Rocks In My Dryer

CUTENESS!

I just finished a fun little project for my daughter and I had to show you! I bought two short-sleeved t-shirts (child-sized), cut them off at empire waist level, and then sewed fabric below it for an easy sundress! Here's the first one...


It's a white t-shirt with bandana material for the skirt.

I also appliqued a bandana star on the chest

(here's an upclose look at that):

Here is the last one, a red t-shirt with a fun little polka-dot skirt:

I had enough fabric leftover to make a matching headband. You could use leftover fabric to make a hat, a hair scrunchie, bloomers, etc.





The best part of this little project, besides being fun and easy, is that I bought the two shirts on clearance for $1 each. Also, fabric was on sale, and I spent $1 on each cut. So these little sundresses cost a whopping $2 each. This was not my idea--credit for that goes to my good friend K who is, I hope, reading this (thank you, K!)

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Eyes On the Prize

My laptop died a painful death last week. A painful, long-overdue and noisy death. (As my husband pointed out, you know it's bad when your laptop is making the same noise as your box fan.) We knew it was a matter of time and had been holding off upgrading until the laptop met its end.

So it died on Thursday night, and my husband went to work the next morning with the promise of computer shopping that evening or the next day. No problem, I told him.

But by nine a.m, I had needed the Internet no fewer than 10 times, and I was astounded to realize what a part of my day it had become. Need to check school lunch menu? Click. Need to renew library books? Click. Check the forecast? Click. Pay a bill? Click. Talk to the teacher? Click.

My lunchtime routine of scrolling the headlines while the kids eat was shot to pieces. When I heard something on TV I wanted to investigate further, I was out of luck. My blogging friends were no doubt blogging earth-shattering news, and I was missing the boat. *Growl.*

By the end of the day I felt disconnected and unbelievably irritable. I was inconvenienced, big time, and my whole day seemed to drag. I was snappy with kids, short with the hubby, and I sent him out the door to Best Buy right after dinner with a kiss and a loud whisper: "DON'T COME HOME WITHOUT A COMPUTER." I'm telling you, I was a real peach on Friday.

I wondered to myself how moms had ever managed a family before the Internet. And I felt a little sheepish to think that I was so dependent on a piece of machinery. But then, I realized, a car is a piece of machinery. So is a dishwasher, and a microwave, and a dryer. Those things are at least as much a part of my day as my computer. I am surrounded by things that make my life more convenient.

And I realized, with more than a little shame, I am addicted to convenience.

When one little piece of the puzzle falls away, I find that coping is pretty tough. And I am mortified to see in myself how entitled I feel to all these things that make my life easier. Really, who do I think I am? I can quote with enthusiam verse after verse about casting all my cares on Christ, or coming to Him when I'm weary and burdened, but really--really--do I do it? Or am I tempted to let my sense of well-being come from the fact that my dryer has finished my laundry, my car has shuttled my kids home, and my Tivo has lined up a delightful evening with my husband?

It's easy to see why Scripture tells us that "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24). Because you and I, compared to the majority of the world, are rich. And how easy it is to shift our focus from relying on Him, and rely instead of the comforts of this world.

Only a handful of times in my life, God has knocked me so breathlessly on my back that I had no place to look but up at Him. No bail-outs, no short-cuts, no conveniences. It was hard--sheer anguish, actually. But in the heartache there was an undeniable sweetness in knowing that I had no choice but to place all my eggs in His basket. I had to trust Him with every fiber of my being. And it was good.

Do I long for another tragedy to send me running to His knees? No--I long for the spiritual maturity to sit at His knees with that kind of trust in the good times, the ecstatic times, the hum-drum times, and the inconvenient times. Do I think I should chuck my dishwasher and computer? Heavens, no--God placed me squarely in 21st century America, and that's just the life we're living these days. But I do know that He's calling me to look less at this flawed world, and more at Him.

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When all else fails, MEME.

Courtesy of my friend Chilihead....

1. What is your favorite movie line and why? Oh, so many, and every one of them is from Steel Magnolias:
"An ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure."
"I don't know how your insides are doin', but your hair is holdin' up just great."
"Yeah, he's a real gentleman--I bet he takes the dishes out of the sink before he pees in it."
"You are a boil on the butt of humanity!"
"There's a story there."

2. What is the worst movie you ever saw? The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl. To make things worse, my kids absolutely loved it.

3. How did you meet your significant other? Junior year in college--an organization we were involved in had a lock-in, and we both went. It was a huge group--probably over 150 people. We played one of those get-to-know you games where each person receives a sheet of paper divided into blocks. Each block says something like, "wears red underwear" or "has been to Europe". Then you have a set amount of time to find people who fit each category; the first one to complete a row or column wins, and you have to introduce the people you wrote down. One of the items was "blows their nose in the shower". When the winner stood up to introduce his people, he announced, "blows their nose in the shower....Mr. X (insert hubby's name here)." Hubby-to-be, who was all gross and sweaty from playing basketball with buddies, stood up and acted all goofy and junior high-ish, reveling in the gross-ness of it all. I sat across the room, and thought, "Ugh. What a jerk." And that is how I first laid eyes on the man o' my dreams. Needless to say, I got over my first impression.

4. How did you spend your 21st birthday? I honestly couldn't tell you. Evidently it wasn't very memorable.

5. What is your daily motto? "Onward and upward."

6. Do you use your watch, cell phone, or car clock to tell time? Cell phone or car clock. Or the mercy of strangers.

7. What's the last crafty project you tried? Did you actually finish it? Making beaded bookmarks also using shrinky-dink stuff to include profound quotes. I'm about halfway through with them.

8. What did you want to be when you grew up? Are you close? I wanted to be a reporter for the New York Times. Instead I blog about PTA, stomach viruses and diapers.

9. What's the stupidest thing you've admitted to in the last 24 hours? I do so many stupid things it's hard to keep track.

10. Coke or Pepsi? Diet Coke--the nectar of heaven.

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From the "fast, cheap and easy" files

TO-DIE-FOR MEXICAN CORNBREAD:
2 pkgs Jiffy cornbread mix
1 med onion, chopped
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1 can cream-style corn
1 1/2 cups sour cream
4 eggs, beaten
1/2 can of Rotel, drained
1/3 cup vegetable oil

Mix that together until it's a big gloppy mess (yes, that's the technical term). Pour into a greased 13x9 casserole dish, bake at 350 for 50-55 minutes. Your family will thank you.

EDITED TO ADD: Kim in Il was kind enough to remind me of a little factoid I should've remembered from brief stint living in the North: it's impossible (or at least difficult) to buy Rotel up there. To define, Rotel is a 10-ounce can of diced tomatoes and green chilies, packed in its own juice. It is HOT. But it's used in recipes, never by itself, so that usually reduces the hot-ness to a nice little kick. It's most famously used in cheese dip, poured into a big vat of melted Velveeta (yes, in the South we actually cook with Velveeta, another fact that startled my northern friends).

So if you can't find a can of Rotel, Kim, I guess a good substitution would be to prepare about a half cup of diced tomatoes and green chilies. Thanks for pointing that out.

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What My 14-Month Old Daughter Was Thinking At 1:30 This Morning

Mmmmmmm.....[stretch]...now THAT was a good sleep. I feel all rested and ready for the day! Wait a minute, why are the lights out? Don't they know it's morning? HELLO-O-O-O out there! Nobody? I'll try out my new singing ability and maybe they'll come get me. [Five minutes of singing]. Still nobody? Maybe they can't hear me; let's try this a little louder. [Five minutes of louder singing]. Ah, THERE we go. Good morning, Mom! Why so glum?

Oh, great! We're going over to the twin bed! Maybe we're going to tickle or play peek-a-boo. Lying down and cuddling? Well, okay, I can do that...[3 seconds later]...alright, that's enough. Mom....MOM! Why are your eyes closed? Maybe she'd like to try my pacifier. Open your mouth, Mom. No? Maybe you'd like it better if I stuck it in your eye. Or nose, maybe? How about your ears? No?

I know, watch this--if I crawl to the head of the bed I can drop my pacifier right down this little crack between the bed and the wall...wait a minute, it's gone! GONE! MOM! I must wail. Mom! You've got to....oh, no wait a minute, THAT is funny. Mom, you are crawling under the bed without opening your eyes--how do you do that?! Oh, I have to laugh out loud at that. Mom, don't you get the humor?

Your eyes are closed again. Mom, c'mon! I wonder how it would feel if I head-butted you? Ow, that smarted a little. Okay, let's try this--I'll kick the wall. Now THAT's a good sound. Look--the pictures rattle. Mom, you have to open your eyes and see this. What? You'er rolling over? Mom, you're missing the fun. Mom....MOM! Okay, that's it--I'm a little irritated now. And I'm going to cry until you roll back over and play with me. [Two minutes of crying].

Wait...what's that? DAD is here? Woo-hoo! Time for a par-tay! Mom...mom, where are you going? Mom? You're LEAVING THE ROOM? I don't like this one bit, and I will cry hysterically to make sure you know how I feel about your walking out of my presence. [4.2 seconds of crying]. Okay, Dad, I'm back. She's got some nerve, doesn't she?

Rocking chair? Okay, I'm game. Hey, watch this--if I lean a l l the way back and turn my head upside down...woo hoo! HEAD RUSH! That's funny. Dad, why aren't you laughing? Okay, we'll rock. Want me to sing a little? Glad to.

[Yawning] Mmmmm....you have to stop this rocking, Dad; it makes me a little tired. Really, stop. [Yawning]. Maybe I'll just put my head down for a quick second on your shoulder. [Eye rubbing]. Mmmmmmm......

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What Marriage Is

I'm reading a book called Blue Like Jazz. It's written by a young single man, and it's a series of essays about his journey through life and faith. There is a section on relationships, and he excerpts a play he wrote about a husband and wife who were on the brink of divorce after the death of their son. In a heartwrenching scene, the husband stands over the form of his sleeping wife. He is at the crossroads: will he stay and love her, or will he leave? As he contemplates this, he delivers a long soliloquy about the journey they've been on. His words describe the reality of marriage better than I've ever seen it written. It ends thus:

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God's own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.

Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller, pgs 149-150

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Love, Sweet Love

Scene: My kitchen
Characters: Me and my 7-year-old son
Time: Today, right after he got off the bus

Son: A girl on the bus said she loved me.
Me: Really? Who is she?
Son: I don't know. She's a kindergartener. [Mock wailing] Why, why does a kindergartener have to love me? [This is our dramatic child].
Me: Well, is she nice?
Son: No. She's crazy.
Me: Love makes us all a little crazy.
Son: Yeah, I already knew that.
Me: [Thinking to myself]. Um, how, precisely?

And so it begins. Today it's a kindergartener on the bus, and tomorrow I'm dancing at his wedding. Lord, I'm not ready for this.

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To Read

I love books.

I love the feeling of sweet despair when I walk into a library and know I will never--never--be able to read all those books.

I love buying a new book and hearing the soft crack of its spine when it's fully opened the first time, and the whisper-crisp fap-fap-fap of its pages first being thumbed through.

I love getting a used book and opening it to the whiff of musty shelves.

I love the unique crackle of a library book covered in that library plastic, and the smudges of hundreds, thousands of fingers who held it first.

I just really, really love books.

One of my more treasured possessions is a spiral-bound journal I keep on my Important Stuff Shelf. The journal is divided into two sections: the first is "Books I Have Read", the second is "Books To Read." As a combined list-maker and book-lover, I get a real thrill when I can write down a newly-read title in its appropriate section. I've been known to slog through an unpleasant volume for the sheer satisfation of writing it down at the end.

But a question pops its head up every so often, and I'd really love your input. Does listening to a book on CD count? Yes, I've absorbed the plot, I've learned the characters, I've visualized the setting, just as if you'd read it....but still, I haven't read it. As handy as an invention as book-listening may be, I think in my heart of hearts I can't actually welcome a title into the hallowed hall of my book journal unless my eyes were more involved than my ears.

What do you think?

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Did I really say this?

So, what's the craziest conversation you've had in the last 24 hours? Because I think I can probably top it. Yes, my friends, yesterday afternoon I explained to an eight-year-old boy why his pet hermit crab couldn't open up a savings account. (Extra points for doing it with a straight face).

Go ahead, try and top me!

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

It's a treat, this year, to celebrate a private man in a very public way.

My dad has done more great things in his life than any person I know, and he's the least likely to tell you about it. When a kid in town hasn't seen much of the world, my dad is the one who will take him to a Major League baseball game. When a boy is embarrassed that he doesn't have a car in which to take his date to the prom, my dad will loan him his. When the elderly ladies in the church want to see the Christmas lights, my dad warms up the van. When a friend is hurt, or lost, or even dying, my dad will sit with him and, in his quiet way, share about the Truth that set him free. When a pastor needs a friend, a kid needs a father, or a friend needs an ear, they all come to the same place....my dad.

I could write many more blog posts (and probably will) about what all can be accomplished with a heart as humble and willing as my dad's. But for today I'll just savor the pride that comes from announcing to the Blogworld what I've known all along: my dad is a hero.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.

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This ol' world got you down?

Then be encouraged by the sign posted outside a convenience store near my house:

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So maybe I'm spending too much time on the Internet?

When I was helping my son pack for swim lessons yesterday, I told him to be sure and get his "googles".

Y'all, I think I seriously need a nap.

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Great Things

This week I received the alumni magazine from the college I attended, in which I can see all the important things my former classmates have achieved. There are bank CEOs, college presidents, scores of lawyers, surgeons, jet-setting executives. And me. I smile when I imagine what my paragraph would look like:

Since launching her career, Shannon has changed 29,283 diapers, many of those without turning the light on. She can recite in their entirety over 2 dozen children's books, including (but not limited to), Goodnight Moon, Zoom City and Silly Sally (latest reports are that she make the accompanying animal voices for Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?) Her associates report that she can prepare a casserole, wipe a nose and double-check math homework simultaneously. She is unrivaled in the art of sewing on a Cub Scout patch.

Fifteen or twenty years ago I wouldn't have been impressed by such a list. I was going to do Great Things, you see. I would write a book, win a Pulitzer Prize, live in a huge city, marry late, make a lot of money, change the world. I wanted to be a mother, always, but I thought I would somehow tuck it in between the spaces of all those Great Things. My definition of "Great" came from...well, I'm not sure--the world? my college professors? Glamour Magazine?

I don't remember the day when my definition of "Great" began to change. It was a subtle shift, as my desire to be a mother grew and the desire for those other things began to pale in comparison. Falling in love with a wonderful man certainly sped things along. And before I knew it, I was the opposite of everything I once considered great--no salary, no career, no by-lines or title pages with my name on them. And somehow, that had become quite fine with me.

There were days, early in my motherhood journey, when I had flashes of wondering if I took the right path. I had many friends doing exciting, prestigious things, and I realized the likelihood that all the "dreams" I once held would not be realized. But those flashes came less often, and less often, until one day I was watching my oldest son read a book and I was nearly knocked over as the realization washed over me: he is my Great Thing. Loving him, training him, investing myself fully in him is the Greatest Thing I could've possibly done with my life.

Somewhere in our society, it's become a little "pathetic" to achieve your fulfillment by serving others. How has this happened? Shouldn't this be a character trait that is admirable? Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "When you serve another's dream, you will find your own fulfilled." Scripture says it even better: "So the last will be first, and the first will be last" Matthew 20:16.

So despite what the world, or college professors, or Glamour Magazine may have to say, I'll plug along and be thankful that God nudged me down the path that He knew would fulfill me most. My 14-month-old daughter learned to give kisses this morning, and she gave her first one to me. I think that's pretty Great.

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Sign #267 I need to get out a little more

I was watching the movie Spirit with my four-year-old son, and I caught myself thinking, "Gosh, that's gorgeous scenery. I wonder where they filmed that?"

Think about that one just a second.

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My Boy

Nobody knows what a boy is worth--

We'll have to wait and see.

But every man in a noble place

A boy once used to be.

--Author unknown

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