Anna + ________

Anna: Sissy already knows she wants to marry Alex, but I still don't know who I'm going to marry. (sigh)

Jason: Yeah! Isn't that cool? I didn't know who I wanted to marry till I was like twenty!

Anna: Really?

Jason: Yeah!

Anna: Who was it?

Jason: (whispers) It was Mommy.

Anna: Really? Cool!

Extortion

So it turns out that having your car impounded isn't the greatest thing in the world. The towing company who impounded it would like us to pay twice the usual rate for the tow, plus $35 for each day they keep our van locked in their tow yard.

If we had no money to bail it out (which we would not have, were it not for divine providence) the ransom for the van would continue to rise $1,050 each month, until it would soon cost more to rescue it than to buy another van. At that point, they would auction it off, and we would never see it, or its contents (which are many, and varied in importance) again.

So basically, if your car happens to break down on the pass, and you happen to be poor, you lose your car. Forever. If you have money, or the connections to get the money, it's not a big deal. That seems an awful lot like taking advantage of the poor.

Serendipity

The title of the book that the girls just asked me to read:

How Many Trucks Can a Tow Truck Tow?

Providence, Continued

The lead pastor and staff sergeant took the truck up the pass, to tow our van back down the hill. They couldn't find it.

It had already been towed and impounded.

Meanwhile, Naiah, Jonah, and I braved the elements for a two-block trip to the pharmacy and the post office. In our mailbox we discovered a sizeable check from an old friend of Jason's. The note said to use what we needed and spend the rest on the church.

Alrighty then.

I think I like problems that God solves before we have them. Which, now that I think of it, would really be all of them.

Providence

Background: Four couples make up the core membership of our church plant. Three of the couples have three or more children, and therefore own two vehicles. Altogether, that's seven vehicles, when you include the fourth couple, who own one vehicle. Got it?

At the beginning of November, one vehicle, belonging to the lead pastor's family-- a truck, necessary for hauling wood and taking trash to the dump-- was out of commission. Bald tires.

So the staff sergeant's family happily shared the use of their truck with all of us.

In the middle of November, the staff sergeant's family lost their van (the same make and model as our van) to a potentially fatal crash. Black ice. Everyone was fine.

Since the truck wouldn't do for long trips to town, or carrying many of their five kids, a pastor in Chester loaned them his sedan, indefinitely.

In early December, when the staff sergeant and my husband drove the truck up into the forest for firewood, the truck hit a stump under the snow, and killed the transmission. No more truck.

A week before Christmas, my husband drove his car to work, and couldn't start it at lunchtime. It froze and threw a rod. Dead.

None of us had a truck to tow it home, so a total stranger from the Chester church drove 45 minutes to pick up a tow dolly at U-Haul, then the car at the courthouse, and pull it 30 minutes back to our house. He also volunteered to return the dolly the next morning. I met him, and his wife, on our front lawn. They smiled and said, "Merry Christmas."

The lead pastor's family was able to put new tires on their truck on Friday. They offered to take everyone's trash to the dump.

My husband decided to start taking the bus to work, rather than drive the van. But the bus wasn't running today (county holiday), so he took the van. It gave out halfway up the pass. The staff sergeant met him there, assessed the damage, and drove him to work in the borrowed sedan.

He has offered us the parts from their van, to repair ours.

Do you think, maybe, God is building some community here?

Good thing we live in a three-block span. That's walkable.

Hospitality

Last summer, I was blown away with how God could use silk flowers and candles and chocolate and frilly tablecloths to break through, for the first time, to the down-and-out teenage girls who come to the church plant. Those small considerations made people who don't even feel welcome in their own homes feel like they belonged somewhere, like they were wanted and loved. The events of that night moved hospitality from a sideline interest to a central kingdom tool, in my mind. And ever since then, it's a BIG deal to me.

So fast-forward to tonight, when circumstances conspired to derail my best laid plans for the youth Christmas service/party. It was cosmetic, really. The important elements were in place-- the nativity story, Christmas carols, with lyrics on Powerpoint, a horde of expectant teens and kids; it just looked wrong, slapdash. I couldn't set the tables or serve mulled cider or decorate the way I had planned.

So, rather than adjust like a rational person and let the little things go, I panicked. They'll think we don't care about them, I thought. They'll think we don't want them, that they're not as important as the adult guests. They're not welcome.

But once we started singing and marvelling at the story, from creation to ascension, I got over myself. The kids were enthralled. Nobody whispered or passed notes. Nobody seemed to notice the bare tables or lack of refreshments. They were too caught up in the Christ story.

Afterward, we shooed them over to the next room, where we slapped together a buffet of cookies and cupcakes and cider, and passed out the gift bags we had prepared. Our young guests were content. They were warm and welcome. The were loved, without all the stupid trappings I deemed so important. Heart hospitality was ever so much more valuable to them than the outward.

The Sling Is Dead

From the moment Naiah was born, she was perpetually glued to Mommy. GLUED. Thanks to the wonders of the sling, that was no big deal. I would just strap her on and go about my business. Everybody's happy.

Now that she's 18 months old, and developing other sundry interests (toilet papering the bathroom, bullying her big brother, attacking the DVD player. . . ) her need for constant contact has lessened, overall.

However, these last two days, for some reason (teething? holiday stress?), Naiah has reverted to her clingy ways.

Since I happen to have many items on my to-do list, I thought I'd just grab a few yards of fabric and sling her up and get on with my life. So I did.

Naiah: Mommy! I STUCK!

It's not quite the same, now that she can talk.

Like Today.

Some days were meant to be played in a minor key.

Clean Up Time

Jonah (3 years old) accompanied me to the restroom at WalMart.

He sat on the potty and glanced around at the muddy water and toilet paper and pistachios strewn across the floor.

"Mommy, could you clean up, please?"

Maybe = DEFINITELY!

At Saturday youth service. . .

Teen 1: Hey, Becky, can we go caroling this week? I want to go caroling! Will you take us?

Teen 2: Yeah! We should go caroling! What day are we going?

Me: Um. . .

Teen 3: Ooh, I want to go! When are we going? Can I bring my sisters?

Teen 4: I can't go on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday. How about Sunday?

Me: Um, that's tomorrow, and I think--

Teen 2: No, Monday night! After dark! 5:30! Is 5:30 okay?

Me: Well, maybe, but I haven't talked to--

Teen 2: Okay, see you then!

Teen 1: Bye!

Teen 4: I'm so excited!

At 5:30 p.m. tonight, ten kids show up at my door simultaneously. Why does this surprise me?

P.S. My husband was so sweet and understanding about me taking off tonight with a flock of kids in scarves and mittens. He even made Red Hot cider to warm us when we returned. Sigh.

P.P.S. Red Hot Cider

1 package Red Hots
1 gallon apple juice

Dump it in a crock pot and heat, stirring occasionally.

Tis the Season

Tease the season to be holly! Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!
Tease the season to be jolly! Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!

--Anna and Sarah, at Walmart, for one long hour

Eragon, the Movie?

Okay, I wasn't a die-hard fan of the book. The first few chapters have been decried by the author himself for being overwrought and immature. But by the time he finishes Eragon, Paolini has grown into a decent author, and when he wraps up Eldest, he's beginning to resemble an epic storyteller.

Then the movie. I have few words to describe the disgust. But I can say this:

DON'T SEE IT. DO NOT SEE IT. DON'T DON'T DON'T SEE IT.

The producers owe that Paolini kid a huge wad of cash for the new readership they have massacred.

Here's where they went wrong-- some dipstick in the production office put the SPECIAL EFFECTS GUY in the director's chair. So, you can probably imagine the maiming that went on in crucial scenes, basic plot elements, central characters, etc. What, oh what, were they thinking?

Beautiful CGI, though. Lovely CGI, with no story whatsoever.

I need to go scrub my brain now.

New Horizons

I bought my first carton of cigarettes today. They weren't mine. They were for my mother-in-law. Really.

Being the goody-two-shoes that I have perpetually been since toddlerhood, I have never bought or smoked a cigarette, and my entire experience with alchohol consists of one sip of seurat, and one sip of port at a vineyard in central Texas. (Yes, they do have vineyards in Texas, with bed-and-breakfasts run by delightful Afrikaners. And now you know.)

On my way to town, I mulled over how one goes about asking for and purchasing a carton of cigarettes from a locked cabinet behind the last checker at WalMart. I thought I might say, "Could I have a carton of Misty Lights 120's, please?" and smile and say, "They're for my mother-in-law."

But why do I have to tell him they aren't mine? I wondered.

Because I'm a goody-two-shoes, I replied. Buying cigarettes would tarnish my white-bread-Southern-Baptist image. Duh.

So I decided to just buy them, as though I did it all the time.

Attempt #1

I get in line to check out at WalMart. The store is closing, and each register has at least a ten minute wait. I head toward the checker at the cigarette counter. Then I notice the sign over his head. "Ten Items or Less." Nevermind. I choose a line two aisles away from the cigarette counter.

Fifteen minutes later, I check out. As she rings up the last items, I casually say, "Oh, and I need a carton of Misty Lights 120's, please."

She glares at me. Glares. "You can't do that here. You have to be in that line." She indicates the cigarette counter.

"But it says, 'Ten Items or Less' on that line."

"Yeah, but they'll still let you through."

"Okay. . ."

So I flip my cart of freshly checked merchandise around and stand in another line.

Attempt #2

Ten minutes later, I am face-to-face with a pimply high-schooler, perhaps 18 years of age, at MOST. He is nervous, because he has caught me staring in his direction for much of the fifteen minutes during which I stood in the first line.

I have studied. I have practiced. I am prepared.

"I'd like that carton of Misty Lights 120's, please," I say, in my most authoritative, yet courteous voice. He retrieves the carton, and places it on the counter between us. Success!

"May I see your I.D.?" he asks.

"Oh, um. . . It's in the van." (And I'm like 10 years older than you!) "I have my bank card. It has my picture on it." I hold it out. He doesn't look.

"You need I.D.," he says, in a surprisingly authoritative tone.

I feign annoyance. "Well, do any of the gas stations around here sell those by the carton?" Nice recovery.

"Um. . . yeah. Like all of them."

"Okay, then."

"Sorry."

Attempt #3

I pull into the USA gas station on my way home. Two scruffy men mill around the front counter, chatting with the clerk. They stare when I walk in.

I bravely approach.

"I'd like a carton of Misty Lights 120's." I declare.

"Got your I.D.?" he asks, frowning.

"In the van!" I dash out to the parking lot, grab my bag, and fish out the billfold. And I'm back, shoving my driver's license at him.

He holds it up to the light. Reads the date. Humphs. "1979," he reads, amused. He scrutinizes. "Summer Street. Ojai. Nice."

"Well, we're not there anymore." Did he just read my address? Oh yes, he did. The creepy fat guy with belly bulging out of his sweatshirt is reading my address. Thanks to my mad powers of procrastination, my OLD address. I'm so glad I procrastinate.

He gives me my license, and searches the cartons. "Misty Lights 120's?" he asks.

"Yeah." Finally. "Or Eve Lights 120's."

I have impressed him. "I haven't seen Eve Lights around here for years! I wonder what ever happened to them."

His friends wander off without saying good-bye. He hands me the carton. It's smooth and slim and blue.

"Those are my snowboarding partners." He waves toward the scruffy men.

"Oh," I say, trying to picture the fat man on a snowboard. "I've never tried it."

"Really?" he says. "It's so easy! You should try it!"

"Well, I've seen people much more athletic than I am suck at it."

"Aw, you don't have to be athletic. I'm a big, fat guy, and I do it. Thirty-three, forty-nine."

I chuckle. And hand over the cash. He gives me my prize.

"You have fun now," he says. Like I'm going to go party with my Misty Lights 120's. Seriously, they're just cigarettes, not hard liquor, folks.

"I will."

Sick Puppy

Jason had to leave court today (he clerks there), because he felt disoriented and nearly passed out. He came home with a high fever that hasn't budged after 1000 mg of ibuprofen. After he left work, a woman from H.R. put on a sanitary mask and Lysoled the entire building. I'm taking him to the doctor this afternoon. Bleh. Good thing his mommy is here.

Sugarplums

The kids have been listening to The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy again, and again, and again, on Starfall.com. They turn it on, and then run to the living room so I can watch them dance. The girls flit about like ballerinas, while the boy stomps and kicks like a Bolshevik, because "that's how boys dance."

Hey, it beats watching them tear around the house shrieking their lungs out. (It's been cold and rainy for a long time, and they're a little insane.) I guess music really does soothe the savage beast.

Talk, Talk, Talk

Sarah and Anna started an obnoxious round of knock-knock jokes at dinner tonight.

Sarah: Knock, knock!

Anna: Who's there?

Sarah: Juice.

Anna: Juice, who?

Sarah: I'm gonna drink some juice! I'm gonna eat some food! I'm gonna eat some table! I'm gonna eat somebody! I'm gonna eat some nose! I'm gonna eat an eye! I'm gonna--

Jason: You keep saying you're going to eat, but you're not. I think you're all talk.

Sarah: WHAT? Ha! I'm not all talk! That's the funniest joke of all, Daddy! Ha, ha, ha! I'm all talk! That's so funny! Ha, ha, ha! . . .

Aficionado

Wow.

-- Jonah, 3 years old, upon hearing Mozart today

Christmas Everywhere

We have plenty of fir trees growing around our neighborhood. Last night, we went for a walk with the kids.

Anna: Look at all the Christmas trees!

Sarah: They're OUTSIDE Christmas trees!

Another Blog Quiz

You paid attention during 100% of high school!

85-100% You must be an autodidact, because American high schools don't get scores that high! Good show, old chap!

Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz

Not really. But everybody thought I did.

Ambivalence

"Mommy, when you say 'maybe,' you're always right."

-- Sarah, age 5

Big Helpers

Anna, Sarah, and Naiah helped me put away all the groceries this afternoon. When we finished, I said, "Wow! When did you girls learn to be such good helpers?"

Anna replied, "When we were little kids, of course."

Pandora

I just made a radio station that only plays songs in a minor key. You've got to check this out!

You put in the name of a song or artist, and it creates a streaming selection of songs in that style, many of which you've probably never heard. It was started by the Music Genome Project, which researches the common denominators in differing types of music, and seeks to explain why people prefer certain styles over others.

My favorite Christmas stations are the ones I got when I put in "Oh Come, Oh Come, Immanuel" by Third Day, and "Let it Snow" by Bing Crosby.

It asks for feedback about which songs you enjoy or hate, and it adjusts the list accordingly. How cool is that?

Backseat Theology

Overheard in the van. . .

Anna: Jesus is God's Son.

Sarah: Sissy, Jesus IS God.

Anna: That's because He's God's Son.

Sarah: Yes. And Jesus is God's connector.

Anna: WHAT?

Sarah: I mean. . . Um. . . I think I was making a joke.

Words I Never Thought I'd Hear (This Soon)

"Jonah! Stop arguing with Naiah! "

Identical Again

It was so much easier to tell them apart when Sarah was the only one wearing glasses. Now that Anna's are fixed and Sarah's are pink again, I have to look twice.

Tag!

I've been tagged by SarahGrace to reveal five things I've never shared on this blog. Aye, aye, Cap'n!

1. I LOVE moving. Not the process itself, but leaving the familiar behind and starting over in a new place with new people.
2. I will feel like I have failed at life if I don't have at least one novel out by the time I'm 35. I'm working on a very intimidating one at the moment, but I think it has a chance of being completed.
3. I never use profanity, but I can't seem to keep it out of my fiction, and that bothers me.
4. I once took a solemn vow never to marry. A month later I was head-over-heels for this misogynist preacher boy from my theology classes, and feeling idiotic for vowing anything. That lasted exactly one month. After that I was off to Hong Kong for a semester, where I lived across the hall from my future husband and never dated him, until we were married. And the moral of the story: Don't make solemn vows in college.
5. I quit writing poetry because I realized no one reads it, except literary scholars, and because I'm losing faith in art for the sake of art.

I must be in a bad mood, because that's an awfully negative list. But there it is.

I'm Dreaming. . .

I finally got the tree up!
(And Naiah has already begun demolition.)

Are we excited yet?