My Lovely Dwelling Place

The Eggnog Caper Have you ever wanted to not get out of bed?  On a quiet morning you think, “It’s relatively quiet.  Maybe no one will notice if I just stay in bed today.”  This is a delusional thought.  The only reason there is quiet at my house in the morning is because my sons’ stomachs haven’t woke them up yet.  The first thing heard is usually a dog barking or whining.  My room is on the main floor all the way on one side of the house.  The back door is downstairs where three boys sleep on the other side of the house.  Yet no one hears those dogs bark or whine but me.  The old lady who worked until midnight and averages six hours sleep on a good night is known to care for canine needs.  The robust, healthy males with nine hours under their belts could sleep until noon in a crowded basketball stadium that was on fire. Once I’ve braved the elements and fulfilled my furry friends’ expectations, I make some coffee.  With coffee in hand, I wander to the living room to read

I Remember Mama Everyone has a story.  What we do, how we see the world, how we react to our circumstances have a great deal to do with our story.  I’ve been thinking about my mom lately.  The things she used to do and say, her life – her story. She would have been ninety-two this year.  She didn’t have an easy life, maybe no one does.  She lived in perilous times, maybe we all do.  I remember an old radio on a shelf that my mom could tune to get French stations.  She would sing loud, with windows open so the neighbors could hear as she sang those French love songs.  The neighbors called her Frenchie, go figure. My mom was born in Le Havre, France.  She had a troubled childhood.  Her father committed a crime before she was born, so her early years were spent with her grandparents under a cloud of shame.  Later when her sister was born, she lived with her mother and step-dad.  She was resentful and gave them trouble galore.  She was strong-willed, mean, rebellious and defia

What?  Me Worry? Sixteen year old's generally want to drive.  This has been the bane of my existence for almost that many years.  Five of my kids are legal drivers.  As far as I’m concerned I’ve done my part for humanity.  When my number two son had his permit, we drove to the north side regularly to see a doctor there.  One morning, he asked if he could drive.  I innocently said, “Sure!”  Forty-five minutes on the Dan Ryan made me lose all confidence in the whole idea.  My son did fine, but I was a mess.  Call me a control freak, but student drivers shouldn’t drive on the Dan Ryan.  Heck, no one should drive on the Dan Ryan!  Ever since that fateful day, I loathe having to drive with one of my blessings.  I get anxious.  It is unbelievably hard to hand them the keys.  I’ve bargained with older siblings to take them out driving.  I’ve told my husband it was his job.  Of course, I feel guilty for not doing my part in ensuring a safe driver for the world.  After all a good

Little Faith I really don’t like camping.  I’m more of a soft bed kind of girl.  I don’t like bugs, heat, or spiders in the community shower.  For years, my husband has taken the kids camping.  They love it – burping, farting and not saying excuse me!  I love the quiet when they’re gone.  At first I couldn’t go, because I had a baby or someone under five years old.  My husband’s hard fast rule was: Five and up go camping, anyone else stays home with mom.  I was totally fine with this arrangement.  They could do all the testosterone induced reveling they liked, and I didn’t have to be a witness.  When I was a young kid, the neighbors took me camping.  A tornado blew through the area, and we had to flee in the night.  I awoke the next morning with a tick attached to my chest.  I remember screaming at the mirror.  My only camping experience as a child was rather dramatic.  When my last child turned five, my husband decided I simply must go along.  It was my birthday.  It rained t

Waiting So, I’m trying to slow down.  Instead of working all the time – professionally, for ministries, for homeschoolers, for whatever - I want to do less.  Instead of saying yes to everything, I hear myself say, “No!”, “Let me think about it…”, “I’ll need to pray about that one…” waiting for God to move in situations instead of hauling earth myself.  Watching the flowers grow, playing with my grandbaby, and being available should my adult children want to grace me with their presence.  Enjoying this moment in time, and the stages my dependent children are in right now instead of wondering where the time went. This is a big change for me.  I’m always thinking I should be doing something.  I could pick up more hours at work, develop professionally, and take some classes.  I could teach a class for that homeschool group, go on more field trips, and participate in another educational activity.  I could serve on that committee, work with that ministry, and help lead that women’s