Back in the Saddle

Hi, there.

I've missed you people. I did need some time away, and please don't take it personally. I find you all very kind, very patient, and never once have I needed to clear your dirty dishes. You're perfect, really. But I needed to finish a novel, and thanks be to God, I did! WOOT WOOT and WOOTY WOOT. The Child is currently with my agent, who is shopping it around to publishers.

I know that sounds like Chip has a sheath of papers in a grocery cart and is trolling the streets of Manhattan, but he assures me it's much more professional than that. Less speedy, but more professional. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, nothing gets a girl back to blogging like this backyard vision:

That's correct. Chuckles is back. He loves me. He follows me, even when I move to a different house. He eats the foliage of any plant but roses. And he looks at me like I'm bothering him when I run out on the deck and scream at his little furry face.

But I think I speak for both of us when I say, darn it, we've missed you. Glad to be back.

Giving Thanks Anew

Hi, friends.

I've been out of the blogging loop and devoting any extra writing time to my new novel. :) Can't talk about it yet, but I'll keep you posted.

Thanksgiving is Thursday. In honor of a day devoted to gratitude, I thought I'd help you check in with Clara.

Remember Clara?

I just reread that first post and cried again, not any less hard than the day I wrote the words. (For the record, I did not cry during the Paris Hilton part. You should just scroll down.)

It's been nearly a year since I asked you to pray for my dear friend's little girl. Rachel and her husband Brian have soldiered through this year with honesty, grace, faith, and an abiding love for their daughter and for the God who created her.

Rachel wrote a beautiful post on Caring Bridge this week. I'd like to share it with you. Happy Thanksgiving, dear friends. Hug your babies today.

One Year

We are approaching the one year mark from the day our lives changed. It’s strange feeling it was so long ago and also just a moment past. I can still close my eyes and see the elevator doors opening on the 8th floor to a sign that said “oncology.”Clara is doing very well. She has graduated from PT and only has OT once every three weeks. We had her conference with her teacher this fall and heard about how she has fit right into her classroom. Partly due to some amazing tutoring, she is right on par scholastically with other kids her age. Remarkable considering she missed first grade almost completely.Her hair is coming in thick and dark. Her eyelashes are enviously long, her countenance sweet and cheerful. She is showing empathy beyond her years and a tenderness that defies the pain she’s gone through. I’m proud of her and thankful for a God who can make good come from all things.Her next check will be on December 12th. She will have a full PT check to make sure all is still well, an ultrasound, and a little post-treatment party with her doctors and nurses. Please continue to pray that Clara remains cancer free.This month we were afforded the absolutely delightful experience of a weekend away granted by Miracle of Mitch, a foundation here in MN that provides support to pediatric cancer families. They let us stay in a hotel in Bloomington, gave us points for the amusement park in the Mall of America, tickets to the aquarium under the mall, and fun money for restaurants. The kids had a sweet time playing at the hotel pool and just spending time together. Brian and I appreciated a weekend where we could pour into all three of them.We have also been granted a wish by the Make-A-Wish foundation! Clara wanted to see an ocean and a big forest so the team got together and are sending our family to California to see the Pacific and some of the giant sequoias. Clara was also selected to have a poster about her illness and wish displayed at the Mall of America rotunda during Make-A-Wish fundraising (the weekend after Thanksgiving and the first weekend of December). We’re VERY excited and starting to plan a trip this spring.Today is cold here with a high of 32. I was digging out Clara’s winter clothes for her this morning looking for a certain cozy pair of fleece-lined jeans. And I pulled out a shirt that had a clump of hair folded in it.

So I cried for a bit. Still crying, actually. It’s a slow recovery and mourning for me. I still have a cabinet of medicines and a three ring binder filled with medical information and blood test results. Last week I found a journal of Clara’s. She wrote a short story about puppies in October. In February she was writing a song with the chorus “you can’t say no, sometimes you just have to go.”A little crying each day, and hopefully a little healing each day. The one-year anniversary brings back lots of hard memories. Clara was sad this morning because the Christmas outfits I got her last year (that were her absolute favorite and most comfortable) are now too small. I remember having to take back the outfits I bought her last November and exchanging them for a size smaller because she was literally shrinking and a full size smaller by Christmas. Abbie occasionally asks if Clara is really done with chemo. She needs reassurance as much as I need to say ‘yes, she’s really done’ out loud. Stephen gets a quick look of fear when cancer is mentioned and then whispers to himself “she doesn’t have it anymore.” We’re all getting through this murky phase and the surprises it brings. This year Thanksgiving will be a little bit different. A little more thankful for health, for good doctors, for family, for friends, for the love of a Savior that doesn’t ever let go. I learned this past year things that I thought I knew last year. But this year … I have learned them deep in my gut. God is good. He is so good.

One of These Days

My children are growing like crazy. I realize this is not a scientific discovery to shake our world as we know it but it’s still a big deal to me. For one thing, their legs all seem super long. It’s getting a bit scrunchy in a twin bed to read stories at night, which is nothing but fantastic as this forces them to let me hug them and say stuff to embarrass them like, “Your feet are enormous!” and “I can’t believe you’ve stopped drooling on your pillow! You’re so grown up!”

In addition to long limbs, all three of them are becoming shockingly verbal. This sounds great and often is. I’m sure I’ll be thrilled the day they take their SATs. It can also be problematic (particularly since we’re still working on voice volume in public) and a wee bit irritating in small enclosed spaces.



But as I’m watching all this growth occur before my eyes, I feel this not-so-gentle tapping in my spirit, as if God is reminding me all the time to watch and listen, to soak up this season and feel every bit of the beauty and grace and longing and sadness. Our little familial world seems to change just a degree or two on its axis every day and when I start panicking about things moving too quickly, I feel that spirit-tap again, nudging me to pipe down and listen up. To take a deep breath when my day begins with a plunger and rubber gloves and ends with blotting red paint out of our carpet. (Honestly, I didn’t speak so kindly to the spirit-tap that day. That was a rough day.)

I know these days are fleeting. I can tell just by the super long legs around here. How I love these babes. What gifts they are to me! Oh, God of grace, let me treat time as precious and limited. I’m so grateful for this time, God, even the plunger days. Really, I am. You are so good to let me live this adventure with these people. Thank you for this abundance of good and perfect gifts.

While I'll Never Make It In The Fashion Biz, Part Deux

True confession: I watch Project Runway. I don’t watch a whole lot of TV, mostly because I’m very tired and irritable at night and I’ve found the best antidote to that condition is reading a good book and then falling asleep with it on my neck. But I do DVR Project Runway and I’m not sure if that makes me trashy or cool.

If there’s one thing Project Runway has taught me it’s that the line is very fine between trashy and cool. Take this outfit, for example:



It won accolades from the judges (with the exception of the pumpkin-inspired hair). Maybe I'm at a loss because I can't find my stilts, but even without the extra height, what is the draw here? Billowy teal top with rhinestones? I swear I wore that with "dress shorts" and a matching headband to my freshman homecoming dance.

And this might like fantastic for the average female:



But I don't think I have the neck for it.

My confusion with all this should surprise none of you. Remember my complete shock and horror with the skinny jean phenomenon? They’re back again this fall, which means the score is Fashion: 45, Kim: -5.

I’m trying to keep up, folks. But I don’t feel it’s going well. I just got used to pointy-toed heels and now they are OUT with a capital O. ROUNDED heels, people. Or maybe that was last season….

Really I need immunity for the next challenge. Immunity would be perfect. Can I at least have immunity for skinny jeans? I promise I’ll change out my pointy toes if I can keep wearing flared pants.

Also, you can have my car.

All in all, I think you’ll agree we both come out ahead.

Should I Be Worried?

Thea prayed with me before bed tonight and then informed me that God was “this big.” She made a big circle with her little arms.

I agreed. “At least that big, yes.”

“And Goliath was this big.” She made the circle incrementally smaller.

“Right. He was much smaller than God. But he made fun of God, didn’t he?”

She nodded gravely. “He was very naughty.” Pause. “God and Jesus wear cween (clean) clothes. But Goliath wore dirty clothes.”

Really? I’m not sure this is supported by Scripture. But, heck, we’re going to stick with the theme: Goliath=naughty. God=awesome.

One more jab before lights out. Thea said with certainty, “And Gowhyiff (Goliath) is dead. Dead, deady-dead.”

Score thus far-- God:1, Gowhyiff: 0.

Next up: Herod.

Perspective

Today’s post is meant to encourage those of you who are in the depths of despair. Anne of Green Gables used this phrase and rather freely, though I’m not sure any of her despair really warranted such theatrics. Which is exactly why I love Anne of Green Gables and am still hoping my hair will turn red and that I can live in Nova Scotia with my bosom friend, Diana Barry. Raspberry cordial, anyone?



Theatrics from Anne mouth are lovely, but I came across a little quotation that might not resound quite as deeply. I try not to involve myself in celebrity bashing because celebrities are real people with very real problems. I would hate having the life of a famous person and I get a little itchy just thinking about it. I am honestly looking around for calamine lotion right now, and that might not be merely the result of an angry mosquito who found me last night.

So I will not name the famous person who said the following words. Just know she was referring to a “nervous breakdown” she experienced after HER WISDOM TEETH WERE PULLED.

"I was down in the dumps about everything there for a while," she said. "Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom about things and have to get the most stressed-out just to feel better again. I got completely stressed-out and couldn't handle everything, and now I feel really in control."

I don’t have much to add. I hope you have not “hit rock bottom” today and that you feel you can “handle everything,” even teeth. You just remember this woman’s courage in the face of such hardship. May it inspire you to press on through poverty! Famine! Disease! Recessions! These things are nothing compared to wisdom teeth!

I love you people.

Act My Age

Can someone please clarify for me when I became a ma’am?

I am now fully a ma’am. As in, “Ma’am, is this your child we found running naked through the lobby?” Or “Ma’am, none of these clothes have been in fashion for the last decade. We cannot accept anything you own (or are presently wearing) at our consignment shop.”



I feel like there was a limbo period for this. Wasn’t there a time when I wasn’t a college student any more but I also wasn’t a ma’am? Maybe “miss?” Or “hottie?” Wait, no. That never happened. But I’m pretty sure there was a historical era in which I was young but not too young, smart but not wizened, muscular but not veiny.

Is anyone hearing me on this?

Today a fifteen-year-old girl flagged me down at the Dairy Barn as I was leaving. “Ma’am,” she called, and the scary part is I KNEW SHE WAS TALKING TO ME. I turned. “Ma’am, you might want all these slushies you just paid for.” Then she snorted when she laughed and I laughed too, without the snort. Silly ma’am! Paying for things and then leaving the Barn without taking them with her!

And so it begins. One day a ma’am, the next I’ll be asking the consignment shop to reconsider taking on my orthopedic shoes to sell. But they’re so comfortable…