{ Trapped Inside with Humor-Rich Teenagers }

I live with 4.75 teenagers. These were once my babies and now are unique creatures who often resemble fragrant, helpful allies and other days pose as smelly, ungrateful strangers.

Like dependent joeys, they once hovered around me for transportation, food and internet passwords. Now some of them drive cars, buy their own chips and stop whispering when I walk into a room. 

“What did you say? Who’s doing what?” I plead like a pitiful toddler. Life has cruelly circled around — I am now the one who craves to be let in on secrets and it is I who must take naps.

One of my teenagers currently displays an unusual, robotic sense of humor — like when he greets me at breakfast by pointing sharply at me and saying:

Target Acquired.

We discussed respect / disrespect today. Sometimes I ask him to complete a chore and he jokingly answers:

Yes, I will not do that.

When I was finished with my mini respect lecture, he offered me a rigid handshake, peered at me with a robotic stare and stated in a monotone:

Thank you for your candor. 

Minutes later, he offered me another stiff hand and droned:

Congratulations. You have been reinstated as our mother for another five years. 

We had some other options, but this worked for us right now.

After eating the lunch I prepared for him, he approached me again with: 

Congratulations. Your term as mother has now been extended for the next TEN years.

Unless you perish.

Time for a nap.

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Photos:

Franck V.

Rock’n Roll Monkey

{That Moment in Time}

You have Youth but you waste it

You have Time but you squander it

 

You have people who love you

Friends who embrace you

Family who know you

 

But you ignore the gold mines that surround you

Choosing junk, trash and folly instead

 

And your skin is smooth

Your teeth are strong

Your ponytail is thick

You can touch your toes

You can leave the house without makeup and

You believe all your dreams will come true

 

And at the exact point you realize those days are gone,

You instantly realize what a gift they were.

What do you call that moment in time?

~~~

Help us to remember that our days are numbered,

and help us to interpret our lives correctly.

Set your wisdom deeply in our hearts… — Psalm 90:12 TPT

~~~

Photo by Jan Kubita

{ Cardboard Creations }

When you can’t locate the kitchen scissors…

When the toilet paper roll disappears prematurely…

When there’s a trail of cardboard clippings that lead downstairs…

You know creativity is happening here.

 

Creating with Cardboard

Out of the Box 25 Cardboard Engineering Projects for Makers
Out of the Box: 25 Cardboard Projects…

 

Here’s the book, given by Tia, that started the 3-day rummaging through the recyclables…

The usurping of Mama’s tape…

the glue frenzy…

The lamenting of the ring toss that is too flimsy to stand…

…and the rejoicing over castle towers that stand strong.

 

 

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{ This Week In Pictures }

  1. Korean stop sign, photo taken by my son because he knows I like stop signs in various foreign languages.
  2. New local bakery where my daughter and I shared a pecan caramel roll and cherry turnover, good coffee and sweet conversation.
  3. Blueberry muffins galore, made by my daughter and gratefully consumed on ski day morning.
  4. Time alone on a chairlift– beautiful and peaceful silent time. Short and sweet and high off the ground, but I’ll take it. 
  5. Trying to walk regularly outside because I should, not because I really want to, so I grit my teeth and lean into the wind.
  6. God frosted the trees for us, beautifying our homeschool ski day with His creative handiwork plus cheerful sunshine and no injuries.
  7. My husband drove this cute little Mazda Miata down to Florida for a friend recently.  It looks like a toy car, but he sure got lots of applause / envy from strangers along the way.  The admiration sat well with my husband 🙂IMG_20200212_071404_026_2
  8. I am sad to say goodbye to a wonderful audiobook trilogy about Crispin by author Avi. We finished the last of the three books this week.
  9. From beginning to end, these stories about a young orphan growing up in the Middle Ages are adventurous, suspenseful, and touching.
  1. Avi is a talented and prolific author and his first Crispin book is a Newbery Award Winner. 
  2. We also liked The Traitor’s Gate by Avi, and his newest book, Gold Rush Girl, is coming out in March. (Avi is 82 years old and still going strong!)

~~~

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{ Surprise! 10 Things You Do}

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Oldest son is moving to new base with the Air Force

What do you do when your oldest son — who is headed overseas for two years —  surprises you with an unannounced visit 3 days before leaving?

  1. You say “WHAT?” about 10 times when he gives you a bear hug from behind, and you turn around and he’s there.
  2. You cook him his favorite foods.
  3. You listen to the foreign phrases he is practicing.
  4. You talk about things he has learned.
  5. You make sure he has enough warm blankets. You even steal them from other family member’s beds, because right now he is the special one.
  6. You play charades with the family — including a reenactment of the moment he surprised you.
  7. You take silly pictures.
  8. You talk about when he will come back.
  9. You pray with him and for him.
  10. You wait for a play-by-play of his next stops, and for the moment he lands.

 

{ Finally Learning or I Get to Go to School 11 Times }

We are finally in the 1970’s in homeschool history, and this will shine a spotlight on why — for us —  homeschooling has been the best way to go: 

this may be the first time in my life I will truly understand what was happening in my childhood when I was too young to comprehend or care. 

Questions like the following will be answered for all of us: 

  • What is Watergate and why did they call it that?
  • Where and what was Camp David?
  • Who was the Shah of Iran? 
  • Why did they put yellow ribbons all over fences and buildings?

As I assigned a few reports to my oldest homeschoolers yesterday, they didn’t get why I danced around the kitchen, singing “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree” and got busy reserving “All the President’s Men” from the library website. They didn’t understand why I told them to: “Write the first paragraph of the report like a newspaper article — like a summary; like “Watergate for Dummies.” Explain the start of the Islamic Republic of Iran like you were explaining it to a child. 

Hooray! I might finally understand all this stuff. More soon.

 ~~~~

Images:

Richard Nixon: Image by gfk DSGN from Pixabay

Foshay Tower, Minneapolis, MN.  January 25, 1981

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{ Life Lurches }

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Life Lurches

After traveling on level lands,

Like a train —

Life lurches.

Precarious and perpetual

Pressing through unknown tunnels

Hairpin turns and

Unexpected crossings.

Now the Conductor

Guides and glides into familiar flatness

So I roll along, resting

Awaiting the next corner.

 


 

photo ~ Antoine Beauvillain

lurch: make an abrupt, unsteady, uncontrolled movement or series of movements; stagger.

edited and reposted from August 2017

{ Frumpy in France }

My son is traveling overseas for the first time, and I prayed that it would be a glorious, life-changing trip for him.

Surrounded by church friends and armed with a confident, likable personality, I doubt he will be homesick and I hope he will have a grand experience. 

This morning’s happy bon voyage caused me to remember my first overseas experience, only 36 years ago….

June 1983

When I left my Midwest suburb, I thought I looked totally acceptable — even cool — in my preppy boat shoes, wide-striped rainbow polo and Kelly green chinos. My hair was freshly home-permed into a bushy, easy-care halo around my pudgy face. 

topsidersOur French teacher, Madame Fansler-Wald, headed up the trip to France, starting in Paris with a one week family stay. A series of pre-trip planning sessions told us what to pack and what to leave home: “Don’t pack too much! Leave lots of room for souvenirs.”

At that season of my life, I thought so little of makeup that I decided I would lighten my luggage by leaving makeup at home — all 3 ounces of it. 

When it was time to leave, my whole family could stand at the gate and wave goodbye, because this was the innocent, trusting 1980’s.  

Au revoir! See you in 3 weeks!

My hollow carry-on and I landed in Paris and each student was shuffled off for one week with their Parisian host family. 

Pascale DuClosel was my teen counterpart in the host family — she was short, dark and aloof. She sported a fashionable, cropped hairdo and wore mini skirts and high-heeled pumps. She lived in a stylish flat with her mother and father, who were also aloof but pleasant, and spoke less English than Pascale. 

That first night — and every night —  I sat alone in the sparse European guest bedroom and drew out my Bible.  Trying to ward off homesickness, I read big chunks of the comforting Psalms; they have been my best friend ever since.

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For breakfast we bought fresh, long loaves of French bread and ate them slathered with real butter and exquisitely lumpy marmalade. 

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Pascale showed me her neighborhood and some days we sat at the sidewalk cafe with her friends. It didn’t take long to soak in the fashionable, French atmosphere, and I recall the moment I saw my frumpy reflection in a shop window and looked down at my sensible shoes. 

Suddenly, I felt like a farm hand that had parachuted into an elegant, sophisticated party.

And, I must have missed the unit where Madame talked about French greeting customs.  Pascale’s friend Stephen said goodbye to me one afternoon with a typical double side-cheek air kiss; I cringe when I remember how I innocently turned my face at the wrong time, getting an unintended smack on the lips from Stephen and a scornful look from Pascale.

I was relieved when the host week was over, and we gathered as a group again. The rest of the trip was like a magical dream, visiting giant castles along the Loire River, touring Monet’s charming pink cottage and day-tripping into Switzerland to eat ice cream at sunset.

Before leaving France, I bought those souvenirs that were supposed to fill up my empty luggage. They included:  makeup, a light blue denim mini skirt, and one pair of pink and white leather pumps.

 

{ I’m Meant for Little Things }

I find myself wallowing in the memory of a handful of recent conversations about motherhood, watching children fly away, and stepping reluctantly into “The Afternoon of Life.”

(That’s a book, given to me by my daughter. I groaned when I saw it, but it’s actually just right for me…and funny, too.)

So, just now I scrawled out a poem — with sappy tears streaming down my face– and my 20-year old son comes in, unaware of my poignant tears, to get something from this room.

“Don’t mind me,” I say. “I’m just writing poetry that makes me cry.”

“Your OWN poetry is making you cry?”

“Yes. I’ll read it to you when I’m done.” 

(Maybe. If you’re lucky.)

I’m Meant for Little Things

Big things? No, I’m meant for little things — 

I’m the tapper of  a traveling stream of a thousand text messages and heart emojis, a hundred “are you almost homes?” and “luv yous”

I’m the tiny-Lego-helmet-finder and the “Where’s my Wallet?” wizard 

 

Big things? No, little things —

 

I’m the finger-mender of the glove that gets lost a day later at the hockey rink

An empty cupboard magician, a juggler of leftovers, and a make-do artist

I’m the queen of laundry

(my royal eyes have seen that same pair of underwear a hundred times)

 

Big things? No, little things —

 

I’m the hopefully-wise-advice-giver

The occasional hugger and everyday love-giver

The rambling-dream-listener —

A tea-maker, sick-fixer, peacemaker

And everyone’s personal spelling coach.

 

Big things? No, little things —

 

I’m piecing together my

slowly-growing-love-mosaic out of

lots of little things

While praying someday

they will all see the Big Picture.

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Photo:  Roman Kraft

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{ My Birthday Wrap-Up }

 

The girls and I got up early and snuck out to Ruby’s Roost,  a sweet little bakery with all the charm of a European sidewalk cafe. It’s run by an energetic family; I wonder how the mom / baker can be so model-skinny, even though she gets up before dawn and makes the most decadent pecan sweet rolls ever.

pecan stickies

We captured a quick photo; it was drizzling before the downpour:

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My husband and I ran out to a new local co-op for a smoothie…then I grabbed my free birthday drink at Caribou Coffee. 

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Flowers from my dear husband, who has joined me now for 30 birthdays ❤️

The best thing about my birthday this year was that it fell on a Saturday, and all of our working young adults were home…a rare day to cherish!

In the afternoon, we held Family Debates #1.

This new game was inspired by a raucously loud discussion 

 last week in the back of the van.

Everyone had a chance to debate a topic with a partner, and my husband and I picked a winner.

The one-minute debate topics included:

Which is more fun, snowboarding or longboarding? 

Which store is better, Aldi or Trader Joe’s?

Which is better, camping or watching sports? 

Which one is more fun, downhill skiing or swimming?

Which is better, almond milk or cow’s milk? 

(These topics are hotly debated at various times and with varying intensity throughout the year…)

Edible prizes were doled out to the winners.

And, everyone got a bonus prize at the end, just for participating, even though my husband thought that was a wimpy move…

…but, it was MY birthday.

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Thank you, God, for another year to live and love and serve my family!

So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. — Psalm 90:12