SarahCOG's Xanga

Those without

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 22:31:29 GMT

A friend passed along a website where you can register to watch previews of shows - and the show currently was The Blind Side, about Michael Oher's life. I thoroughly enjoyed watching that with a friend just because it was a chance to get out of the house and go somewhere with a grown up and no kids, true. More than that, though, it was very moving.

Then I read John Grisham's The Street Lawyer, which I've read before, but we just unpacked it, and so I read it again. Entertaining, yes, but also convicting. Now I'm in the middle of reading One Hundred Girl's Mother.

There seems to be a running theme of compassion for and service to those without homes of their own - those who are oppressed. I'm wondering where God is pointing me - just making me more aware of where my kids' clothes can go when they grow out of them? Or something more?

And in late-breaking news...

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 05:00:34 GMT

After Bruce and I had been chatting for quite a while tonight - after he got home from work at 9:15 - I said, "I'm gonna check on Ruth - she looked really pale when I was in there to turn out the light."

Bruce hadn't seen her since 7:30 this morning, so we both went to check on Ruth, and she woke up enough to lean on Daddy and say hi, and start falling straight back to sleep. He was in an awkward position for her, so after a couple of minutes she shifted around, and sort of coughed, so I asked if she was thirsty, and she nodded, eyes still closed. I handed her the sippy cup and she turned so she could lie back on the pillow to drink. When she handed the cup back to me, she reported in a very sleepy, yet factual tone, pointing to her right nostril:

"It feels like there is chunks in this nose. So I was twisting my finger in it. All the time." *Sleep*

My husband, the substitute teacher.

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 03:14:25 GMT

Bruce taught his first day of getting paid teaching - he subbed right down the street from us, and rode his bike. On our way home from picking up Paul from his school, we drove along the front of the other school where kids were getting out, and there was Bruce doing yard duty! We honked and waved. I made that man an apple pie to celebrate. And he'll get to eat it as soon as he gets home from his other job - poor guy. In between his jobs, he talked to me and said that the teaching was really easy, and the people in the office were very nice. What a great way to start out!

I'm so grateful that we have insurance, and that Bruce is willing to work two jobs to make that happen while we wait for a full-time job of teaching (that will include benefits).

Paul was sick two weeks ago and pulled through nicely without needing to go to the doctor's office, but Ruth got sick this week and I took her in. She had a nagging, low grade "elevated temp." Some doctors think you can't call it a fever if it's not over 100. Whatever.

Yesterday I went ahead and kept her home from school, because she'd been awake for quite a while in the night, and even in the morning said that her head hurt. This morning she woke up all chipper, with 98.6 degrees. I thought, "Yes, she's going to school, Paul's going to school, Bruce is going to work: I'll have the morning to myself to run errands at whatever pace I like, without slowing down for the buckling and unbuckling of car seats, or with, if I so choose, the leisurely dawdling down a drugstore aisle without having to watch a child that wants to pick up and touch and wander off to find something more interesting." But then Ruth said her throat hurt, and her head still hurt sometimes.

Hmm. So I called the doctor's office to make an appointment and be sure that Ruth didn't have some kind of throat infection, and they were able to fit us in at 1 with the nurse practitioner (who was simply charming with Ruth). We had the morning ahead of us, and since she seemed to be so chipper, we went ahead and ran errands - paid rent, took books to the library (some of which were due yesterday - but Ruth was sicker then), and went to the drugstore and the grocery store. By the end of that, she looked a little grim - kind of glassy-eyed and the whites of her eyes were a little pink, and she was flushed. Her forehead was hot. So I was really glad I had scheduled an appointment.

When we got there, her temperature was 99.5 or so - really not hot, and she was pretty mellow again - could sleeping for the last ten minutes of the car ride have helped? Mmmmcould be. (She fell asleep later when we were taking Paul to soccer practice too. I made a point of getting her to bed earlier tonight.)

The NP said that her throat did show signs of post-nasal drip, so that was probably the cause of the sore throat. She did ask about the ongoing headache - confirming that there was no nausea or throwing up, no change in behavior, or walking strangely, or anything else that could suggest ominous reasons behind a headache. Just thinking about that creeps me out.

So we treat the symptoms - and the NP said that chicken noodle soup (if Ruth liked that) would feel good on her throat, so we went and bought Dora noodle soup, and I'd guess Ruth ate about half or more of a pretty full bowl, so that was encouraging. Tonight I gave her some Tylenol and some cough and cold stuff to help dry up the dripping while she's sleeping.

In completely other news, we are making progress in escrow. We'll be glad to be shut of the house. Well, Bruce and I will be glad. Paul and Ruth still miss it. They have only ever known that house.

But another reason to be glad to leave that house came up the other day when we got our power bill and could look at how much electricity and how much gas we used in the Bakersfield house (that we're not even in!) and how much here, in the duplex that we are actually living in. We used less here. How weird is that?

Well, Bruce is due home soon, so I'll sign off.

"Thank You" and "You're Welcome."

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 05:18:50 GMT

Today at Costco, standing in line, I noticed an older lady in a line over from us, stooping over and using her card to scoop together coins that had fallen on the cement. She was working at it long enough for me to notice and think, "Somebody should help her. Hmm. Maybe Paul could help her."

So I told Paul, "Paul, you see that lady trying to pick up her money? Go help her pick it up. Yeah, go help her."

So he went over and knelt down to get the last few ones that were giving her grief, and she held open the change purse part of her wallet for him to put them in, and then he stood up and started walking back to us. He was a few steps away before he realized that she was calling him back, and she handed him a coin. He stood very straight and said, "Thank you." When he was back to us, I told him, "Hey, I could tell that you said thank you to her. Good job. It was really nice of her to give you that coin." He answered, full of pleasure, "I said, 'Thank you,' and 'You're welcome.'"

As we walked out, she was finishing in her line too, and gave Paul a special smile and thanked him again.

It was a moment to warm a mother's heart.

seeds

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:35:50 GMT

The radish sprouts are up, and the carrots managed to start coming up over the weekend without my help (I was at a women's retreat with some great, great ladies). Yay for growing things.

And yay for a chance to think about seeds and think about a quote I heard several times this weekend about sowing your pain and frustration and disappointment and suffering in God, and not in yourself, and letting him bring his own crop of joy and peace from that. I'm still chewing on it. How do you sow into God?

Paul and Ruth stories: I went with the flow, and Secret Identity

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 03:56:58 GMT

The other day I was picking Paul up from school, and it was just Paul and I in the car.

He said, "I was chasing girls, and they were scared of me, because they thought I was a second grader, so I just went with the flow that I was a second grader, and I didn't confess that I was really in first grade, and so they were scared!" Then he went on to say that they had said he could bust down an iron door, but, he reflected, with a certain sort of pensive amusement, "I tried to break down a door and I couldn't really do it." More thoughtfulness: "I didn't confess that either yet. But I will. Someday."

In other Paul news, Paul had homework that was a connect-the-dot with numbers up to like 60 or something, with a Bible theme - the dots made a camel, and the question underneath was something like, "Jacob sent his servant on a _ _ _ _ _ to find a wife for Isaac." So Paul finished the picture, and I showed him where there was a spot for a five letter word. He chewed the end of his pencil, and then carefully sounded out, Q, U, E, S, T. Yup, that's what he went on all right. I'm not about to stand in the way of that.

This morning at the table it was just Ruth and I, while Paul was getting dressed. Ruth told me that she needed warm clothes because it was cold. She reported, "Seth had Super Warm Skin, and he said that he did, and Mrs. Brenda believed him, but I don't think he does. I think he's tricking me." She squinted one eye in a suspicious grimace: "I'll have to keep an eye on him." She went on to make plans for keeping an eye on Seth.

"I'll have to make a secret identity."

"I'll need wood, hammer, nails, and paint."

I asked her what she thought a secret identity was like, and she said it was something she was going to make, "a Super-O-Matic thing to dig in the ground, and dig to Seth's house and see him, and," she added gleefully, "it would have eyes on the back of its head to see boys following."

I forgot to write about an earlier time when Bruce was lying on the couch and Ruth was mothering him. She pulled a blanket up over his shoulders and said, "Time for bed, dear...tuck you up. Don't worry...just feel fine."

"Again?!?"

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 03:56:50 GMT

We said goodbye to Daddy for the weekend (hopefully the last one - he got the position at the C-co here (!), but is waiting for a specific date that the other one will release him). We went to soccer practice, and Paul seemed to enjoy it. He did get sweaty, for sure, and I saw him leap around with excitement when he accomplished what he was trying to do.

I had put Ruth's little bike (graciously given to us by the neighbors back in Bakersfield) in the trunk and she had her helmet, so she got to ride on the dirt off to the side of the field while Paul practiced. We also met a nice mom and toddler, and Ruth enjoyed telling the "baby" where the ball was and all that.

Paul really enjoyed the game last week. He said that he wanted to be the goalie, and I thought - hmm, what if he doesn't get to be? So we talked about that a little, that some other kid might be, or that an adult might even be, and that for sure he needed to tell his coach that he wanted to play goalie so that his coach would know. He did wind up playing goalie for a while, and made a couple of saves. That was exciting to see. My dad posted some pictures on facebook from the game.

During this past week we were laying out clothes for the next school day, and I mentioned that he should not wear his soccer shirt so we could keep it clean for this coming Saturday. He looked at me with puzzlement and said, "What's on Saturday?" I looked back at him with some puzzlement and said, "Your soccer game." His eyes got big and he said, "I get to play again?!?" I was grinning as I told him that he had five more games.

I'm so glad that we decided to try this out.

But, but I thought...Does it really matter what I thought?

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 05:07:56 GMT

Today I had a bad mom moment.

Last week, getting ready for church, I realized that I had not saved a church bulletin, and didn't know when the services started. I sort of thought that 9:45 was the time for the Sunday School, so I aimed for that.

Paul and I dropped Ruth off, and then we went upstairs to get him to his room, which was already started with loud worship (Paul, like me, doesn't like loud, but at least, thank goodness, it was a song I know he's familiar with), and then I walked down the doors to the restroom, and then came out to go down the stairs again. One of the teachers came out quickly to catch me and hand me a piece of paper which outlined the mission statement for the Sunday School, and at the bottom, it said, "It is mandatory that you stay on the church campus while your child is with us. This is for your child's safety!"

I thought to myself - I don't know where any of the classes are here for adults, and it appears there are two - one on Peter, and one on writing your life's story. I was already thinking about going to McDonald's to get a cuppa coffee and the paper, and just catch my breath. And I am looking at this paper, thinking about obedience to authorities, and "man was not made for the Sabbath, but the Sabbath was made for man, so take that, you persnickety little rules" and finally ended up with going to McDonald's. The kids were both fine, and all was well with the world.

This week I called our friends who attend there to see what they do during the Sunday School hour. They were planning to attend the church of the creekside, carrying fishpoles rather than Bibles this morning.

So this morning, after getting confused about needing to leave at 9:40 or needing to be there at 9:40 (I didn't figure it out till 9:30 that we needed to have left 5 minutes ago), and after dropping off the kids in their down-in-the-sunken-atrium room, and up-under-the-rafters room respectively, and checking where I'm supposed to get them (and, I thought, confirming that I didn't need to come back to walk each child over to some other place for the 11 o'clock hour), I thought, I'm not going to try to choose a possible class, and then find where it is, and then slink in late on my own this morning. I'm just not going to do it. I could make myself, but I'm not going to. Everything was fine last week, after all. (Ominous foreshadowing music...)

So. McDonald's, coffee, paper (four sections of coupons this week, thank you very much!), check the time, and think, "I'm going over to that Office Depot that's just down the street to buy printer paper so that I don't have to pirate the backs of old calendar pages to print out waiver forms for Lowe's projects - which I'm hoping didn't have enough personally identifying information to be dangerous to hand over [super ego holds up admonitory finger: "Maundering." Me: "Eh? Oh, right. Of course."]

Ahem. I went to Office Depot and got paper as well as distracted, but thought, "It's not that big a deal, since both kids are where they are supposed to be, and I'll get back in time to hear the sermon at least."

I walked into the church foyer, and there sits one of Paul's teachers and Paul, quietly waiting.

Multiple thoughts flickered through my head: "Crud, busted!" "What's going on?" "Please tell me he's not in trouble, just please tell me that." (Don't ask. Just don't. It's been a rough week) "Paul needs stability and predictability to help counteract the seismic shock of the move - what's he doing in here?" "Is he okay?"

Paul stands up and walks to me, holding out his arms, trying not to cry: "I thought you forgot me."

Okay. That's the crumbling feeling inside. That's the bad mom feeling.

The teacher says, "The kids come into the first part of church with their parents, to worship together as a family unit, building ever stronger bonds which will last through eternity, where were you, you creep?" Okay, she didn't say all that. She probably only said the part up to the first comma, and maybe the next three words.

She also said, "We finish at 10:40." I said, "I didn't know that." She said, "Well, I'm sorry we had miscommunication." And she left me comforting Paul on my lap as he sniffled into my neck. Bad mom. Bad mom.

So I comforted Paul and apologized for not knowing that I needed to come get him, and assured him that I would never leave him at church alone (alright that's exactly what I did, shut up, but I wasn't trying to abandon him, and that's what I meant and that's what he understood. I think.), and we talked about the music that they were still singing, especially when they got to "God of Wonders," which has lines about the galaxy and universe, and other space stuff like that which I thought might interest him. He wanted to go sit in the car, if we couldn't actually go home right then, until it was time to go get Ruth. I told him he could go to Children's Church when it was time for the K-2 kids to leave the sanctuary, or he could stay with me.

I thought, "Okay, given that he does need stability and predictability, which is going to the same Children's Church thing and meeting the same kids as often as we're here for the 11 o'clock, which I think we will be doing, even given that, still today, even more, he needs to know that I am right here. He may need to know that by seeing it in person, by leaning on me if he wants. It's enough to have dad out of town on weekends, he doesn't need to wonder in his most secret fears if mom is coming back too." We agreed that it would be okay to just stay there on the pew in the foyer, since I could still see and (kind of) hear the pastor through the plate glass, and we watched the kids go out when it was time, and nobody gave us the look of Disapproval of Nonconformity.

We got through the service with much less wriggling than we have been accustomed to in the few times it's been necessary for him to come into big church with us. He was able to draw for a while, and then lie down and put his head in my lap. At the end, as we stood for the benediction and then people began turning toward the rear (and us), Paul spotted his teacher. He was so excited. So we waited for her to come down the aisle, and then she saw us and said hello, and asked Paul about his picture and the words he'd written, and he was quite proud to talk about it, and to say, "I'll see you tomorrow," and hear her answer pleasantly, "I'll see you tomorrow too,"

So it all ended well enough.

And we all three (me and the kids) were sad to see that the snack cart had closed up after the 11 o'clock service was over (last week they got an oreo and ice water in a cup), so we decided to come home to graham crackers with Nutella (thanks Sarah Fuller for reminding me how good it is, and thanks Costco for carrying it). And the kids watched a DVD on the computer while I got lunch ready, and then we rested, and then they watched some more, and then we took a break and went and planted some of the flowers that we'd bought at Lowe's with our "10% off for your move" coupon. It was nice to be out in the backyard with the kids, and I think they were refreshed by the fresh air with no time limits such as they have at school. It was not exactly a throw-back to being out in the yard at our house in Bakersfield, yet it was still satisfying.

They gathered some of the little white quartz chunks left behind by some former tenant, and Ruth put them around her "flagpole" - a stick with dirt around to hold it up, which later became a "nest" - and Paul made a decorative ring around the King Flower, our lone, light orange, gerbera daisy, which was Paul's choice at the store. He did about two thirds of it, and then tried to bribe Ruth into finishing it. I stopped him and said, "If this is important to you then you need to finish it." He did.

We decided to have a space for vegetables (carrots, and radishes which Ruth generously told me that I could eat - even though she doesn't want to eat them, she definitely wants to plant them - why not.) and flowers on either side. The row of white alyssum with the row of alternating white and yellow mums would be the knights on the near side, and then in a regal row on the far side of the vegetables, the King flower would have two more Knights (more white alyssum) on either side of him. Behind the court will be the basil and some lemon thyme.

We planted as much as we wanted - the mums and herbs still need to get into the ground - and came in to watch a little more while Mama started dinner, and then Daddy came home, and we ate, and the kids got baths and into bed, and the world is canting back up towards righting itself.

Thank you God for forgiveness, for growing things, for family being all together under one roof.

The Life Train is Moving

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 05:26:07 GMT

I have been thinking, as we muddle through this tricky time, that we can get through this (this being moving incompletely, with some stuff still in Bakersfield, including the job (blech), and Paul's frustration and anger, and Ruth's clinginess, and coping with being single mom more than ever - because I thought that was supposed to be done when the credential was done) yeah, through all this, with a sense of being ill-used and put-upon and unfortunate and a martyr...or (and isn't that a hopeful word, right now?)...we could keep on praying and submit to the difficulties that we got ourselves into and the difficulties that are a normal part of life in this world and the difficulties that are a testing ground, or rather, submit to God as the one above all these, and seek to endure as graciously and gracefully as possible, looking for how we can be used of God even when it feels like we need to hoard and hunker down and clamp down on every resource whether time, money, space, personal comfort, or whatever.

I had been thinking that even before I read Bleak House - it is shaming to me, in the best way, to see how petty whining is, and how ugly despair.

And how wasteful, shriveling up a perfectly wholesome life (and blighting others connected with it), is procrastination that says, "When my real life begins, then I'll settle to making an earnest start at something meaningful." Sorry. This is it. This is the real life. It's going on with or without me, so I'd better jump on and pay attention.

So I will make myself go take a shower now so that I'm not scrambling to do it tomorrow morning when just trying to get both kids out the door to school by myself feels like a whirlwind with cows and barns looming through the tempest towards me. And I will put myself to bed (in my nice clean sheets, thank you) so that I'm not cranky single mom, or at least have a better shot at that goal of calm good-humor.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 19:36:03 GMT

So the house is officially on the market now. I checked the MLS, but it's not up there yet.

We have been praying that God would be in charge of doors being opened and closed. My mom prayed especially that the real estate agent would have very clear information for us about whether or not we could walk away with enough to move into another similar house, and about how quickly it could sell. The realtor came, and gave us a price range that will work, and said, "There's a time to strike. That time is now!" That was Thursday of last week. She had the papers for us to sign, and we asked, "If we were to put the house on the market next week, what would you say are the top priorities?" So we looked at the front of the house where I had started painting the bare wood under the eaves (it took a horrible long time for not a lot of evident progress), and at the torn indoor/outdoor carpeting on the front step, and the volunteer shrub stuff in the planter in front of the garage.

She said, "I know a painter who does very good work, and is reasonable. Would you like me to give him a call?" So she did, and he came over that very night to take a look and give an estimate. It was much more than we had thought, but they did a beautiful job, and it was done in one day, in time for the gardening guy. That was another guy our agent knew. She said, "He works in my yard and does a great job. He's a perfectionist. He doesn't usually work on the weekends, but I can call him and see if he's willing to come Saturday." He was willing, and worked hard all day. Now the planter in front of our garage is charming, with flowering shrubs and plain ones, and bark under all of it. It almost makes me wish we were staying. Al-most.

Bruce took out the old nasty carpet on the front step, and I made a paper pattern and then cut the new carpet and put it in, carefully working around the "feet" of the vertical slats and the "feet" of the end part of the side railing. That was a real test of perseverance. It was so hot and aggravating. It stinks to try to lay carpet when the only place to put your feet or knees is where you need to be working! But it's down now, glue and all. I've decided "Mastic" ought to be from the Spanish "mas" for "More" and "stic" for "Sticky." It's yechy stuff. But it does look good now.

I've been thinking about perseverance and being faithful in the little things, so that we can be trusted with bigger things. Last night before I went to bed, I looked at the little devotional I had taken from church - I usually don't take one, but this week I did. I read it, and then noticed the part at the top that said, "read this Scripture first." I looked it up, and it was that Scripture from Luke 16: 10-13 about one who is faithful with little will be faithful with much. Huh. I'm thinking I should be paying attention to this principle.

We mentioned to our neighbors, The Mayor of our cul-de-sac and his wife, that we were selling. Pretty soon the neighbor across the street was asking how much we were asking, since his friends had tried to buy the house next to them and just barely been outbid. I would be happy to sell to friends of friends to make them happy and get on our own way to be happy too.

We are praying for a quick sale and a good offer. And praying to keep on leaning on God through it all. We'll keep you updated.