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So, what form will Loudon's fountain take now that the old one has been torn out? It's my small town's pride and joy.

Buck and I are thinking water sculptures. Buck says he expects Obama with water flowing from his hands. My money's on Mayor Inky Swiney, hands folded behind him, arched back, spewing water from his mouth. Any other guesses?

I've been waiting for three weeks for the other shoe to drop with Tater. I know it will, and I thought it would be today.

Unbeknownst to me, Peace began his morning by chewing out his brothers for eating the last of the cereal he wanted. Then he cleaned their clocks about doing their animal chores improperly. Wise One and Tater joined forces against Peace's tyranny by telling me Peace had fed the goats in dirty buckets. Peace insisted the bins were clean. Someone was lyin', and I was irritated. Instead of eating breakfast before carting the clan off to swim team, I needed to check the sanitation of goat bowls which turned out to be clean after all.

As a result, I prepared for the big battle by asking Tater to stay home from swim practice with Dad and think the morning through. I asked, "Do you think you are going to need to pitch a fit about staying home? Do you think you'll need to break something, because you feel angry? Tell me, besides cleaning your room, what you will do till I come home?"

Tater reply stunned me, "I'll be fine. No big deal. It's just one swim practice. I'm going to read the book I started after I get done with my room."

I gave a sigh of relief as I climbed out of my armor and took the others to practice. Tater's room was better by the time I got home.

In a way it is humorous. In other ways it's sad. I took my son with attachment issues, Tater to the doc for a well person visit. When the doctor would ask a question, Tater's answers were off sometimes. For example:

Doc: Do you drink milk everyday?
Tater: Yes!
Me: Ummmm. Tell the doctor the last time you drank milk, cause I haven't seen it.
Tater: I drink it everyday. I had some the day before our campout.
Me: That was five days ago, so do you really drink milk everyday?
Tater: Almost. I drink it when it's chocolate.
Me: When do we ever buy chocolate milk?
Tater: Dad buys it sometimes, but never you.
Me: I can't remember if it was Christmas when Dad bought chocolate milk once. And Doc, just so you know, when this guy was a baby, he was allergic to milk, so he never developed a taste for it. He tells me he doesn't like milk.
Doc: Well, he needs calcium and vitamin D from some source. How about orange just enriched with vitamin D?
Tater: I drink that all the time.

At which point I shut my mouth tightly and started my own inner dialogue to get back to what actually happens on planet earth, "We certainly don't buy orange juice all the time either, but this is gonna come across as weird if I keep up this nutty banter in front of the doctor. The physician just wants to be sure he's getting his vitamins in somewhere, and he eats enough good food for that to happen."

Later there was this question-

Doc: What's this scar on your belly?
Tater: It's a bruise from where a kid and I were playing rough at Scouts the other day.
Me: Honey, it's from that nasty infection you got this last year.
Tater: No, it isn't. I got it from Cade when...

Man, I do not understand why the simple truth doesn't work for my son. It's that crazy lying symptom, and I pray someday he'll find his way out of it.

I bulldozed my daughter's wreck of a room today for eleven hours. The result? One packed bag of trash. Two generous bags of toys. I love that she actually easily gives up toys on her own, because she knows she's moved on from them. Three stuffed bags of size six girl's winter clothing. Need 'em? My whole body aches from all the up and down. Heck, I even swept the ceiling. If you are Pooh Bear's friend, I'm giving fair warning, better come over quick, before she starts her next horrific mess, I mean, craft project. It won't last.

Pooh Bear is prancing and dancing about. She keeps kissing and thanking me. Apparently, it's been a long time since we've cleaned in there. Perhaps it was purged last the middle ages?

And just so you know, the carefully placed butterfly rug in the middle of the room hides the blue, yellow, and green permanent marker stains on the carpet. Not worry, there's all kinds of decoy spots here and there I tried unsuccessfully to scrub up to distract from the oddly placed winged rug.

Buck fueled my efforts with eggless flourless peanut butter cookies, which are yummy by the way.

Buck's job today involved grooming our poor unattended Great Pyr, Ripley. And as always, there is enough fur to make another dog if anyone would so desire.

Our neighbor asked if he could Bobcat our very long gravel driveway to the tune of sixty-five big bucks an hour. We jumped on it, because it's been a groovy road in all the wrong ways since all the spring rains.

Very productive day at the Vyne home. What have you done today?

Okay, with all this allergy stuff happnin' to my body I've had a major blessing from my friend, Lynk. She met with me for a few hours yesterday encouraging me from despair to the new journey I'm embarked upon with food. She positively loves to cook and explore new foods. I don't, but her inspiration moved me forward. She has her own crazy list of food allergies and is very creative about substitutions. She taught me how to look at a recipe with new eyes as she introduced me to agave, coconut milk, xantham, quinoa, and agar. Stuff I may have heard about but had no use for in the past. Looks like these will become my new buds now. The normal egg replacers include soy and simply won't work for me. And let me tell you, sisters and brothers, everything on earth that's pre-made has corn in some form hidden within. I'll be cooking from scratch and watching every ingredient like a father watches his daughter's first boyfriend.

Lynk also says she wants me to come over and we'll develop a recipe together, maybe not for bread, but for a cracker of some sort. It'll be so lovely to have something crunchy on queue. I miss bread like a sports nut's wife misses her husband during football season- always present, but just out of reach.
Lynk will also take me shopping in a health food grocery store to look for further options.

So, it's overwhelming and humbling to know a person who'll literally walk beside me on my unchartered path. Applause to Lynk- another new hero of mine.

p.s. Buck is making me flourless peanut butter cookies substituting homemade applesauce for eggs. Hope it works. I haven't had a cookie for months!

List of possible food allergies on my blog in case I lose the sheet my doc gave me yesterday:

egg white
egg yolk
wheat
corn
oats
cow's milk
rice
shrimp
almond
walnut
mushrooms
carrots
navy beans
green peas
sweet potato
white potato
cottonseed
flax seed
lettuce
celery
ginger
soybean
pineapple
lima bean
green olives
green peppers
squash
broccoli
watermelon
cashew nut
hazel nut
malt
cabbage
brazil nut

Doesn't look so bad once you get past the American diet infused with the milk, corn, wheat, soy, egg, rice, and potatoes. I can still have good old water, so life is good.

Our cat, Patches, is very annoyed. Two and a half weeks ago, he had his nasty blind eye removed due to circumstances too gross for blog readers to endure. Anyhow, the vet sewed the fur shut from temple to cheek and left him looking very much like an ugly cat pirate.

The stitches popped open in the middle, and Patches had be to re-sewn and kept overnight. Again. And then a third time. He's angry due to the Elizabethan collar he must parade around wearing. Humiliated in fact. He refuses eye contact and sulks. A friend mentioned that animals consider it "the cone of shame".

In the day home between stitches he gained an entire pound. Methinks he refuses to eat or drink at the mean ole' vet's office.

Patches is old as dirt but tough as nails. My prayer is that he'll make it through all this healing and dies a happy sudden death laying in his favorite spot- in the warm summer sun on the front sidewalk.

Hold on, folks. It's always a wild ride 'round here. I remember reading a post from Living with RAD about not scheduling anything for the week after school for Brenda's radlets, because the transition is difficult. I thought to myself, "Well, good. She knows and follows her children's needs." Here's what I should have thought, "Hmmmm. This wise woman has been parenting RAD kids for years. She knows what's around the corner, and I should take note and learn from her. Hell is gonna break loose here too the day school is over."

But I didn't.

I was caught unawares. Mostly, because my radish hasn't been to school in six years. He came home the Friday after school concluded, and wigged out for three days straight. He balked at any every day pleasantry and piled on insult to injury with every family member. He immediately went from thirteen to three when "the school's out" bell rang. At one point, he produced a screaming fit and kicked a hole in the dry wall in his room, because we simply asked him to go to bed.

And I, being naive, had made a zillion fun plans for the next day and the next week. Much to everyone's disappointment including my own, I started canceling plans (yet again) for Tater and myself knowing we'd taken ten giant steps backward for no apparent reason. Who wants to hang around a five foot four angry toddler?

Somewhere around Sunday, when the rest of my family returned from fun weekend plans sans Tater and I, the lights flew on inside my head about Brenda's post, and the puzzle pieces fell into place. I understood Tater's anger came from having to be away from his school friends for the long stretch of summer, and that he doesn't have the ability to compute the opportunities of swim team, trips to visit with old friends and family, football practice, sleeping in, biking, hiking, ice cream outings, and the like for the lazy days of summer. To Buck I explained all this and the fact that Tater probably wouldn't be ready for our big trip to out-of-town family get togethers in two days time. Buck literally cried and wished for a family "who could just do fun things together." At that point, there was not fun to be had with Tater- just arguments, disregard and disdain for parents and siblings alike. I couldn't imagine subjecting any of us to five hours trapped in a van with the raging bull, and much to Buck's chagrin, we constructed a new plan for Tater and I to stay home from the graduation gala and birthday parties altogether, and for Buck to take the others for fewer days. Buck became somber while I tried to stay positive for Buck's sake. Tater instantly sniffed the shift of events in the air and suddenly began to ask questions about packing. When we replied, "We'll let you know if and when we need you to do that." He retorted, "I'd hate to have Mom miss going on our trip because of me."

It's so true that words don't work with RAD, and these children can and do make connections themselves if we'll let them.

Then his behavior turned around on a dime. He went from complaining and demanding his every whim to "Can I help you do anything, Mom? What do you need Dad?" and "Though I'm missing my friends from school, I don't need to take it out on you guys" for the next the next three days. When we hit a bump on the day before our trip, I asked, "Do you think having your way is worth missing summer activities?", and he skipped merrily back to the yellow brick road of the Big Six. In fact, he's miraculously managed the Road to Oz for a week now on our trip and back home.

Man, I wish I had this all figured out. My crystal ball reads a cloudy future. It could go any way. However, when Brenda posts what to expect in the future, I'll be more ready to take it to heart.

New ideas here.
and here.

Memorial Day

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The irony of "Amazing Love" sung during worship at my church yesterday did not escape me. It's a song I learned from Jason Hovater, a worship leader from my former church who was killed this last year serving in the United States Army in Afghanistan. I could hardly join in the melody due to the lump forming in my throat. Memorial Day weekend became instantly more meaningful to me in that moment.

I had already been made painfully aware of the coming holiday on Thursday evening. I assisted the little guys for swim team when Coach Rob alerted me to be watchful of an Iraq veteran would had need of a special chair to enter the pool which sat near our practice lanes. I expected to see a hobbling yet proud man slowly limping toward us. Instead, my breath was taken away when I realized the boy, maybe 18 or 19, being pushed in a wheelchair represented an injured war vet! His limbs were drawn in, purple from lack of use, and hanging like stretched dough. I was in the water with the brand spanking new wiggly swimmers, or I'd have gotten out to look him in the eye and thank him for his service to our country. I'm resolved if I see him there again to find someone to watch the kids if I'm helping so I might do so.

The words to "Amazing Love" struck me in a particular way this Memorial Day. "Amazing love, how can it be? That you my king should die for me. Amazing love. I know it's true, and it's my joy to honor you." Sunday, I also inserted "friend" next to King Jesus for these vets wounded and killed. It's amazing love that soldiers position themselves on the front lines to die for me, our country, each day. I remember and honor you.

While I was home moping, because someone needed to stay home after Tater did have a nuclear reactor core meltdown to an everyday situation, the rest of my family went to Helen and Clay's part of the world for The Wine and Swine Event. You know what I'm talking about, the winery in Jamestown which has a wine tasting and hog roast to boot? Tennesseans sure know how to throw a party, don't they? Well, Buck shared with me a little story from the day. Some young girls approached Buck announcing, "Our dad wants to talk to you, because your boys waz makin' fun of us."
Buck says, "Tell your dad he is welcome to talk to me." The girls ran down and spoke to a man Buck described as looking both drunk and mean. They returned, hands on hips, "My dad wants You to come to HIM!"
I'm thinking I might have screamed like and Apache for our kids to make a mad dash for the van, but Buck, instead, rolled his eyes and walked down toward the angry man with my children in tow!
"What seems to be the problem?" Buck calmly asked.
"Your boys was hollerin' and making fun of my girls," he spat.
Buck allowed our boys to answer, "Since your girls were throwing ROCKS at us, we decided to laugh at them for missing us."
Buck noticed the man was not moved, and in fact, was looking for a way to start a man fight,so Buck quickly got the boys to apologize. Then the little girls came clean without their daddy's prompting for hurling stones.
Buck took the opportunity to skeedaddle out there fast before he had need of his excellent ninja skills.

Molly's back, and I'm happy.

Summer Finishes and Starts

As my husband helped me ear candle(didn't help) this morning, Peace sat beside me looking up and reading aloud the dangers of such things in google searches. I was already quite anxious about inserting a flaming candle into my ear. Eye roll.

And I helped set summer goals with each child this morning. Peace wants to concentrate on Life Rank for Scouts and cross country. He also has honors summer assignments for English and Algebra II. Wise One will finish his unfinished homeschool. Peace and Wise One agreed to memorize the Periodic Table of Elements together. We selected spiritual development books for each. Pooh Bear is the official summer sandwich maker. She took orders in a notebook at 9:30 a.m. from everyone. Then sighed and watched the clock till I finally said she could prepare them at 11:52. What an earnest person.

I've been rehearsing for two days now not hollerin' about the grades Tater will bring home on his report card this afternoon. It's a matter of keeping my yapper entirely shut on the matter. Tater will be completely undone if he doesn't make the grades to play football, and me yammering will not help the boy heal. I asked him these questions to hopefully get him processing yesterday morning, "What kind of grades do you think you'll get on this report card? How do you think you'll react? What are the consequences of low grades? Will you melt down if it turns out they are not good enough to play football?"

He told me he'd blow up if he couldn't play. He said he'll be very angry, and he'll be sure we all know it. His ugly is down right frightening. Yep, that's why I brought it up, so hopefully he could think of a way to be sad without hurting us. I called our therapeutic respite provider to get advice on handling a big blast and to give her a heads up we might need her help.

After school yesterday, I asked, "Do you still think you are going to have a meltdown tomorrow if your grades are too low?"

He replied, "No, I've been thinking about it. I will have earned those grades myself, and I think I can trust when I do better you'll let me play though it may not be next year."

You coulda knocked me over with a feather!

Still I'm practicing my own unnatural and contrived gentle reaction to seeing stinky grades attached to my brilliant son. In my minds eyes, when I want to roar at him, "You could do so much better than this!", I'm picturing Aslan's face in all his confidence and those loving eyes while he holds his furry jaw tightly closed. I'm Aslan today. Hopefully.

update: While Tater's grades were not great, they are decent enough to play football.

What did you say?

Tuesday morning in my room while I'm getting ready to tutor at the homeschool co-op
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Wise One: I know you are going to say no, but may I pack taquitos for lunch?

Me: Why wouldn't I let you have a taquito in your lunch? Sure, go ahead. You must be feelin' a little Mexican today.

Wise One: Huh? Did you just say yes?

Me: Yes. Knock yourself out.

Wise One: (pumps fist mysteriously enthusiastically) YES!

Lunchtime at the co-op. I overhear
Wise One from across the room chatting with his friends.

Wise One: You want some? I have no idea why she let me bring it. She usually won't even let me eat it unless it's cooked. I can't believe she let me pack it in my lunch!

Me: (calling from across the room) What exactly did I let you pack?

Wise One: Cookie dough!

Me: Cookie dough? Cookie dough! Cookie dough. Ta-key-toe. Ta-key-toe. Heavens sakes! Do NOT eat that raw cookie dough. And I might make that Ear, Nose, Throat appointment my allergist recommended after all.

I've been thinking about the word frenemy.

Someone asked to be my friend on Facebook whom I remember quite distinctly taking every opportunity in real life many many years ago to undo me. He was the kind of guy who tried everyday to trick me out of my twinkie at snack time and laughed out loud at me when I fell for it. Yep, I was Gullible with a capital "G", and he was an opportunist.

So, now I'm puzzled. Last time I saw him, and yes, there was no missing the spectacle of him in that crowd, he did not speak to me. I didn't seek him out either, because, ya know, I don't go lookin' for trouble. I'm still at grave risk of falling prey to malicious schemes due to my foundational belief that everyone can become the better person. Which is why I naively said, "Yes" to his friend request. Am I a fool? I'll take my chances. I've been picked on before and still have a large capacity for forgiveness. One of my old buddies has an ax to grind with me and has been known to scrupulously wield it my way on Facebook.

Bring. It. On.

Kindness always wins. Revenge is for sissies.

I thought I would die if it ever happened to me, but here I am still alive, breathing in and out as usual. My pride may have a nice hunk torn out of it, but I'm mostly intact otherwise. I figured out a very long time ago that any "I'll never do thats" square up like ghosts ready for a haunt. My personal Dicken's apparitions have sauntered around me freely for years now.


I've done a lot of things right over the course of the last year. From the moment my husband came home from the party last summer where a complete stranger asked if our son had Reactive Attachment Disorder to now, we've been on a good path. I shudder to think where we be if we hadn't discovered a way to really address the deep issues of my boy. I've read a zillion books on the subject. We've found good counselors. We stuck Tater in middle school a few months ago after six years of white knuckling through home schooling.

Here's what I know I really got right. Before I put Tater in school, I met with the vice principal to talk to her about RAD and particularly my son. It's no easy thing to explain that, though a person is 13, he is never left unsupervised. I recall stumbling over words to assure her that he's emotionally a toddler, stuck in pain and grief, and that in many ways, life needs to be as simple for him as a toddler. She volleyed back to me that the school had already had a RAD child, and in her kind manner, informed me that the child didn't last at the school. I appreciated her candor. I shoved a stack of phone numbers at the vice principal. I begged her to call my husband, myself, or the counselors anytime.

Next,I asked for a meeting with all his teachers immediately upon enrollment though it took a few weeks to occur. I toyed with ideas of what to say and wrote many notes ahead of time, working through what teachers might need to know. Did they need to hear details of chaos and destruction storming in his soul? I came to a wise decision just to keep it simple. Since I'd already gone deeply into RAD issues with the vice principal who seemed to get "it", I did not feel a need to do much more than give the teachers phone numbers, suggest a single teacher resource on RAD, and query one big question at the meeting, "What can I do to support you as the teachers of my son?" The sweet and capable teachers gave me a flurry of glowing reports on my charming boy. I kept my peace and my mouth tightly closed about the difficulty of living with RAD. I walked out in great confidence and have held that same confidence as we've interacted along the last few months on a regular basis. I'd shown my best and gotten their best in return. Love how that works.



So back to my spooks. One of my arrogant "It will never happen to me, because I'm so great" chickens came home to roost today. The vice principal called to report Tater had gotten three days of in-school-suspension for ganging up with two boys and repeatedly "play" slapping another boy in the face as he protested loudly. Ironic about the bully post I wrote recently isn't it? I remember thinking while writing, "It's whole 'nother post on bullying and RAD." All this is to say how incredibly glad I'd already been to the vice principal months ago instead of pretending "perfect family".

A part of me is horrified that I've raised a child who simply doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself as he gallops up on eighth grade. Another part of me is relieved, because he's shown at school, what we experience daily at home- lack of impulse control and a general disregard for others.

Either way, I handled the phone call with terrific grace. "Thanks for letting me know" to the vice principal and a positive reply to my son's, "I'm really embarrassed about what I did. I'll take whatever punishment you have at home for me." What were my words to him? A gentle, "I think they got it handled at school, sweetie. See ya when you get home." See, round here, it ain't punishment. It ain't rewards neither, no how. Rewards and punishment are external, and we are working on the internal. He punishes himself enough through self sabotage. He doesn't need to be rewarded, because we truly love him as he is. Faults and all. And this child above all others allows me to experience immense humility in parenting.

However, I am sad for Tater's losses. He was headed on a fun field trip to Wonderworks next week with his class, but the suspension will now prohibit his attendance. Also, I wonder if he's snuffed his great big football dreams for next fall- not sure school policy for disciplinary action effects eligibility. Then there's the larger concern that the school will one day ask him to attend his zoned school instead of theirs, but I don't have to play "what ifs" with that just yet.

On a related note: This morning I heard Ira Glass from This American Life is interviewing a family Saturday who almost disrupted the adoption of their son three times. Adoption is no picnic or walk through the blooming roses. And just to be clear, I have no regrets that we answered our call to adopt. I knew it from the time I was a child that it was my destiny to love the unlovely.

Buck's sweet Uncle Martin passed away quite unexpectedly in his sleep Sunday morning, so our fam could use your prayers. I believe I'm going to stay home with all the kids and take care of biz while Buck makes the long drive alone to Pennsylvania for the funeral. Peace and Tater have finals next week. Pooh Bear has a dance recital, and Wise One doesn't want to miss his last sixth grade youth group night. Also, I couldn't imagine any person willing to apply meds to our one-eyed cat whose blind eye is oozing and also to the goatie with scours.

It's a hard decision to make for me not to go. Maybe I'll celebrate Uncle Martin's life here in some small way. He was a fun loving man with a beautiful family who will miss him terribly.

And Pooh Bear wants to invite anyone to her performance Friday night beginning promptly at 6 pm at our church. It's a free event and will be splendid.

Bullying

When my son Peace was eight, he came home from vacation Bible school at church and explained to me that he'd been bullied by a five year old whom he did not know. The the spunky, mean little kid was a head shorter than him, but he kept after Peace the entire evening and had my boy cowering in a corner like a cornered cockroach about to be squashed by a shiny and black pointy toe on a high heel. I remember taking this as a terrific opportunity for Peace to learn and practice anti-bullying skills. First I made Peace understand how an entire demeanor can project "victim" by role playing the part with him. Next, I taught him how to puff up his chest, move towards the offender, and firmly state, "You stop it right now!"

Apparently, he's learned well. Peace tells me from time to time about high school jerks looking for trouble. He's gone right up to a complete stranger in the library muttering cuss words near him and stood his ground, "Hey, say it just a little louder. The librarian can't hear you." His I-mean-business approach sent that guy high tailing it out the glass doors. Another acquaintance of Peace became offended by Peace asking him not to have his trash talkin' friends around. The classmate began to escalate his behavior toward Peace into bullying. When the young man tried to knock Peace's books from his hands, Peace stepped forward and said sternly, "That was brilliant. Better NOT happen again." And it didn't. In fact, the kid has become down right friendly with Peace.

I watched Oprah today on the subject, and dog gone! The therapist taught a child on the show the same strategies I taught my son seven years ago. Thank God it was none of that wussy "Just ignore it, and it will go away" stuff. I won't abide bullying.
Goodness, two weeks ago, I watched an older boy scorn another child's reading skills in my class. I stopped what I was doing to have a not-on-my-watch chat with him.

Oprah's show opened with two mothers of boys who'd hung themselves after verbal bully attacks in the last two weeks. Words can kill. I found myself weeping for them and their loss. It bolstered me to fight even the silly "Loser!" remarks so prevalent today.

The proverb "Thoughtless words cut like a sword. But the tongue of wise people brings healing" became literal to me today. Lord, let me be wise.

It must be hard times. I got a call today from our family physician's office regarding a balance for Pooh Bear of $3.16. I don't remember ever getting the
bill, and I can't believe they phoned us about such a little amount. Of course, we'll pay it when we receive the statement, but does anyone else find this astonishing?

I have terribly mixed feelings now that my son with attachment issues has made the football team at his school. On one hand, he could be an unbelievable athlete. On the other, he self sabotages himself at every turn. The two weeks before football try-outs he was incredibly difficult to live with at home. His non-stop chatter and arguing became unbearable.

The next part of this post requires a bit of explanation. The Big Six are Tater's primary therapeutic home work:
respectful
responsible
fun to be around
fast and snappy
right the first time
mom and dad's way

I bet when a person not involved with an attachment disordered child reads this lofty list, one might think, "Outrageous! Kids can't always do those things." And that is right. Perfection is not required, just reflection on "a good way." When asked by his attachment therapist this week, how was he keeping to The Big Six on a scale of 1-10, he said, "Seven or Eight". I turned my burning face away and bit my tongue nearly in half. Buck and I had agreed before in a private conversation together that a 4 on that scale would have been generous. Obviously, self reflection is not this son's strong suit.

Buck and I have debated privately about the school's requirement of a 2.0 gpa as an incredibly low standard, especially for Tater. The boy is brilliant yet entirely wrapped up in survival that it hinders his studies. We do not find it wise to let our son eek by with a "C" average when we know without a doubt he's honor roll material. Buck contacted the football coach before try-outs and stated that we would not allow our son to practice or play if he had any grades below a "C".
Buck urged the coach to tell us not to let him try out if he did not agree. Then Tater's report card yesterday revealed he was not passing social studies, because he turned in assignments late and incomplete at times. Not a surprise to me since our therapist insisted we not remain Tater's homework slaves, and I know that excellent teacher gives lots of homework. He just can't get all social studies homework done on the fly like he may be able to do for other subjects. You'd think the boy would have run home from school and hit his upcoming social studies project with a vengeance to raise his grade. Instead he's been outside shooting baskets in the rain and riding his sister's scooter though I recommended otherwise. It's something I will never understand.

We'll see how it goes and pray that this football opportunity will raise him to a higher level of thinking.

Perhaps I'm a worrier though it's not something I espouse to be. Perhaps it's that every time I turn on the durn news, I hear some more bad news from Mexico. A friend and participant in the course I've just finished co-teaching in Atlanta hails from Mexico City. Her extended family still lives there, and she spoke to me of the dire circumstances her mother described there. Crime concerning illegal drugs, corrupt police, and government has escalated exponentially this year. Gang wars snatch the lives of all ages each day. I've heard dead bodies have been left strewn in the streets to serve as reminders of power and tyranny, and I can't imagine how people raise children in such conditions. Wouldn't this call for a Life is Beautiful style of parenting? Next on queue comes the swine flu raging through the city like some sort of plaque of death over Egypt before the Exodus. Parks, Schools, Universities, restaurants, national monuments, even churches remain deserted like Western ghost towns. Then a 5.6 earthquake jarred the sequestered families and rocked tall buildings yesterday. What gives? What's next? My prayers are with these our neighbors of the United States. May we treat them well as we begin to share in the same suffering.

Last night, a cute radio host asked this great question of some local artists:

"You are stranded on a magical island where there is a record player which only plays three albums. Which three would you take?"

I'll answer in the comments if others will.

Here are some things going on here:
1. I'm enjoying leading Catechesis of the Good Shepherd at the Brown Cup Coffee House. Nothing gets me like kids saying, "When will it be my turn to have Bible study?" or "May I lead prayer service?". Then there was last week when an eleven year old read a scripture, and didn't stop there as usual. He pensively asked the other children, "What words really stood out to you when I read that? What could this mean?"
It was like watching myself.

2. I always get very tired of homeschooling right about now. Trying to soldier on through the I'd-rather-be-gardening-or-pleasure-reading blues.

3. Our other in-school children are winding down or up for finals. Last semester was much more difficult than I hope this one will be. At least Peace doesn't have any wicked teachers tormenting him this time around. Every single one of them this semester are incredibly gifted in education. Tater's teachers have been awesome and working with us as a family as well. Who'd have thunk how lucky we've been?

4. Hoping for a super early bedtime tonight, because all my children are tired and a bit grumpy. Overnight guests, big launch Friday night, early Saturday morning pancake breakfast work, dinner guests, and early church today has done them in.

5. I went to a much more attentive allergist this week for a different and more effective path of treatment. I had additional scratch tests, under the skin tests, blood work, asthma test(negative), and will be going back for a working plan in two weeks with the doctor. I'm trying new foods regularly for which I did not test positive. I keep the epi-pin nearby at all times. It's still hard to cook and serve food. Imagine six weeks now without any dairy or grain- America's entire diet.

6. It's gonna rain here till Thursday. I'm grateful for it considering last year's drought.

Life is good in general. How 'bout for you?

The Eyes Have It

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"Mom, you know how you told me the eyes are the window to the soul?" my son with adoption issues spouted from the seat behind me in the van last night.

I giggled and replied,"Boodle, it's not like I made that one up. That's an old, old saying."

"I know, but I want you to know the thing with the eyes is working," he answered.

Not very many mothers understand why I suddenly had to hide the tears popping out of my eyes dropping onto my gray sweater. Only moms of children in therapy with attachment disordered kids might have an inkling.

"What do you mean?" I asked trying to keep my voice from cracking with overwhelming emotion.

"You know, when we look into each others eyes for therapy (an attachment technique practiced at home and in therapy). When I feel like being a jerk, and I look in your eyes. I see that you really care. And I really don't want to be a jerk to you anymore," he state as a simple fact.

I can't believe he initiated a conversation like that. I think of it as a little miracle- a miracle which comes few and far between the "Mom, you never let me..." and "Mom,you are so unfair!" Those statements may sound like typical teenager, but I know better. I have other typical teenagers here too. There's much more that I can say are behind his mad words. Fear, mostly, but acted out in so many and unbelievably inappropriate ways.

I read a challenge in a book yesterday that went something like this,"Try to really see everyone you meet today as a real person. The waitress, the cashier, the gas station clerk..." I really get it. Perhaps more deeply because my boy is leading me to be the person I want to be.

I am one of those people.

A few weeks ago I caught onto a controversial conversation begun by Knox County School Board. Deep budgets cuts were calling for radical changes. One proposed change was slated to save $700,000 dollars by running the buses longer, asking some high schools to start at 9:30 and go till 4:30. Yep, my son's was one of those hand full of schools. I really could have rolled with it EXCEPT that it added either more than an hour to my already long drive or my high schooler would have to go kill that time in cafeteria or library every single day. My other son's middle school starts at 8:00 a twenty minute drive away from the high school, and I could not justify wasting all the time and gas in between. Also, it would have effected private and public school sports, because many events start at 5:00 and bus loads of teams wouldn't be able to get to events on time, because school let out late for a few. Also, practice times would conclude at even later times. I've seen football players at Peace's academy who practice till 8:30 every school night of the season- doesn't it stand to reason that they'd head home at 9:30? I considered the amount of kids who don't take the bus who might be forced to, because parents could no longer drop off kids before work. Not to mention the cost of additional supervision of students who had to come earlier due to parent work schedules. Change is not simple or cheap.

The reason that I am one of those people is that I actually wrote all the school board members and expressed my concerns. I got three replies. Two were quick. One member really spent some time reflecting she'd listened well to my thoughts.

Yesterday, I read in the paper that the superintendent tabled the idea of late start times, because government stimulus money came to the rescue. It's quite a relief to our family, and I'm so grateful.

I have no doubt with the economic times to come, schools are in for quite a wild and bumpy ride. I heard on NPR this morning that in LA some schools have cut a third of the teachers and increased class sizes. God help us all.

Easter Blessings

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Perhaps you have considered the seed's transformation to wheat. The seed literally must be buried, split apart, before it emerges as a vulnerable sprout from the soil.
"Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it will bear much fruit." How many seeds does that one grain produce? Doesn't the stalk look entirely different from the wheat seed?

Maybe you've also pondered the vast difference in the appearance of Jesus after his burial, side split open and poured out, as He came forth from the grave. His best friends walked down the street with Him chatting and didn't realize it was Him until He had walked on. Had His Transformation been like the wheat which changed altogether as well? What does this Risen Life look like? Is Risen Life offered to us?

May this Easter bring the transformation of Christ to you.

Thankfully, my sweet gastroenterologist made a way for me to eat last night involving an inhaler and medication. Over the course of half an hour last evening, I gorged myself small pieces of angus hamburger, and I got so very full with the added bonus that I didn't stop breathing or choke. Tonight Buck will add onions to my beef, the only vegetable on the list to which I didn't react.

Hauna brought me a tray of fragrant veggie sprouts, and it occurred to me I may not get to eat any of them at all, no matter how gorgeous and delectable they grow in my Peter Rabbit garden. On the bright side, I'll always enjoy the flowers which bloom so lavishly there each year.

No thanks

I'm processing the disturbing information departed to me this morning. Seriously, can you imagine me saying for the rest of my life when passed a plate, "No, thanks. I'm allergic to food"?

When I was told a few weeks ago, I had eosinophilic esophagitis, I had no idea what would be in store from the medical field for me. I visited an allergist yesterday who told some very interesting stories about Hindu monks (yes, they were really interesting) but didn't acknowledge my four pleas for an elimination diet plan. When the nurse announced a vast many number three reactions from the flaming red and pink checkerboard off my back from the scratch test, I asked, "What exactly is that reactivity scale anyhow?"

She simply replied, "0-4."

"So are you saying that I'm strongly reacting to entire columns and rows of allergens?" I inquired.

"Yep," she answered. When showed the charts of reactions, I realized there's practically nothing I can eat or breathe on planet Earth. Except onions. Now wouldn't that make me a fine human being? Imagine my halitosis...

The doctor proclaimed me to be a "highly allergic person", suggested I get another unreliable and costly test ($1,000 after insurance pays), and mentioned I could see his nurse practitioner in two months.

Thanks?

I left perplexed, but thought I'd take a breather from the Boost and eat some lunch. I relaxed next to my rice and stir fry veggies and savored the flavor of real live food for the first time in three weeks.

Then something happened that I never dreamed or experienced before. I had an anaphylactic reaction after 4 bites. I found myself wheezing, turning red, running to spit out the zucchini, onions, and rice. I hadn't gone on the Boost diet, because I couldn't breathe. I just wanted to have a baseline to start eliminating things my body isn't happy to receive.

I went to my GP today who graciously handed me a prescription for an epi pin and an appointment in 13 days with another allergist. The nurse, he, and I puzzled together that this was the fastest solution to my new predicament. "The allergist told me," shyly smiled the doc, "that people with your condition never eat food again."

"Did you tell them I'm a healthy 43 year old woman who happens to be attached to eating?" I sputtered.

I can't imagine this is the end of the story. Can you?

How is it that it's snowing in April, and I'm watching my children chase the goats who have gotten out of the fence somehow by their own goaty selves for the first time in six years? Our guard dogs must be going nuts! They worry so for their wayward charges.

If you happen to live in Knoxville, here is something you might not want to miss.

In memory of our family's friend Zach Weimer, the Weimer family is launching the Z-Foundation on Friday, April 17.

Here's some quotes from the organization's website, www.z-foundation.org

Mission Statement
The Z Foundation will promote and provide service opportunities to families and youth in the Farragut and surrounding communities.

The Foundation will work closely with several local and international organizations to provide them with funding, media and volunteers to successfully strengthen and build their ministry or program.

Vision Statement
Lives will be changed by serving, both the lives of the people providing service and those receiving.

Goals
Families and individuals will learn the value of service by working together to help those in need.

There are many expressions of grief and loss. This family is turning theirs into service. I love living among modern day saints.

Sometimes you just have to stop and have a picnic.

I have fifty eleven things to do today, not the least of which include sundry piles of laundry and papers to go through. Then there are the appointments I must make and keep. Life couldn't be more full for me. I feel like the woman twisting and turning to make it through Fat Man's Squeeze at Mammoth Cave, and all the while regretting that I'm not as thin or agile as I used to be. How do I get so utterly consumed when I endeavor to live a simple life?

But it's my 43rd birthday and my daughter made a picnic for Peace and I on the front lawn. Never mind that my entire meal consisted of the fifteenth day of Boost alone while Peace and she feasted on hard boiled eggs, peanut butter, and Boy Scout popcorn leftover from November. She was even willing to pour the energy and vitamin drink into a bowl or cup for me to make it special. Pooh Bear spread a quilt and put out her best flower-shaped green plates and bowls. I was presented with thoughtful cards made collaboratively by my children. I opened lovely presents left on the table for me by my husband. I look forward to a promised dinner date out when my allergy issues are treated. The weather was as pleasant as a Sunday afternoon drive to nowhere in particular in the summer.

It's hard for me to stop doing and just be in the moment prepared by my eight year old child, but what could be more important?

Almost made me laugh today.

My dear husband knows the way to my heart and how to help me out of a funk. After a crazy eventful day yesterday, he made a way to give me a little rest, by working out his schedule to take the boys to school, so I could sleep in. Then to top it off, he left two glorious presents for me on the chair to my room.

Here's one:

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And the other:

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Isn't he so romantic?

I feel like I'm in a bit of a funk. It's back to the six in the morning routines after spring break. This morning started out with the van not turning over for the second time in three days, because an unknown child left the lights on inside all night. That battery is getting a Arnold type workout. My son with attachment disorder immediately picked up on my irritation over the van and ran over me like he was on his way to watch a fire. Only he wants to watch me burn down. And then there's the not eating food thing which puts me on edge. To shave my rough corners, I want to start planting in my garden, but the spicket froze and cracked over winter, so i have to wait for Buck to have time to repair it. Ain't nothing gonna grow without water. Maybe lining the paths with rocks again will provide a necessary outlet to this irk.
I came across the word "kindness" earlier and thought, "Nah, not even feeling it." This puts me squarely in the stay out of the moment and into commitment to action rather than flinging about my snippy disposition. I sense a "white knuckling it" day ahead for me.

I may not have much worthwhile to say today, but Larry does.

Played around with my blogroll, so I can see from my sidebar who has posted recently. If you are interested in being on my blogroll, just ask in the comments.

Guess what's for breakfast? Boost. And for lunch? Boost. And you guessed it, Boost for dinner. I'm not sure for how long, but I'm going to be on an allergy elimination diet because I just got diagnosed with a lovely case of eosinophilic esophagitis.
So, don't call me and ask me for dinner, or I'll burst out in tears. The idea of drinking all three meals for maybe months on end does not appeal. But here I go...

I thought tonight I could levitate the black frying pan from the wooden cabinet to the top of the stove while I remained in the comfort of my bed resting my tired eyes. I dreamed one of my sons would be interested in cutting the potatoes and putting them into the sizzle and ooze of the olive oil. However, it's me that must rise and seize the moment for making dinner.

I simply can't imagine holding a full time job and raising my children when not being home two days in a row thoroughly wipes me out. Hats off to you fabulous mommies who must maneuver both worlds.

It's not hard work, but I've been testing first grade homeschoolers with the Stanford. There's monotony in the drone of "Mark the answer which tells how many shoes Juan had altogether." The bright shining eyes of these little ones makes it worthwhile, but I wish I was sharing a real story like Ms. Piggle-Wiggle with them instead of torturing those little souls with the correct spelling of the word have.

Here's the blog of my lovely assistant to peruse. If she's as good with blogging as she is with filling in standardized test bubbles, then you'll be in for a treat. Wink. She's an elegant college grad with a degree in English, so we might expect wonderfully crafted words. Yum.

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I have another book recommendation. Piper gave me the book
with this unappealing title yet amazing content-
Leadership and Self-Deception by Institute Arbinger. It's a business book, and I suppose that explains the dry title. However, don't let that get in the way of reading this gem. The content puts into simple and practical words that which I've always felt internally to be true about relationships. It's like an entire book on living out the charitable assumption.

I was stunned to see human connection being prominently featured as key to a company's success and it's easy translation into regarding all relationships. The insight into behavior and attitude astounded me. I read it in just a few hours, and immediately ordered it's sequel The Anatomy of Peace. Piper says Anatomy even better and a finish to the concepts put forward in Leadership.

If you end up reading it too, please get in touch with me so we can talk! It contains ideas to be shared.

I'm about to jump out of my skin. Tomorrow I begin my research work again for the Shepherd's Call at a coffee house church called The Brown Cup. The "church" called me, because a parent of an attendee talked well to the pastors about his child and my work. The parent told them his children never liked coming to church so much as when they were with me in a previous Shepherd's Call setting.

So, it's like Christmas around here. I'm opening boxes stored since last year thinking, "The children are going to love this! I am going to love this!". As the 10 bridesmaids peep their eyes at me from the bottom of a rubbermaid, I smile and welcome each blue lady back to the light of day after months of hibernation and utter boredom from lack of use. When I was placing the sites of Jerusalem on the map, I thought kind thoughts of the artist Mr. Kim who made it. I remembered Buck and I making the disciples, and I giggle about the ones he says turned like Gene Wilder and Spock.

There is nothing like this work. I'm positively smitten with this Good Shepherd.

Preparing our grandchildren for the bailout

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hat tip to: children's ministry and culture

Inspiration from John

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"Go to the people!", John Perkins spoke in his raspy southern black accent. "Live among the poor with purpose with passion. Make people the priority. Give praise to God, so pride won't become an issue. Disciple!"

Chris invited John to speak to a crowd gathered at Tribe One last night. Tribe One is the inner city mission of Knoxville where my heart belongs. I miss the work, the neighborhood, and the people like nobody's business. John brought it all back for me. He sang the call written on my heart to love the and live with the poor- the least of these.

I've heard him speak a number of times, so I knew who he was when he came up to shake my hand. He's a memorable man- a saint. He loves justice, forgiveness, and racial reconciliation. I built my life around the three r's in John's book Let Justice Roll Down:
relocate to live among the poor
rebuild the community
redistribute wealth

His words helped me mull over if I'm passing on to my children John's vision, my vision, the heart of Jesus for the poor. Suddenly, I'm thinking internships rather than summer jobs for my boys. Time with my children grows shorter, and I want to use it wisely.

By putting Tater in school recently, our family dynamics have started to change. My youngest boy, Wise One and my youngest daughter are the only ones left at home for homeschool. I have noticed over the last few weeks they have begun to play together for the first time. I always got the feeling that Wise One has never been thrilled to have the baby boss of a sister, though he's never said so. In case you are fooled by her cute little looks, she's a strong presence- with whom Wise doesn't much like to tangle.

Their relationship has taken a lovely turn. They've begun choosing books and movies together. Both of them vehemently requested I stop by the library yesterday, so that they might reserve the field guide for the Spiderwick books. I've caught them playing Earthopoly (the earth friendly version of Monopoly) and Killer Bunnies (crazy card game) for hours this week. I love them developing their ties outside the older brothers. Older brothers generally rule and these two need to find their own way together.

And how is Tater doing in school? At first it was bliss for all. Then last week, we had a meeting with his teachers who all sang his praises- until they one by one began to realize he's not really turning in work. They decided to implement the old "mom signs off on assignment" plan to which I've responded by becoming the homework slave. Until last night, we'd work till 10:30 or 11:00 on homework, so I could check it off as finished. I decided yesterday that I certainly didn't want to homeschool at night as I'd come to realize I was doing- and that I'd put him in school for a very different purpose. I told Tater I'd give him an hour of tutoring if I had it to give, and that he was on his own from there with homework. I explained he couldn't study past 8:30 in order to get night routines back on track, so he'd better start cracking the books during school. He finished his homework right at 8:30 last night with just a few helps from me in the math he does not comprehend.

One of his teachers wrote an email in response to my plea for help out of the pit of homework hell. She wrote that Tater was socializing instead of working or asking questions. Can you imagine me sending him to school to hang out with buddies just so I'd have to teach him at night? Nope. If you are the praying kind, I could use help and inspiration with this son.

During the service yesterday our pastor decided to talk about morals in terms of guidelines for us. One of his illustrations included the altitude rules of flight. He stated, "Eastbound planes fly at even altitudes." At this my husband started waving his hands and circling his arms and saying out loud in church, "No. Backwards, Brad." Brad turned to Buck mid-sermon to have a little personal chat with my man, "Oh, am I saying it backwards, Buck? Is it the other way around?" Buck nodded. Brad then faced the congregation, which by the way is hundreds of people, and said, "That what I get when one of the members of my church is an air traffic controller. Eastbound planes fly at odd altitudes. Westbound planes fly at even altitudes." I sunk in my seat and covered my terribly red face with my beautiful new lime green shawl knitted by my friend Piper, just for me. I was doubly grateful for the covering of that new garment at that moment.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I just drive by the dang dog who has been hanging out at the Flying J Truck Stop on our way to school? I wish I'd never seen him lying pitifully under the guardrail for three days now. Pooh Bear placed a tub of dogfood in a plastic container in the van, and I had Tater feed him before picking Peace up from school while I filled up my gas tank. I'll do a dangerous thing here and name him Spot. Claire, who lives at the exit, asked me to check on him once, and now I'm sucked into the poor doggy vortex. Pray that Spot finds a loving home before I lose my mind completely and bring him here.

Those of you who are my Facebook friends already know that I ran over a hen when I pulled into my garage yesterday. She was a beautiful black with white speckled girl with sweet gentle spirit- supposing chickens have spirits. I feel sad that I took her life. I also feel terribly guilty that I wished it was a goofy rooster instead of one of my precious egg layers. Pooh Bear watched her get run over from behind, and Wise One felt the bump just like I did. We all gathered round in horror as she didn't exactly die instantly. The other chickens were swarming to peck the egg which had been squished out of her.

This morning, I cranked one of my favorite songs, "Grace in the Wilderness" by Eoghan Heaslip, had a good cry driving home alone from school drop offs. It may sound silly, but for me, killing a pet who has given of herself to our family is wilderness, and I need the grace to forgive myself. If you don't know Eoghan's work, his worship music hits the sweet spot for me. This song in particular has helped me through the many times I struggle to love well.

I'm going to be okay about this. I really am, but it's going to take a few days to wipe the clean up scene from the front of my brain.

Expecting Adam

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I made some new friends this weekend which is unusual, because I've become rather introverted over the last six years. However, I've let go and have all out enjoyed getting to know these folks from the bottom of my heart. They're the kind of people with whom you wouldn't mind sharing the whole of life. Now that I know them, I wish they were my back door neighbors. The Becks are a family who are literally down to earth who teach other how to live abundantly. Of course, I haven't really ever met them in person, but rest assured they are real and knowable people. Martha wrote so candidly about herself and her family, it makes me ache as a writer myself that she split herself wide open and laid her innermost being on the line for all to see. I tend to want to dash from a room and throw up once I realize someone has read my own work before we've gotten a chance to know one another. For me, it always feels like a I'm-naked-in-school-dream come true. And I don't even write about myself in publications (I know I do here, but it's not the same). What vulnerability it must have taken for Martha to put herself and her family in print. And I love her for it. Martha Beck's book is called Expecting Adam, and I'll let her tell you in her own words what it's about:

This is the story of two driven Harvard academics who found out in midpregnancy that their unborn son would be retarded. To their own surprise and the horrified dismay of the university community, the couple ignored the abundant means, motive, and opportunity to obtain a therapeutic abortion. They decided to allow their baby to be born. What they did not realize is that they themselves were the ones who would be 'born', infants in a new world where magic is commonplace, Harvard professors are the slow learners, and retarded babies are the master teachers.

Here's another section I feel compelled to share:

There were other people who didn't seem to hear me either. Once, after I gave a speech to a woman's club and mentioned my experience having Adam, a member of the group came up to me in the women's room. She burst into tears and said, " I wanted you to know that I had to make the same decision you did, and I chose the wrong thing!" She had, in other words, consented to an abortion. As I watched her face contort with anguish, I felt that my heart was being ripped from its moorings. I don't know if she took in what I said, so I want to say it again,in case she's out there.

There's a Chinese word that means "soul sister", and that is word I would use to address you in my heart. Listen to me, soul sister: Fate or luck or destiny already put you through hell once. Please don't make it worse by condemning yourself. There is no choice that would have left you feeling not guilt. Every time I watch Adam struggle to speak, every time I see other children laugh and point at him, every time I watch his face fall as he realizes he is not going to be treated like the other kids, I feel wrenched by guilt just as you did when you heard my story. Life is hard. We make the best choices we can. Condemnation, whether it comes from you or inside you, only robs the world of another dram of compassion. God knows, we needs all the compassion we can get. If you promise to try to forgive yourself, I'll try to forgive myself as well. I think in my heart of hearts, that there is nothing for either one of us to forgive.

I recognize how loony it sounds to love the person of an author, but I do. I learned even more from Martha how to love foolishly- my personal goal in life.

I nearly dumped him today. I told him I was willing to do so even though I have been loyal to him for many years. I just couldn't take any more of the broken promises, the delayed actions. A girl has needs- ya know what I mean? Every year there's one glitch or another and I find myself sparking, angry, and wanting to call the whole deal off. I became so flustered, I fell into using sarcasm and saying, "Nice!" when I didn't even mean it. I don't easily come that unhinged, so when I find myself in knots, I just have to count if it's all worth it or not.

What am I talking about?

I had a huge conflict when ordering some of my daugher's home school materials from a company which-shall-not-be-named. The anxiety those people put me through makes me feel like a drug addict in need of a scholastic fix. "Give me the books, man. I just need the teacher's manual. I get shaky when it's been too long." I ended up feeling like making a deal with the devil. I told Chris, the sales supervisor at the-company-which-shall-not-be-named that I wouldn't cancel my contract IF in the future, I was allowed to order my ALL materials well in advance of the course. I've been told numerous times this was against store policy. However, I was thinking six weeks, but Chris wrote a note on my account authorizing me six months advanced materials ordering power. Now I can score some third grade phonics action before I'm white knuckling it.

Just send me the curriculum, and no one gets hurt!

God must be teasing me.

After careful consideration, my husband and myself have decided to try public middle school for our middle son after six years of homeschooling. Homeschooling with a son who has huge mother issues has been challenging to say the least for the teacher (me)at home. Yesterday, the vice principal of the middle school met with me, and I liked her relational attitude. I was quite direct when I gave her the attachment issues spiel, and she knew what I was talking about from experience. And I don't think it was a positive experience for the previous family or the school. The vice principal requested we bring Tater in today to meet him and get a feel for us as a family.

Here's where God began His Joke. Remember, Buck, Tater and I were sitting quietly waiting for our one o'clock appointment for about three seconds when...

The secretary leaned over the counter to a very red faced angry middle schooler and asked, "Why ya in here, son?"
"I ran away from my teacher" he announced proudly.
"Why'd you do a thing like that?" the secretary proceeded.
"Because I HATE HER. She is mean and STUPID, and I don't have to stay with her if I don't want to," he sputtered.

In flew an adult male with his arms spread wide between two bigger boys. He firmly spoke pointing opposite directions, "You go to the vice principal. You go to the guidance counselor." A security officer came in and told the boy directed to the vice principal to sit down. The older sat right next to the runaway kid and started chatting, "This time I think I'll go to jail. They told me it's about time to arrest me for all that I done. I've seen that jail. There are six cells total in juvie. Them cells are no bigger than..." Tater's eyes grew wider with every word.

Buck leaned over to me and whispered, "I don't think they are talking about biology, do you?" I couldn't hold it in- my man knows how to make me laugh. And God sure put every inhibition I have about public schools on display.

I needed to go pick up Pooh Bear, while Tater and Buck toured the school. Buck explained to me afterwards that kids waved and called out, "TATER!" in every. single. classroom. Kids we know from soccer, basketball, swimming, church, round town. All very positive and sweet influences for this charismatic boy with a broken self-protected heart.

God could have sent a scroll that read to Tater, "I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse: therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed." It was all right before our eyes. I pray earnestly, "Oh, God. Let that boy choose life."

The Vyne clan has whooping cough. Seriously. Buck dragged all four sick children and himself to the clinic after several days of hacking and fevers. I have evaded the worst of it with a little cold. The blight hit Tater first while we were finishing up Wise One's room. Pooh Bear contracted it last spiking her normal terrifying fever of 104.3. I've been handing out tylenol like candy. Buck got a mild form of it the evening he finished the flooring in Wise One's room, but he's muddled through with a tough guy's grace.

Here's what I'm up to today:

I'm preparing for a Still Waters session (something of an afternoon retreat) for a little coffee house church as an introduction to Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. The church is seriously considering allowing me to continue my research on children's spiritual development with them. My work with children has been on hold since the evening service and my class, "The Well of the Good Shepherd" at my home church was canceled and new leadership took over the children's department. Though the new staff are great people, they don't understand why I can't just jump on board with their curriculum. I couldn't teach from a coloring sheet of cartoon Jesus to save my very own life though I honor and respect those who do. I am cut from a different cloth in which I prepare a rich and succulent feast for a community and step out of the way to allow God and the participants to enjoy one another. I'm always looking for ways out of lecture and into experiential methods of teaching.

I'm also working on materials to send to an upcoming women's retreat for my church which I won't attend.

Hope your Sunday is blessed and full of rest and refreshing.

Revamped my blogroll today. I hadn't realized that Blogrolling company has been down since October (I think),and I haven't been able to edit my list. I had to input into blogger by hand as Blogroller wouldn't or couldn't let me in to cut and paste. So, if I left anyone off or someone new wants to be on my blogroll, just ask in the comments.

Here's Peace on the new and very cool couch in his room. He's coughing his guts out and sick, but he looks comfortable, right?
The couch folds out into a lounge chair, two lounge chairs, and the back also folds down like a lawn chair to make a bed. Little feet can be pulled out from zippered slots on the cushion for the lounge chair positions. My mom asked it it was a futon or a fold out couch. Buck explained to her that it is a hybrid couch. Aren't we green now?

On the opposite side of the room from where Peace is resting is the new bedroom suit we snatched up on Sunday from someone locally on Craig's list. Love that site! The seller said she's just posted it before I emailed her. Good thing I did, because by the time my husband went to look at it, she'd had three more calls. He bought it on the spot, because she was selling it for such a great price. She's an older woman getting married and consolidating households. This set had been in her guest room.

Last week, this room contained raggedly nasty berber carpet, school shelves, school table, a partition and Peace's worldly belongings. Homeschool supplies have now become part of the kitchen. It's a little crammed, but it's going to work. The kids and I removed an outdated wallpaper border from Peace's room- tedious. I patched and scrubbed to prepare for the entire family to paint together. Buck installed the beautiful floor.

Anyhow, Peace now has a room he can comfortably share with our guests. So, we are waiting for your call if you ever need a place to stay in Tennessee.

The rest of the house in recovery mode. All Peace's stuff has been strewn throughout the kitchen, living room and halls. There's nothing like a mess to create a dumping ground for other mess. The children have been playing in the snow and chucked their gear everywhere- boots here, gloves there, coats over shelves, hats hanging from lamps. You get the picture. I've gathered it all and am in the midst of mountains of laundry. All I really want to do is take the book I'm reading and go and hang out with Peace in his lovely space. Sigh...

So what did you do Super Bowl Sunday?

I woke up with a bee buzzing in my bonnet about getting my children back on track in terms of contributing to our household. It seems they only have time for the things for which they want to do. Movies, games, books, legos, dolls, Facebook, itunes. You get the picture. The rules 'round here require tidy rooms before use of media, yet not one child's room comes close to orderly. And I've seen plenty of movie watching and computer time.

Also, they have been bucking bedtime and sleeping in. I begged Buck to help rally the troops, and he and I tried. The proof will be in the pudding.

Today all the boys helped me (without one complaint) scrape an annoying wallpaper border in preparation for a much needed fresh coat of paint in Wise One's room. You see, we've decided to make Wise One's room a teenage hang-out/guest room instead of part homeschool part sliver of a bedroom for Wise. He needs more space, all the kids need another place to go with friends. It's not something I like to do on Sunday at all, but we have a very short time to paint before Buck must quickly get to installing the floor. If you want to feel great about the state of your house, come visit us. We have books, boxes and furniture strewn in all rooms. There's wallpaper shreds everywhere as well. It's not easy losing the homeschool room, and we've got to find another place to house my addictions- books.

Pooh Bear took on an animal chore as well. She's our official morning chicken scratcher. Buck gave her lessons on filling the bucket and whizzing the corn chunks
across the back yard.

Wish us luck on the makeover. We've got our work cut out for us this week.

Oh, we did catch the Superbowl and that 100 yard touchdown. However, I had to sneak off for Sense and Sensibility on PBS at 9. Love that Jane Austin.

The Prodigal God

I've always believed "prodigal" meant "wayward". However, Keller titles his book, The Prodigal God which doesn't exactly fit my perception of God according this definition. According to Keller, wayward is not at all the meaning of prodigal. He insists it "means to spend extravagantly." Now there's something to think about.

I've already rethought The Parable of the Prodigal Son in my Catechesis of the Good Shepherd training. With the children, we refer to the same parable as The Forgiving Father instead, so that the essential element of the parable, The Father is the central focus. Though I believe in sin and and depravity of man, in my heart of hearts, I understand putting the emphasis on God's Great Work rather than our falleness to be a far more effective presentation of the gospel.

Keller takes Forgiving Father to an even higher plane for me by accentuating that He outgave his child to win him back. Maybe you have heard the saying, "You can't outgive God." The Prodigal God draws the prodigal son back with his extravagant kindness. How compelling is the image of the Father longing, scanning over the horizon and then breaking into a run, arms flung wide, to embrace the son who was lost? The Parables of The Lost Sheep, The Lost Coin, and the merchant in The Pearl of Great Price leap to mind changing my thoughts more charitably towards the lost son in light of the Prodigal God.

My favorite sermon ever was given on this very subject by a humble man, Joe Green, studying in Bible College allowed to speak at a small Sunday night service. I think Joe's words instructed me as profoundly as Keller's. Joe suggested the crux of the parable hung on the characters of the servants. I could not for the life of me see where he could go with that point as he narrated the story in his simple way. When he got to the servant's role near the end, I believe Joe got it right. Joe suggested the turning point of the lost son's thoughts were on the servants, the way His Father treated them with such care. The son examined the respect and dignity offered by his father to his hired hands and knew with more certainty than ever before, home with his father was better than anywhere else in the end.

These are my thoughts for this day. Any thoughts you have on this to add?

Self Esteem Myths

Low self esteem is a term I find to be unhelpful. To me, it implies one can do something or have something done for him/her to raise self esteem from low to high. Though it tortures me to say, I cannot help my son who despises himself. After living his entire 13 years on earth with us, he still clings to the rejection he experienced from his birth parents and holds me in particular responsible and at bay. If he were a fancy tea cup, I could keep filling him with praise of his many accomplishments and talents, but his delicate broken vessel leaks like a sieve.

Why? Self esteem has always and will forever come from within. No outside source can provide it. No counselor, mom, dad, friend, relative, pastor, boss, enemy delivers self esteem to the inside of another person. It's either there, or it isn't. There nothing more difficult than watching a child not being able to heal.

My son spends his day spreading chaos and doesn't have the slightest idea how to stop himself. Here's one way he wreaks havoc: he incessantly chatters and interrupts anyone in a ten foot range about how very important he is to every conversation and situation. He's searching desperately for the affirmation he does not possess inside. This empty self-important talk frustrates and inflames those close to the source, especially his brothers and sister. He's the king of one-up-manship. My days at home with him are spent keeping the boy at bay from building conflict with others. However, he perceives himself to “be in trouble” when I ask him to stay in the same room with me or go to his room to deescalate an intense situation he's ignited.

Those outside our family tend to feel sorry for him, because he must not “get what he needs from home” to have such sob stories. He outright tells people he just met, “I'm 13 and my mom and dad never let me fill in the blank,but they let my brothers do it all the time.” Buck and I are made out to be Cinderella's wicked step parents in his untrusting brain.

After the death of his friend in October, our son suddenly stopped the chatter and chaos for two entire months. He became peaceful, centered, serious about trusting me. I felt like finally he'd come to understand he did not have to self-protect but could be completely open to our family's love. I could breathe deeply that his life would take the turn we all needed it to for the better.

Then one day in mid-December, my oldest son, Peace, came home totally stressed from an injustice at school during finals week. Peace began nipping and biting everyone at home with his misplaced frustration, and I began clumsily grasping at straws to reign in all his bad karma. For two days I did something I have been endeavoring to abstain from since July- I argued with Peace. In retrospect, I shoulda let the consequences play out from his stinky choices, but instead I let my lower self take over and pronounced, “You are a fool and an idiot if you think...” Immediately, my other son with no self esteem reacted with, “If you are going to call names of Peace like fool and idiot then I certainly will not ever trust you again.” And he hasn't. He instantly flew back in full swing self-important chatter and bedlam. I hoped it was a bump in the road, and I all out apologized in front of him to Peace. It wasn't a bump- it's back to the self protective lifestyle for over a month now.

Last week, my son came to me and said, “I need to call my counselor,” after compiling a list of the all the things he felt I was doing wrong. No worries for me about this- these counselors know me, faults and all, and have all our best interests in mind. The counselor gave my son a teddy bear this summer and asked him to care for it as if it were his little self. The counselor suggested on the phone that my boy might be too hard on his little self and might want to tell his bear so. Such a good shame removal tool- as I said before, the child despises his self.

Since his call last week, I've seen my son white knuckling his way through the day, trying to do what is right. The grace he found after his friend's death is gone, and he's trying to will good behavior from himself. It's like watching an addict trying to stay away from crack in an opened bag on the kitchen counter. He'll start a conflict and back away saying, “Why are you mad at me?” Truthfully, it has been irritating to watch him “not getting it...still and again.”

He called his counselors again this week and told them he was doing a great job staying on course. I gave an invisible internal “oh, brother” eye roll as I listened to him talk. When they asked me if I also noticed him doing a great job I asked, “How do I honor the effort when I see him failing?” They encouraged me to press in and connect as much as I can with him. He'll work with me sometimes when they ask. He let me hold him, look into his eyes, lead him in listening prayer.

I didn't understand his huge backslide until my friend clarified it for me. After all, the initial conflict that shut our relationship down in December had been between his brother Peace and I and had absolutely nothing to do with him- except that he was listening. My friend explained, “Your son takes ownership of every.single. problem. in your home. He thinks he's the cause of everything. He is incapable of separating his issues out.” So, the boy carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it must be heavy. How sad. Her words ignited compassion I've been lacking since his re-eruption.

So how to patch up the holes in his leaking cup? That's a long road, less taken. And we are on it.
I'll keep reminding myself that correcting low self esteem is impossible, and that accepting my son and all his mess is key to his own self acceptance.

Though I was moved beyond words at the inaugural ceremonies today, Buck said something on the light side:

I wonder if Obama will live up to the audacity of hype.

Do you think he can?

Buck explained to me that high school tomorrow is in, but all absences are excused, because it's cold. It's certainly not that there is a snowflake for miles around. Apparently we don't do snow in Tennessee any longer. Peace chimed in with Buck, "Of course, I want to go if school is open. I love school!"

Buck and I searched Peace's face to find some hint of sarcasm. None. Really. None. I suppose our curious reaction triggered the following speech:

"Mom, Dad, I'm not joking. I. Love. School. All my classes. Today some kids were complaining about hating school. I explained that school is their opportunity to make something of themselves. I talked about how they'd better start taking their education seriously, or they'll be eating out of dumpsters in the freezing cold while I'll be living the cool life in a warm apartment."

I asked Buck and Peace, "Is there any way to bottle up his exuberance and keep it all four years of high school?" Oh, I know it won't last, but how I wish it could.

Thanks to the very thoughtful tutorial by Thicket I have a blog header for the very first time!

Did our President really say misunderestimated today? What does this mean? I should be able to tell, because I make up useful words on the spot every. single. day. However, I'm dumbfounded on this one.

misunderestimated- underestimated in one way, but one really should have been underestimated in a totally different way.

Right? Help the girl.

Flinging out a completely new seventeen letter word on television is some awesomely bold leadership which Obama can only hopificate to reproductify.

Christopher Columbus and I in 2008

I've been mentally working on a list of favorites discoveries of mine last year. Mind you, me discovering something is something like saying Christopher Columbus found America when we all know it was beautiful land already inhabited with Native Americans long before his arrival.

These are things which I've stumbled across this year which have mattered to me.

1. Toothtunes- musical toothbrushes which sing a song only while a child has the brush remains in motion for 2 minutes. Why is this so important? My children simply didn't brush well enough and long enough before. This tool lets 'em know to keep at it longer than the obligatory 20 second swoosh. Even my teenagers think it's funny enough to use them.

2. The Hawk and the Dove- I've owned this trilogy a very long time, but I never quite made it through the first few chapters. I finally buckled down to read it through, and it is hands down the best book I've ever read. The insight into the woundedness of people and their necessary yet unlikely path to healing changed the way I think about human behavior.

3. Coldplay- Okay, they've been around a long while, but I just didn't know how much I liked them till Viva La Vida. Favorite song on that album is Death and All His Friends. "No, I don't want to battle from beginning to end. I don't want to cycle and recycle revenge. I don't want to follow death and all his friends."

4. Building the Bond of Attachment by Daniel Hughes opened my eyes to a new way to be with and guide hurt and exasperating child. The book is a fictitious case study on attachment disorder.

5. Watching my oldest son succeed and delight in the school setting.

6. My new comfort bike and the trips I've made with my sons. I especially remember the time I was fiddling with the gears on the first and very uncomfortable bike I started out with last summer. Surreptitiously, I ran smack dab into the back of Peace's bike which sent us both flying head over heel into the grass. We laughed till we cried.

7. Learning strategies how to not to argue and be a strong parent in unity with my husband. Did I ever post about WALTER? I still fail terribly, but at least I understand new ways to deal.

8. Reading The Secret Garden with my daughter. She doesn't mind my fake English accent one bit.

9. Kicking back with the best people on the planet for birthdays and sundry get- togethers.

10. Playing Clue and Earthopoloy/Monopoly with my family.

11. Making fried green tomatoes from my very own garden nearly every single day of the summer.

12. Finding over-the-top red flowered half reading glasses. Now I can read fine print and laugh at myself at the same time.

13. Watching my mother make a full recovery from brain surgery. That's something of a miracle to behold.



I'll stop here though there are many more, but I'll have to pay attention to my children some time today. Shoot, maybe we'll even homeschool a bit.

Why I'm not blogging about New Year's Resolutions, besides the fact that I haven't made any:

Never tell anyone that you're writing a book, going on a diet, exercising, taking a course, or quitting smoking. They'll encourage you to death.
Lynn Johnston, For Better or For Worse, 07-15-06
Canadian cartoonist (1947 - )

L. L. Bean Shout Out

Just so you know, I positively love L.L.Bean. I don't shop there very often, but I never regret when I do. Here's why.

When Peace was a baby fifteen years ago, I decided a backpack (before there was such a thing as a diaper backpack) would be our diaper bag. We refused bottles altogether, and so we didn't have to worry about milk spills, and I liked all the handy pockets of this type of bag. I ordered a top of the line L.L. Bean navy backpack embroidered with his name across the top.

When Peace started high school last semester, he chose to carry that well worn but useful backpack instead of our family laying out $89 for the Northface or Underarmor brand name totes. It worked fine until the end of the semester when the zipper gave way as Peace tried to fit in an additional textbook probably too much in a hurry.

When I told Peace we could turn it in for a brand new one, and he laughed. "How can you exchange a fifteen year old backpack for something new? No one will do that."

Oh, yes they will. It's an L.L. Bean policy to exchange for 100% customer satisfaction. If only every company would stand by their products like that.

Today, a perfect, sturdy, new, navy, embroidered super deluxe book bag arrived on our front porch a few weeks after printing a free mailing label and dropping it at UPS for return. It practically glistened when Peace ripped it out of the fresh package, and this one's got a place for a cell phone on the straps- an invention which was distributed much later to the masses than before our original backpack. Peace is back in the textbook carrying business with flair.

I don't know how a week can fly by so quickly. Our fam drove to Florida to enjoy the sunshine and the comfort of grandparents. We visited Tampa Zoo and Clearwater Beach. The kids swam everyday even though I mostly wore a sweater. It's been good to see the bright sun, because Tennessee has been as dreary, dank, and dark as I picture Ireland or Seattle. And I've been cold ever since I set foot back in my house. We added our loud and chaotic presence to the quiet ordered home of my mother and her husband. We played games, watched shows we don't get out in the wilds of the country, and ate lots of home cooked meals.

While in Florida, Buck and I took in a movie, Seven Pounds which I recommend. I like surprises. Buck had the movie figured out in 20 minutes, but it took me nearly 30 minutes to fit the pieces together. I also like puzzles.

Buck flew home early to work, and when he wasn't working at the control tower he was working in our nasty garage. He asked me for serious purge instructions. I don't even remember exactly what was in there, so we can certainly live without it. Everything from teaching supplies to party decorations are gone and in their place- peace of mind. There is still more to be done, but there is a remarkable transformation already. Buck also did maintenance on the roof and farm chores like hoof trimming. What a man.

The kids and I were invited to my friend Piper's in Atlanta to spend the night to break up our long drive home New Year's Day. She prepared traditional black eyed peas, turnip greens, rice, chili, and even hog jowls. In the morning, she made my son, Peace, a huge birthday breakfast. Our kids haven't seen each other since they were toddlers, but you'd have never known it. They jumped in together and made fun with capture the flag in the dark and other teenagery mayhem.

We arrived at our home in time to pull out suit jackets, ties, dress shirts for ironing. Our friends held a Call to Manhood dinner for their oldest son, Hobbes, in which my husband participated, and the rest of us attended a lovely reception following. I met Hobbes' extraordinary keyboarding teacher who will have Peace in his class beginning Tuesday. Many told stories of the strong and kind character of Hobbes, and of his scholarly approach to learning. I admire his peaceful spirit and the way he stands for truth and purity.

Our grand finale of winter break will be an overnight hoopla in Deer Lodge tonight.
Then it's back to daily routines.