy.

2.  Pumpkin Pie.  Would a Thanksgiving feast of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, sweet potatoes, pink jello, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, butterhorns, and all other matter of Thanksgiving goodness be complete without this grand finale?  I can say definitively: no.  It would not.  

3.  After combing through the ads, eating a hearty feast, falling into a feast-induced coma (ie afternoon nap), and waking energized again, we dove straight from Thanksgiving into Christmas baking.  It was delicious!

Here's my "thankful list" for the year... (of course there are the "big" things like family, friends, relationships, my Savior, etc [and not necessarily in that order] for which I'm thankful, but there are regular things too that I feel like often get overlooked.)  Fannel sheets, winter coats, quality boots that last more than one season, new life, spacious homes (though ours is not), our non-spacious home, heat, small space heaters, finger nail clippers, hair brushes, pantries, full pantries, fridges/freezers, full fridges/freezers, my Corelle dishes I got for my wedding (I love them more all the time - SO glad I got the pattern I love, even if it cost a bit more), faithful 4-legged friends, a good vet, time, a big garage, a fenced yard, the mailman, a job, a desk, an office with 4 finished walls (that will come to fruition next week!), a small town, big cities, my minivan (do NOT threaten to take it away from me - I will fight for it to the death!), a changing table that is the right height for our tall family, a nice shower head, disposable diapers, cloth diapers, PACIFIERS, extension cords, books, children's books, bookshelves, Christmas decorations, my Christmas tree skirt (it is beautiful - I cannot wait to get it out on Sunday!), cupboard doors to hide everything away, the color red, and cinnamon rolls with frosting.  Those are the things that come immediately to mind anyway.  :)  

And of course, to top them all is this little treasure:

She's mommy's big helper when I cook or bake, getting me everything from our pantry that I don't need.  If I spend much time in the kitchen at all, I end up having to repack my pantry because she is such a good helper.  And I love every second of it!

Of course, it's also true that my little helper would never have been possible without my big helper.  The one who's stood by my side for nearly 13 years now (although I did dump him twice...) as first boyfriend and for the last 7 1/2 years as husband.  There's a line in one of my favorite country songs that goes, "I couldn't ask for more, wouldn't settle for less."  And that's just how I feel.  Thank you, Chase, for your time, effort, and all that you put into our marriage to make it so much better than I could have dreamed.

It's a day late in coming and a little disjointed at best, but this is what I've been thinking about this Thanksgiving, and thanking the One who made it all happen.  And now that Thanksgiving is past (I've been anxiously awaiting this opportunity!), Merry Christmas to you and yours!!!!

Honoring Brook

Today was a hard day in the Francl household.  We said goodbye to a dear member of the family.  I don't really know a better way to honor the life and passage of one of "man's best friends" other than to write a eulogy of sorts.  So here we go.  

Pictured below is Brooklyn Bean Francl.  She came to our home in the fall of 2007 at about the age of 7.  She passed away today, November 17, 2012 at about 9:30am.  We had to put her down because she was loosing control of her bodily functions and her quality of life was quickly deteriorating. 

**Side note: this post is for me - it's for future me who will want to remember these things about Brook, so if you don't want to read about my dog, stop reading now.  It won't hurt my feelings.  I may do a more general post about losing a pet later, but right now, I just need to remember for me.  And grieve.  So let the remembering begin...**

We adopted Brook from a colleague of mine whose father (Brook's previous owner) could no longer care for her because he was battling Alzheimer's disease.  Her previous owner had adopted her from a shelter in 2004 and had named her "Baby Doll."  Chase, not able to bear the thought of standing at the door and shouting "Baby Doll!  Baby Doll!" renamed her Brook.

On the ride from her previous owner's home to ours, Brook and Fraz were sitting on my lap and we went over a bump.  This caused the two of them to bump into each other.  To which Fraz turned, gave Brook a disdainful look up and down, and then scooted an inch further away.  It was a rough start, but it turned out ok.  She spent her first night at our house hiding out in the bedroom, but it didn't take her much longer than that to adjust.

The next three pictures are Brook doing her very favorite thing to do in life: eating.  Once while we were out of the house, this girl ate 2 1/2 of my danishes - that's equivalent to about a pan of cinnamon rolls!  She practically rolled to the door when we got home, she was so round!  Of these, my favorite picture is actually the third.  I think you'll see why when you get there...

Eating from her dog bowl.

 Super excited to get the treats out of her Christmas stocking.

Making sure to get every last crumb of dog food from the bag!  (And she got stuck too - when she backed away, the bag came with her.  It was so funny!)

Like many indoor pets, Brook spent much of her time sleeping.  It was always amazing to me the positions I would find her in:

She did this often -hung her head outside her bed.  I couldn't see how it could be comfy at all!

One of the rare moments of affection between Fraz and Brook. 

When we lived in Vienna, we lived on the 4th floor of our apartment building, which meant we walked 4 flights of stairs 4 times a day with 2 dogs to take them out.  It also meant our dogs had a great view of our courtyard.  I think Brook liked sitting out there so much because she was short, so it made her feel tall to be 4 stories up.  When I'd study on the balcony, I always had a study partner.

We got Frazier, our blond cocker spaniel when we got married, and we got Brook, the black one, about 2 years after that.  Since we waited a while to have kids, the dogs became my kids, and especially when we lived in the DC area I spend a LOT of time with them.  We'd walk to the dog park, meet other dogs and their owners, wander around the neighborhood, and, yes, I even talked to the dogs quite a bit.  I needed to have someone or something to care for, and they filled that need.  I've said many times of the dogs that their purpose has been to keep me sane, and they did (at least for the most part!).

Above you can see that we all had on our coats (the dogs had coats too), as we were preparing to head out into the 2 feet of snow we got in a crazy storm in DC!  The snow was way over the dogs' heads, and they either had to balance carefully on top of it to go to the bathroom, or use the little walkway that was scooped for them to go.  The last of the snow that fell in February melted that July.  It was nuts.

We enjoy our pets and had lots of fun with Brook.  Below, you can see that Brook has some strange looking leg-warmer-like things on her legs.  Chase's mom sent them to us and we had no idea what they were.  The only thing we could figure out was that they were Richard-Simmons-esque leg warmers for the dogs. Turned out they were elastic things to put on the outside of your glass so it wouldn't sweat.  Who knew?

Brook was mostly a mellow dog.  Because of all she'd seen in her life, I think she just didn't get too excited about anything.  She was a tough old bird who didn't fuss about going to the vet, didn't flinch when prodded or poked, and didn't get too worked up about change.  But sometimes, on rare occasions, she would play.  From the day we got him, Frazier has played.  I don't think Brook had ever known what to do with a ball until she saw Fraz playing.  After months of watching him, she finally stole the ball from him one day when we were playing.  And it was established: Brook was the alpha dog.

You wouldn't think it to watch the two of them - Frazier is rambunctious, with lots of energy, and he's bigger than Brook was.  But what Brook wanted, Brook got.  She didn't want much in life - her food, her spot on the couch, her bed, his toy when she felt like it.  And she got those things.  A tiny growl from deep in her throat (the only time I ever heard her growl), and Fraz would immediately surrender. 

Excitedly jumping while playing with Chase. 

I'd forgotten she even played tug of war sometimes!

Brook was a cultured dog, and well traveled.  Because she was first adopted from a shelter, we have no idea where she spend the first few years of her life.  The shelter was in Ohio and from there she lived with a gentleman in Michigan for 3 years.  Then she came to us in Michigan, and we took her home with us to Nebraska on holidays.  She also took the trip with us when we moved out to DC and back to Nebraska, so this girl has seen much of the US from the window of a car.

  

"Helping" me pack my bag... and making sure not to be left behind. 

In her kennel at the airport when we flew them from DC to Nebraska and back for Christmas.

 That's the Shenandoah Valley behind us where we stopped on a trip from DC to Liberty University. 

The picture below is a very memorable picture.  Not only does it show the dogs and me with the Washington Monument behind us, but this picture is the reason I didn't lose my camera.  One night we had a friend staying with us in DC, so we took him to do our favorite thing: tour the monuments at night. (Really, if you're visiting DC, this is a MUST!)  We took the dogs with us for the 2 mile hike, and the night was perfect for it.  Immediately after taking the picture you see below, I stopped at a bench just outside of the WWII memorial to give the dogs a drink of water.  They drank and we continued on our way toward Lincoln.  Unbeknownst to me, my camera stayed on the bench.  It was just before the 4th of July, because they were setting up all kinds of fencing to handle the crowds around the reflecting pools.  We stopped at the bathrooms and the Vietnam Memorial and were just about to Lincoln when a pickup came driving along the reflecting pool (it had something to do with the fencing), and a guy leaned out and said, "Hey lady, is this your camera?"  I didn't even know I'd lost my camera, but because the picture below was the last one taken on my camera, the guy knew that it was mine!  It was a really neat moment of feeling the Lord winking down at me.  The camera I nearly lost is still the one I use today.

  
I don't believe in fate or destiny, but I do believe in God.  And I believe that God has a purpose for everything that happens.  We may not be able to understand it, but that doesn't mean He isn't working.  Over the course of the day, I've thought a lot about our little Brooklyn Bean and her purpose.  I don't know if pets go to Heaven or not, but I do know that Brook served her purpose with us well.  I can't name all of her purposes, but I can name a couple.  

I have the feeling that part of her role in our family was to carry affliction and in some way show how to do it well.  And boy did she ever do that.  Her afflictions included thyroid issues that required pills 2x daily (for all of the years we had her), rotten teeth that had to be pulled, toe cancer (and consequently a toe removal), knee surgery, chronic ear infections (which we called "blueberry ear), cataracts in her eyes, hearing loss, loss of bladder control, arthritis...  You name it, she probably had it... and we probably paid for it at the vet!  But she carried all of these things with a pleasant, cheerful demeanor, and stood up under the treatments like a little champ.  In all seriousness, I think she may be the most expensive pet we ever own, and we got her for free!  

Her main purpose, and perhaps any dog's primary purpose, was companionship, and that she fulfilled very well.  She may not have been able to go on runs with me, but she was the one who would trudge with me into newborn Lily's room for her midnight and early morning feedings.  Brook was the one who would move around the house with me from room to room as I did house work.  She "helped" me give Lily a bath every night by sitting in the bathroom (often trying to lay on Lil's towel) with us.  She might have had the habit of being in the most inconvenient place possible, but that meant that she was always there.  

I took the picture below in the few moments before we left Virginia for good to move back to Nebraska.  The moving truck was loaded to the hilt, the car was packed out, their beds were in the back seat waiting, and all that was left to do was gather up the dogs, drop off the keys, and start driving.  I turned from the moving truck to our apartment and this is what I saw:

The dogs (Brook is on the right, kind of blending into the background) waiting patiently but also intently for us to take them with us.  I love it.  What faithful friends.

Perhaps dogs go to Heaven, and if they do, I very much look forward to seeing an old friend someday.  Or perhaps dogs don't go to Heaven, and Brook fulfilled her purpose while here on earth.  In either case, Brook now rests next to another dear old friend of mine, Ralphie, my faithful cat from all my years growing up.  

Facing death is the crummy side of pet ownership - the side you don't think about when you're picking out that adorable pup or kitten.  But it's part of it, and though it was very hard, I'm glad my old girl is no longer in pain. 

May you rest in peace, dear Brook.

Obedience

I almost didn't get this post written.  it's 12:56am, and I almost didn't do it.  Why?  I knew I was supposed to - been thinking about it for the last 2 hours.  So why didn't I?  Simply put, because I was lazy and because I was afraid.

Lazy is easy enough to address - quit being lazy.  Sloth is one of the 7 deadly sins.  Don't do it.

Afraid - that one took a bit more.  Why was I afraid to write this, you wonder?  Glad you asked.  Because it's going to be an overtly spiritually-themed post.  If you don't like some of the spiritual undertones of my blog, you'll hate this post.  But then, I write here in part to share in your life and in part to process my own life and perhaps this post will do us both good.

This post is about one simple word: obey.  Why don't I do it?  Seriously.  I'm 28 years old - you'd think I'd know by now to obey for Heaven's sake!  I don't know about you, but I actually find it easier to obey in the big things rather than in the little things.  When God asked us to move 1/2 way across the country to a place that was too expensive, where we didn't know a soul, where we had no jobs, and where He would work in us and through us - that was easy.  Deleting some TV shows that I really like off of my DVR - that was hard.

THAT MAKES NO SENSE!!!!  Why do I do that?

Over the last couple of days I knew what I needed to do.  It was that little voice I pretended wasn't there.  I acted like everything was fine, as if I had no idea what was affecting my family.  I brushed little Jiminy Cricket off my shoulder again and again.  Rather than run from what I knew God didn't want me doing, I turned directly to it.  It was silly.  They were TV shows.  They were a waste of time.  They were pointless.  ...But they were soooooooooo enticing.

They weren't "bad" shows per-se.  You may have seen them or you may not have.  If you watch them on a regular basis, I won't think any less of you.  I don't necessarily think they're a bad thing to watch.  But they were bad for me to watch, because God had asked me not to.  I'm not trying to get overly "spiritual" or "religious" or "charismatic" here - there wasn't some bombing voice from Heaven or anything like that.  I'm just telling you what I knew, deep down, to be true.

It took someone else asking if our family was ok for me to confront my disobedience.  And it was affecting each of my family members.  It's a little overwhelming to look around you and realize that some tiny, stupid, seemingly-pointless choice has had a negative affect on the people you love most.  I work hard to be a faithful wife, a good mom, a blessing to my family, a Proverbs 31 woman.  And I totally missed the boat on this one.

I'm not trying to wallow in self-pity here - that in itself would be another sin because it's something that doesn't honor and please the Lord.  But I share this little incident in my life as a reminder to my future self that obedience, even in the tiniest detail is damaging.  Luke 16:10 reminds us that those who are faithful with little will be faithful with much.  I saw what impact my little disobedience had.  I don't want to think of what impact much disobedience would bring.

So I now have a few less shows on my DVR, but my family is back in right relationship with each other and with our Lord.

So why was I afraid to write this blog post again?  The message is pretty straight forward - don't disobey.  I was afraid because I didn't want you to think less of me.

If you're a like-minded Christian, I didn't want you to think less of me because I knowingly disobeyed.

And I was even more afraid of you if you're not a Christian and you're reading this.  What will they think of me?  I'll have a greater impact, God, if you let me just keep having spiritual undertones on my blog rather than being so overt.  You use my life to witness to others overtly, not my blog.  That's what I was thinking.

And then.  And then I climbed into bed and started reading what I should have read over a week ago (but didn't because I was busy watching shows that are no longer recording on my DVR).  I read the first few verses of Philippians (aaaaaand now all of my Bible study girlfriends know how far behind I am...).  Do you know what's happening in the first part of that book?  Paul and Timothy are imprisoned, and Paul is writing this letter from prison.  You know what he says?  He says that his imprisonment has promoted the Gospel because now everyone at the palace, where he's incarcerated, knows he's there because of the Gospel of Christ.  AND (and this is the one that got me) it's promoted the Gospel, because the Christians who aren't in jail who hear about Paul are braver in sharing the Gospel because they know about him.

Do you know how that made me feel?  Paul and Timothy are sitting in jail because they obeyed God.  Their Christian friends were made more bold at sharing their faith because of Paul and Timothy being in jail.  Imagine that thought process:  Well, what's the worst that could happen?  Jail?  Paul and Timmy are doing ok there and find joy despite jail.  Plus, God's telling me I'd better share.  Time to share.

What's my thought process, you're wondering?  I'm sitting here in my king sized bed, in my flannel sheets (I *love* my flannel sheets!), in my warm home, in my conservative state, in my free country, where I can say whatever I want with no fear of jail, I have a platform from which to speak (my blog), and God's asking me to write a blog post.  Really?  I'm afraid to write a dinky little post?  Jiminy Cricket, come back here and make yourself at home on my shoulder!  Time to obey.

Yes, Lord.  I will.  Lesson learned.

Why the Electoral College?

I have been asked recently by a number of friends the reason for the Electoral College in the upcoming Presidential election.  Considering that I have both undergraduate and Master’s degrees in Politics, one would assume I’d be a good person to ask.  And while it’s true that a few years ago I had a ready answer at the tip of my tongue, motherhood, moving, and life put that portion of my brain into hibernation. 

In an effort to wake up my poor, neglected political mind and to answer my friends’ question, I went to the only place one can go in order to properly answer the question:  The Federalist Papers and Madison’s own notes from The Constitutional Convention.  How blessed we are to still have the resources at our fingertips!  (It was pure pleasure to go downstairs to my bookshelves and dust off these trusty volumes.)

We’re smart today.  We’ve learned from the past, and even if we don’t know the answer, we can get the answer to any question via Wikipedia or Google (God bless them!).  But sometimes we forget.  Technology doesn’t change human nature, and since human nature is what the Founders wrestled with while writing our Constitution, it makes sense to go back and review their own arguments in favor (and some against) the Electoral College.

Madison records that on Thursday, July the 26, 1787, Colonel Mason recounted the various suggestions for appointing the Executive (i.e. the President – they hadn’t yet settled on a title for the chief executive).  They were:

1. Election by the “people at large” or what we call a popular election.  Those against it pointed to the fact that the people at large were very unlikely to understand the qualifications necessary for an individual to be President, and even if they did understand the weighty requirements of the Oval Office, the people at large were unlikely to really know if an individual candidate had the qualifications to adequately carry out the job.  To quote Mr. Gerry, “The people are uniformed, and would be misled by a few designing men.”  The biggest argument against popular election, however, remains today, and that is, essentially, majority tyranny over the minority – that a few areas of high population would control who is elected President, and that areas of lower population not be represented at all.  In some ways, the Electoral College serves a similar purpose in Presidential elections as the Senate serves in the legislative branch – it equalizes representation among the states.  If you have a problem with the Electoral College, you ought also to have a problem with the Senate as it is wholly "unequal" representation based on population.
2. Election by state legislatures.  Those against this pointed to the fact that if state legislatures elected the President, then the President would be likely to cater to the state legislatures’ whims.  The office of the President as they envisioned it, was to be a sort of check against state legislatures (and the federal legislature for that matter) running wild, and how could a President be elected by the very group he was to later hold accountable.  To put it briefly, the Founders saw this as a conflict of interests.  (Remember, too, that at this point, Federal Senators were elected by state legislatures, not by popular election.  If the President was elected by state legislatures as well, that could have given them power of election in two branches of the federal government.)
3. Election by the Executives (i.e. Governors) of the states.  This was seen as a dangerous option because the President could easily become subservient to the governors.  State governors, “being standing bodies, they could and would be courted, and intrigued with by the Candidates, by their partisans, and by the ministers of foreign powers.” (Wed. July 25, 1787)  So the President would cater to whatever Governors would garner the most votes.  
4. Election by electors chosen specifically and only for the task of electing the President. (This is what we now know as the Electoral College.  I address problems with this in a bit.)  
5. Each citizen eligible to vote would be required vote for more than one candidate for President, among which at least one vote had to be cast for someone not from the citizen’s home state.  (This was proposed by Mr. Williamson.)  The problems with this were rife, including how would individuals know candidates outside their states (before the invention of radio or TV), and how would the logistics of this be enforced, and what real benefit was it over a general popular election?  These were all questions that kept this option from moving forward.
6. Mr. Dickenson even proposed that every citizen not “popular within his own state” would not be permitted to vote.  In Madison’s notes from July 26^th, he states that even Mr. Dickenson who proposed the idea recognized the inconvenience and logistical difficulties with this and rejected it himself.
7. A lottery to select electors from Congress.  Madison records that this suggestion elicited the response, “We ought to be governed by reason, not by chance.”

In thinking back over the Electoral College discussions I’ve been a part of throughout my education, the discussion is often approached in the wrong vein.  It’s approached by first establishing what’s terrible about the Electoral College and then supposing that a better option exists. 

I don’t think the Founders felt that way when they wrote the Electoral College into the Constitution.  Instead, (and from reading between the lines a bit in Madison’s notes from the Constitutional Convention) the Founders seemed to think the Electoral College wasn’t a perfect method of electing a President at all.  It caused representation issues (citizens who lived in states with higher populations actually had “less of an individual vote” because of the number of electoral votes per state), logistical issues (the Electoral College met once for one purpose – why not use a body that already existed like the legislature?), consistency issues (states got to choose how to elect their Electoral College representatives, and they got to determine by what criteria the electors would vote), etc. It was actually a really bad method of electing a President.

Although the Electoral College was far from a perfect method of electing a president, it was determined, after days of debate, sending the issue back to committee, and again debating it with the whole Continental Congress, that it was still the best (most agreeable) option for electing the President.  It was the worst option except for all the others that had been suggested.

I like to consider myself intelligent.  I have a BA from Hillsdale and an MA from Georgetown, and I’ve studied and gotten very good grades under some very strict/difficult instructors.  But I do not fancy myself in any way more intelligent or to have a better understanding of human nature and government that the men who pledged their lives, fortunes and sacred honor in order to separate from England.  And it was many of the same men (who did the aforementioned in the Declaration of Independence) who then gathered to birth our nation through the writing and eventual adoption of the Constitution. 

I’m not smarter than them.  I don’t have better arguments than they do.  I haven’t observed human nature and understood it in the tense contexts that they had seen.  If I were to stand against the Electoral College it would be to stand against Benjamin Franklin, James Madison, Thomas Jefferson, and the whole Continental Congress.  It’s not that there aren’t other ways the President could be elected – it’s just that they deemed the Electoral College the most favorable option.  And they left behind their reasons for that belief. 

For myself, I am in favor of the Electoral College.  And I hope after reading this you have a more informed opinion, whatever yours may be.

Photo Memories

I'm so thankful for pictures.  I have lots of memories of growing up, but the ones that are sharpest, the ones that are clearest, the ones that I remember best are memorialized forever in photographs.  Next to our bed, I have one of my very favorite pictures - it's the first family picture we ever took after Lily was born.  And it's priceless.  Even the thought of losing it makes me teary!  

My recent posts haven't had many pictures, so I'm making up for that with this little photo journal of our recent vacation.  It all began with Lily's first flight...

(Yes, I was really exhausted when we left.  I didn't realize how much you could see that on my face until I saw this picture!)  We flew to Orlando where we stayed a night in a hotel and then took a shuttle to our cruise ship.  When I read online that the room would be 120 square feet, I wasn't really understanding how small that was...

There was just enough room for Lily to practice her walking and throw the ball with her daddy.

We did sleep in two separate beds just like Dick Van Dyke and his wife did back in the day.  We put the two beds together initially, but there wasn't room for the Pack n Play, so we ended up separating them.  It worked out ok, because we only spent 1 night on the ship anyway.  Due to Hurricane Sandy, we disembarked the ship the next day in order to spend a couple of days in Orlando.  We had to wait quite a while for our shuttle to pick us up...

My Mom took us on the trip along with my brother and his wife and my sister.  Below is a picture of our ship, the Monarch of the Seas.  We joked that it was more like the Monarch of the Port.

We had a whole day in Orlando with nothing planned so we went to Universal Studio's Island of Adventure where the Wizarding World of Harry Potter was opened a couple of years ago.  And it was AWESOME!

Above is my sister-in-law and below is my sister.  We had Pasties and Butter Beer in the Three Broomsticks, we rode the rides, we drank Pumpkin Juice and got Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.  We even bought two wands!

It was SO cool and SO much fun!  I totally recommend it!  :)

The Island of Adventure also had lots of other attractions.  If you ever visit there, you MUST go on the Spider Man ride - it's VERY cool.  The Dr. Seuss area was also really fun, and a great area for smaller kids.  Lily was maybe a little too small for it.  She did ride one ride there, but she was NOT fond of the Cat in the Hat, as you can see in the picture below...

There's an area in Seussland themed after Gerald McGrew, the boy who imagined how he would run the zoo if he could.  Lily really enjoyed that area, especially since she's put that crawling business behind her and has joined the world of the walkers!

At the entrance of Universal Studios, there was a tiger that Lily growled at every time we walked by.  So on the way out, we stopped to pet it.  :)

By the end of the trip, Lilers was totally conked out.  She slept for 2 hours on one of our flights back to Nebraska.  Thank Heavens, because this mommy needed the 2 hours of sleep on the plane too!

She woke up for about the last 30 minutes of the flight and because it wasn't a full flight, she got to sit in her own seat.  (What a big girl!)

And those, my friends, are a number of the moments from our trip that were captured forever in photographs.  And I'm SO grateful to have them!

Porting

We were supposed to go on a cruise this weekend.  It was a small family cruise with my mom, sister, brother, sister-in-law, husband, and daughter.  We were supposed to leave out of Florida and go to the Bahamas.  As you might have guessed from the tense of the first few sentences, these things that were supposed to happen, did not, in fact, happen at all.

Here's what really happened.  We left on Thursday morning and were over 1/2 way to the airport (quite a trek in our neck of the woods), when I realized that I'd ruined the cruise before it had even started:  I left our cruise tickets sitting on the floor next to our bed.  Visions of my mother handing me the neatly organized "AAA" packet including the tickets and saying, "Just be sure to pack this!" flashed through my mind.

We called our friendly and supremely helpful AAA travel agent who assured us (after making a quick phone call to the cruise line) that it was no big deal.  We could still get on the ship as long as we had our birth certificates, which we did.  *Whew!*  Crisis averted.

We flew to Florida on two very uneventful flights (Lily was the best baby on the plane - napped in the Moby on the layover, played adorably on the flights).  We spent the night in a nice hotel, ate breakfast and boarded the shuttle to the ship.  This is when the story gets interesting again.

Enter Tropical Storm Sandy.  Why did she have to come?  *Sigh*  When we got off the shuttle at the cruise line's terminal, we were pelted with warm rain at 40 miles an hour.  Lily's nap in her Ergo ended quickly thanks to Sandy's blustery breath.  We raced into the terminal and avoided getting totally soaked.  We checked in and boarded the The Monarch of the Seas.

Once everyone was boarded and mostly unpacked, the captain came on the speakers and announced that thanks to Sandy-dear making 30-foot waves, we would not be leaving port until at least morning and that docking at Nassau and CocoaCay were out.  They were looking into other itineraries.  Boo Sandy.  We still enjoyed a delicious supper and a restful night's sleep.

At 8 this morning our friendly Norwegian captain came back on the speaker to announce that we would not be leaving port until at least tonight and if we left port tonight, we would have nowhere to dock tomorrow because we couldn't get anywhere.  He finished his explanation by making it perfectly clear: "So, we will go out and do our best to find the smoothest waters possible, but it will be a cruise to nowhere."

Our waiter at lunch today told us this never happens.  The captain offered us a small on ship credit (which couldn't be used in the casinos or any of the duty free shops because the ship couldn't open them until it was 1/4 mile off shore...) OR a voucher for a cruise of equal value at a later date.

Given the options, you can imagine which one we chose.  After 1/2 an hour on the phone with the travel insurance to confirm that the insurance would pick up the cost of a hotel for 2 nights until our flights home, and 1 1/2 hours on the phone with our new best friend "Tripple A Thomas," we hopped a shuttle to a lovely hotel.  We ate complimentary dinner served by the hotel, sat in the hot tub, showered, and are now enjoying the Husker game.

We have plans to entertain ourselves tomorrow at Universal's Island of Adventure - specifically at the Wizzarding World of Harry Potter!  My only regret is that I didn't know we were coming here so I didn't bring my wand.  :(  A small price to pay, I suppose.

Everyone has had a lovely time despite Sandy's best efforts to thwart our fun.  It turns out she's helped us get a 2 for 1 on cruises.  We were debating earlier today if we will still be considered "virgin cruisers" when we come back to redeem our vouchers on a cruise at a later date.  We got on the cruise ship, stayed over night, but the ship never actually left port - did we cruise or not?

Chase put it quite well:  If a normal cruise is going all the way, and never cruising before means you're a cruise virgin, then we made it to third base.  Better luck next time!    


(If any of you got to this in search of reviews of the Monarch of the Seas, I thought it was a nice ship - a little worn in that I could tell it wasn't a new ship by the wear you could see on the carpet and such, but still nice.  I felt like we'd have had a great cruise with my 13 month old had we actually cruised.  The staff was patient, positive and generally fantastic in our unusual situation.  I felt bad for the Customer Service reps who got yelled at by various cruisers who picked CS as the target to express their anger at the real problem: Sandy.  When we settled our account right before we disembarked, we received a note stating that we would be mailed a voucher for the amount paid for our cruise to be used on a future RC cruise.  I thought they handled it and the 2,300 other guests as well as can be hoped.  We are still in FL waiting to fly home, so I'm not sure how that will all work out, but so far so good.)  

A brush with the law (a.k.a. "The Bike Story")

I like to write, and as it turns out the hobby runs in the family.  My mom's dad has written down a number of stories from his growing up years as well as his years working as a TV repairman.  These are some of my most prized possessions.  Seriously, they cannot be replaced!  

One of my favorite stories that Grandpa wrote about is the story about his bike.  As aforementioned, he wrote it and I post it here for your reading pleasure.  Just envision the Andy Griffith Era as you read...

One day the town cop had pasted hand-written notices around town stating that it was illegal to ride a bicycle on the sidewalks of Henderson.  This posed quite a problem for us, because the streets were either dirt or gravel and very hard to ride on, especially when it rained or snowed.

One day shortly thereafter, I was riding home from school on the sidewalk.  The cop, who was also the town maintenance man had a hole dug along side the sidewalk.  As I approached, he jumped out of that hole and grabbed my bike.  "You're under arrest!" he said.  Then he gave me a ticket to appear in court.  when I got home, I told what had happened.  Mas, my brother, said, "Yeah, he got me too."  

Max and I decided that if we had to go to court, then all the other boys in town should go to court with us.  We thought that if we got enough boys to go with us, they wouldn't do anything.

The time arrived to appear before the judge.  We had quite a bunch of boys with us as we entered the town hall.  John, the cop, read the charges and everybody plead guilty.  Now, Judge Frank read the charges in his low German accent.  "One dollar fine or tirty days in jail wit da bicycles."  Of course, none of us had a dollar.  (That was a day's wages for a man at the time.)

The next morning we all delivered our bikes to the town hall wehre teh cop wheeled them into the jail cell, slammed the door shut and locked it.  We were allowed to visit our bikes later, which we did.

Now Max came up with a great idea.  "We need to get us another bicycle," he said.  so we started scrounging parts from all over town.  Soon we had enough to build a bik.  It was a high wobbly thing, but it could be ridden if you didn't go too fast.  We made a few dry runs around the yard, then we led that bike close to where teh cop was working.  I held it while Max got on and slowly rode  on the street back and forth, making sure the cop got a good look.

A couple of days later, Donald, the neighbor kid, and I were walking to town.  We spotted a hole along the side of the road with the cop's tools and jacket lying there, but he wasn't anywhere in sight.  I stood watch while Donald nailed his jacket to a light pole.

On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa came over for a visitf.  Grandpa wondered why we weren't out riding our bicycles.  When Mom told him what had happened, he wanted to know who had done this to us.  When she told him it was Judge Frank, he became quite upset.  I don't think Grandpa like Judge Frank.

I don't quite know what Grandpa did to that judge, but I'm quite sure it wasn't nice.  Grandpa had these big strong arms and hands, and when he got someone by the throat, they usually did as he requested. 

We all went together and picked up our bicycles.  I don't think that sidewalk ordinance was ever enforced again in Henderson.

And that, my friends, is "the bike story."  Isn't it great?!  I love it!  My Grandpa is just that kind of a guy - a guy who knows how to tell a story.  I hope someday to be just like him.  :)