Here's a Tip

Something to think about today…and I hope this goes viral. 

If you use a service like DoorDash, UberEats, Shipt, Instacart, etc., remember to TIP your delivery person. You aren’t using a service to save money…you are choosing it to save time. BUT you are taking someone else’s time – and gas; someone who is acting as your personal shopper or food deliverer. 

 

Yes, it’s a job. But the pay is paltry – not unlike wait staff in restaurant and hair stylists – and it still takes time, especially if that person tries their very hardest to do their best. Ten percent is a good starting point. Reward more for exceptionality.

 

I get it. I was a terrible tipper. I assumed that they made a decent wage (Google will tell you they do, but the pay formula is built on the assumption that they get tipped), and that they didn’t really need a tip unless they did an exceptional job. 

 

Like everyone else, I’m trying to save money on my groceries. If that’s the case, I need to drive to the store myself and pick up my groceries. Saving time using a personal shopper does not equate to saving money. For some, it might mean saving money spent on gas going to the store. But you are using the gas of another, and that’s not covered by their delivery service companies. 

 

Consider changing how you think about these services and tip your driver. I know it’s not mandatory, but it is an encouragement to those trying to earn real money through these jobs. We all enjoy the service we get…now let’s remember to pay fully for it.

 

Soul, It Is...Well

Six and a half years ago, in August 2016, I received some of the most devastating personal news of my life: I had breast cancer.

It was a surreal moment. My head spun and my heart raced. I didn't know what to say to the doctor on the other end of the phone call. I felt wordless.

But God, as He always does, put the exact right person in that position at exactly the right moment. The doctor who called wasn't the surgeon I'd been seeing. He was just the one on duty that day. He didn't know me, but he did understand cancer since he'd already had it, as well. He gave me space to process the news and then explained the type of cancer I had and the prognosis, which he noted was very good. If I had to have cancer, it was a "good" one to have, he said. He wasn't a fortune teller, psychic, or visionary -- just someone who understood from experience and his job.

The next month and a half was filled with appointments and plans. My surgery was scheduled for a few days after my birthday in mid-October.

I won't lie and say I wasn't nervous. But God placed the first verse and refrain from the old hymn, "It Is Well with My Soul," in my head and that helped me through that time. He reminded me of the words and the story behind them. And, because of that, I had a tremendous peace.

From Wikipedia: The hymn was written by Horatio Spafford after many traumatic events in his life. 

The first two were the death of his four-year-old son and the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, which ruined him financially (he had been a successful lawyer and had invested significantly in property in the area of Chicago that was extensively damaged by the great fire). His business interests were further hit by the economic downturn of 1873, at which time he had planned to travel to England with his family on the Ville du Havre for D. L. Moody's upcoming evangelistic campaigns. 

In a late change of plan, he sent the family ahead while he was delayed on business concerning zoning problems following the Great Chicago Fire. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship sank rapidly after a collision with a sea vessel, the Loch Line, and all four of Horatio's daughters died. His wife Anna survived and sent him the now famous telegram, "Saved alone …" 

Shortly afterwards, as Horatio traveled to meet his grieving wife, he was inspired to write these words as his ship passed near where his daughters had died.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Refrain
It is well, (it is well),
With my soul, (with my soul)
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

If a man who had lost so much could say that, I, with curable cancer, could repeat the same words. 

Praise God!

Remembering...

Sometimes, when you think too much time has passed, you head back to something or someone familiar, and it all clicks back into place...at least for that moment. Like friends who haven't seen each other for decades and come back together like no time has passed, as if they both went home at the end of a day and returned in the morning. "As I was saying..." one might say, without missing a beat.

Sometimes.

Life has a strange way of taking us on twists and turns, uphill and downhill, back and forth. Memories flood our brains, holding us back or pushing us forward. 

We're all a product of those memories, our past times and events and happenings -- good and bad. How do we reckon with them? How do we not allow them to drag us down or pull us under?

It's a difficult process. Certainly doable. 

Children are mirrors of those memories. They go through ages and phases that we can somewhat remember, that become very clear when we watch our offspring go through them. Of course, their experiences are different. But the fuzzy recollection of our own experiences comes back into focus...at least for that moment.

And we remember. And the memories, like old friends, take us on journeys back to times that feel forgotten yet are still in the foreground. 

"As I was saying..." the memory says, without missing a beat.

Thoughts on Mother's Day

My kids are always asking me if I loved them more when they were little.

I love looking at their photos and talking about how sweet they were and sharing memories of funny or poignant moments with them.

I remember first teeth and them learning to walk and the way they marveled at just about anything new and exciting. They loved being outside and had a cute way of pronouncing things. I loved watching them learn to read and write and draw. I loved making things with them and celebrating countless birthdays, half-birthdays, and holidays with them. Easter eggs and Christmas visits to New York to see the Macy's Santa with the deli breath. "Picnics in the Park" on the Eve of Christmas Eve. Early morning trips to Chincoteague in the summer and the fall and the beginning of a brand new year. Singing children's songs and then '80s songs at the tops of our lungs. Knowing all the words to the Veggie Tales, especially the end theme song from QWERTY.

Career goals: Fashion designer, hotel designer/owner, architect, marine biologist, inventor.

I remember how earnest they were about certain things and how they tried very hard to understand a complex grown-up world with the simple mind of a child. How they tried to share their thoughts on politics or movie stars or books they read.

It's as though now they see that child as someone else instead of a younger and smaller version of themselves.

How could I love that child any more than I love the grown (or growing) version I see at present?

Perhaps the past really is a foreign country...and those little people in the photos and memories are merely the residents, long gone as the years progress.

No, dear children, I couldn't possibly love that little-person version of you more than I love you now...for you are that little person now a bit bigger. And I love that bigger person even more today than I did yesterday.

Who Me?

My brain is ruminating. 

The dictionary says to ruminate is “to go over in the mind repeatedly and often casually or slowly.“ 

The news media would like us to worry about all of our leaders and what they are saying/doing/thinking/supporting. It’s a “he said/she said” battle of epic proportions. 

The fact of the matter is that none of the politicians lives with us. Not one of us — unless we are related to them — has daily contact with ANY of them. Our only contact is through what we see, read, and hear. 

Like everyone else, I find it extremely difficult to separate myself from all that is happening. I feel like I need to know. But what does that do to me and my family and friends? How does it affect those who have direct contact with me?

So I got to thinking...who is responsible for fueling all the hateful speech that is going around? Me. And who is responsible for preventing/changing hate speech and thoughts? Me again. 

It isn’t our president or the media or any other politician or movie star or athlete or singer or anybody at all. 

If each of us — myself included — spreads love and fairness and grace and civility, it WILL happen. It’s contagious.

No one needs to “kick anyone” who goes low. 

As I learned several years ago — and continue to learn — grace and love ALWAYS win. 

Let’s try it. 

Nah-tivity Nonsense

I am constantly irritated amused amazed by the stuff I read on the Internet. That it only really started in the form we now know nearly 20 years ago and people have taken to it -- and complaining on it -- without reservation...is, like, wow!

We have a generation of people, some call the Millennials. I see them more as the Baby Boomers 2.0. They seem to complain about, er, um, question everything.

I came across a photo the other day about a nativity set someone had at her house.

She brought up the idea that white entitlement or privilege was prevalent in Christmas stuff, that her nativity scene figurines were blond and that made them from Ohio (not sure how many blonds live in Ohio, but idle grass...) She claims that they are miscolored because Jesus was Jewish...and this is apparently a #christmasfail.

Three people agreed with her -- with vehemence. One even complained how she'd been on a quest for a "non-blond" more "culturally accurate" set. She promised to get two, if she found one.

...

First of all, none of us was there. There are no photos, pictures, drawing, paintings of Jesus and his parents at that time period. Why couldn't they be blond? What is that "white privilege" or "entitlement"? Blond people exist today. Who's to say they weren't the coloring of the first people and the rest changed pigmentation as people moved away from the Garden area? No one knows what color came first. And who really cares? At the end of the day, we are all people with different pigmentation. That's it. No colors. Just people.

I know. I know. Spoken like a true white person.

Sigh.

Second of all, the person in question is white. Or, as I prefer to say, Caucasian. What gives? Why is she "white bashing" when that's her own background? It seems to me that a person who bashes her own skin tone is just trying to be part of the crowd, beating the tired drum of the liberals of our country. She has no credibility.

Thump. Thump. Sigh.

And third of all, who cares? I know I already added that to my "first of all," but it bears repeating. I am white and my family is white. Not one of us is blond, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a nativity set that is blond...and white...and in a wooden building -- eek! -- (because they apparently used a cave). The idea is that a nativity scene -- with a little baby Jesus -- points us to the true meaning of the holiday. Does it really matter if he's black, white, brown, green with polka dots? Not really. It's something we bring out once-a-year for about a month or so. We add it to the other decorations and gaze at it occasionally. We don't worship it. We don't think it's the be-all-to-end-all. It's just part of the scenery.

And if having a more culturally appropriate set is important to your family because culturally you are different, then kudos to you. But if you're white and your set is white, enjoy it for what it is: a small reminder that Christmas is a gift, a blessing, a privilege in itself -- not another time to complain and jump on the liberal millennial band wagon.

Your whiteness precludes you from that.

Let's just be people. Together. Celebrating. Worshiping. Without reservation.

That's Heaven.

In Times Like These...

I love words. 

I love the way they fall together to create sentences, forming stories or poems or songs. I love to hear the jingle of the letters’ sounds together – sometimes making onomatopoeia. I loved teaching my children how to read and process the sounds together to make words. I loved sharing my favorite words with them: saunter, facetious, whimsical.

But words don’t define me. I am not a collection of static letters or sounds. That’s when words lose their meaning.

I am a living, breathing, ever-changing human. I am not what people call me, either in race or religion or creed. My beliefs are my own, not formed by a stereotype or what I am told they are or should be. They are mine. And the basic core of my soul stays the same, but my thoughts are fluid as I observe and grow and process all that is around me.

When we allow our televisions and newspapers and online sources to tell us what to believe about who we are and what we are, it’s time to UNPLUG. When we listen and believe only what we are told, we have given up the power of words. We have allowed fear to own us.

So many people are complaining about the violence we hear and read about…constantly…the “ugliness” that is our world. I didn’t see it personally. I only read about it. What if it wasn’t as bad as described? What if “catastrophic” was an exaggeration of the events…made to cause fear and panic and anxiety in me? Catastrophic has always existed…and recent events are nothing new. And, yet, losing one person is always tragic to me. Losing three…even more so. Those people have their own people, who knew and loved and cherished them. And now they are without them. That makes me incredibly sad.

But fearful?

Instead of concentrating on what’s happening and being afraid, what if we looked around us at the world we can actually see? Look at the multitudes of flowers all around us, full of color and blooming in the final weeks of summertime. Listen to the giggles we hear from children running on a playground, enjoying their freedom and the innocence of just being. Watch a family or group of friends laugh, enjoying a dinner together.

Why can’t we grab hold of these truths? 

They are RIGHT. IN. FRONT. OF. OUR. EYES. 

They are real and happening right now. 

Why can’t we let go of what the media wants us to hear, to believe, to own. Realize that we may not have “gotten our way” in the election, but then neither did half the country in the last two elections…and we all made it through just fine. What if we accept what is and have faith that goodness exists and that we’ll all be okay…goodness is in children, in furry animals, in chocolate, in a drive through farmland, in a walk through a city, in the rising and setting of the sun. What if we believed in the good of mankind again – in those we know and see and love around us? What if we “agree to disagree” and go back to making cookies for each other or sharing ice cream cones or game nights or movies together? What if we ONLY try to make the small sphere we live in a better place for our children to live and grow up in, refuse to do anything else or read anything else or fear anymore?

What else can we do? Really?

For better or worse, this is the world we live in. We only see and feel and hear a small sphere of it, a mere sliver of all that is out there. Why not concentrate on that for a change, count our blessings and realize that, yes, we are sinful, but through God’s mercy, we are good? We are safe. We are alive. And we are free.

Then our words will be meaningful again. Because their power will be ours – not the media’s or government’s. Just ours.

It starts with a simple phrase: I love you, my friend. Not because we are the same, but because we are different.

I am NOT "white" or "conservative" or "hateful" or "mean." I am just Susie.

Perspectives

My parents always taught us to look at both sides of something. Sometimes that meant playing the "devil's advocate," but it was still an important lesson. Things aren't always one-sided, even if we want -- or hope for -- them to be.

This was an important tool to have in my toolbox when I became a reporter. It's easy to want to make the narrative fit the issue. But is the narrative truth...or at the very least, the whole truth? How much braver to look at an issue and face that it might be different than we wanted -- or hoped.

No one is perfect. Everyone has some skeletons in his/her closet.

A diamond has multiple sides, and the sun hits each side differently, causing a different amount of sparkle and shine and light. Just the same, people have different ways of seeing the world -- or even an event.

None is wrong...just different.

Maybe when we finally realize and grasp this, the world will become a better place?

Maybe.

A Funny Little Thing Called...Life

There's a thing to understand about life...and that thing is that life is not always understandable.

Curve balls can be -- and often are -- thrown at any moment, without warning. We may think that we have everything all planned out and moving along like our favorite movie's storyline....but it doesn't always work that way. (Wouldn't you love to have an umpire shout about the "next batter"?)

And then there's the comparison trap. We look around at friends, neighbors, movie stars/singers, and even strangers and think that they have it all together. They're so much more successful than us. Their lives are moving along swimmingly, like our favorite movie's storyline. So why aren't ours?

Because those people don't exist.

Hang on a moment. They don't exist?

Huh?

Stay with me.

They don't exist -- not in the realm of our own true reality. They don't live with us, right? We can't look into their houses or apartments or work spaces, like a little child playing with a dollhouse, right?

And while, in truth, their reality is exactly the same as ours, filled with curve balls that throw them off course and create bubbles of confusion, frustration, and envy, they aren't here.

Of course, in realness they are. They are every bit as real as you and me. If they came to visit, they would eat and drink and talk and laugh the same as we do.

But when they're not with us? Who knows. Maybe they're just cardboard cutouts made to keep us in comparison confusion, virtual reality to look like they're there. They aren't living with us. They are people we hear about on the news or read stories from on Facebook...so how do we really know? And why do we really need to know?

Like the Schrodinger's cat experiment, they might be there...they might not. And in the spirit of getting on with our own lives, who cares?

I'm not saying we shouldn't care for or about each other -- that's another blog post (and probably one that I've already blogged about lots in the past). I'm saying we shouldn't care about what each of us is or isn't doing.

Because, if you think about it, everyone is struggling in his or her own way. Everyone feels down at some point. Not everything is "great" in a person's life, just because he or she has money, a good job, a seemingly fantastic spouse or girlfriend/boyfriend, sweet, obedient, and talented children or pets.

We're so focused on others and how they are doing in their lives that we forget our own lives.We need to leave behind the "what ifs" and "if onlys" and get to what is.

Enjoy your own job. Have fun with your own kids or pets, Love your own significant other. Worry about your own finances and feel blessed with what you have.

And when you have a curve ball thrown at you? Pray. And, in doing so, remember to pray for others who also face curve balls.

In the big scheme of things, everything else is just fluff.

==============

What are your thoughts? How do we get off the comparison train that seems to derail us in life?

Issues of the Day

Recently, I was reading a few reviews about some middle-grade books that are new on the market. The reviewers raved about how EVERYone should read these books...and how they wished they'd been around when they were young...and how it would have "helped" them through some tough issues they'd faced. The books in question were about the death of a parent.

Hmmm...

The popular notion at the moment is to write stories for middle school kids about tough issues facing them. We want them to be prepared and know how to face and handle complex issues...some of which we're not even comfortable facing or handling. BUT, they will know how.

Because?

Because they read about a girl in a book who faced that very same issue and saw how she handled it -- nevermind that the issue might be one some kids will never face or have to handle. Let's stress them out some more. Because, after all, if they don't know how to handle every issue that might come their way, they'll flounder.

What if they never even knew about certain issues? Would it really hurt them?

I write all of this tongue-in-cheek, of course.

I'm reminded of something we were taught in our prenatal parenting sessions. "Dress the baby for the weather, not based on what you're feeling."

So you, as an adult, think a story about a boy facing the death of his mother and learning how to deal with it and let go is a good thing. Because you're an adult and know how to handle such things. And a kid, of 9, 10, 11, should be able to handle it, too? How can you (with adult eyes) truly see it through the eyes of young person again?

We are doing our kids a disservice when we give them issues that are way too old and mature and complex for them to really need to think about. What happened to reading for entertainment? For pleasure? For a nice story about a nice family in a nice setting with happy thoughts?

Sure, life is definitely not always nice, but don't we all inherently know that without having to be reminded in books and television shows and movies?

Middle-grade readers read alone. They sit in their room or on the bus or in the library or on a blanket in the grass and read...and they take in all they are reading...alone. Those thoughts and ideas swirl around in their heads. They try to make sense of them. They try to handle the complex ideas of divorce and death and sex and relationships -- way before they need to -- alone. Certainly, some kids will chat with their parents about their reading materials. (Or, worse, with friends who are also just as uncertain.)

But, com'on, let's be honest. How many of us adults really take the proper amount of time to talk "lit" with our kids, to philosophy and mull over and exchange thoughts about what's being read, what the author might have meant, what the subject is about? How many have time? How many want to take time?

We're all too busy. And, heck, if the kids are reading, that's a good thing, right?

Wrong.

Reading for pleasure is an awesome thing. I'm a huge lover (and collector...see this post) of all things books. I worked for a publishing house, and I'm currently a newspaper correspondent. I love stories! I love the idea of reading and teaching it and teaching the love of it.

But what if the materials are unnecessarily too complex and stressful for our kids? What if we take a step back and say, "I love this book and what it's talking about...now...when I get it...knowing what I know at this moment."

What if ideas and concepts that are too big for our kids are putting unneeded worries and stress in their lives? What if they don't always need to know about certain problems until (and unless) they actually face them? What if we save such materials for then? So they know they're not alone...instead of making them worry "what if"s all the time?

When I was 10, my parents gave me a book of stories about kids and their struggles. One of the stories dealt with a girl whose parents divorced. I hadn't really heard much about divorce. I knew that my mom's parents (my grandparents) had divorced, but it didn't occur to me that someone my age could have divorced parents. The girl had to live a few days at a time at each parent's house, trying to figure out which to love each time. I worried myself sick over that story. I thought my parents would divorce, and I would be forced to choose, and that sickened my heart. Why did I really need to read that? So I'd be prepared? My parents will be married 55 years this June...it really wasn't an issue I needed to read about at 10. I would have learned in the years that followed more about divorce and kids having to spend their time split between their parents' homes...but I would have been more mature and less likely to fret so much.

Let's try to remember that children are young for such a short amount of time. There's no need to rush them into reading about the "issues" of the day. Let's let them stay innocent. And why not? We all know that time and life will change that.

Until then, keep these newer middle-grade books away and bring them out for the kids who need them...when they need them.

**********

What do you think? Is this an issue you faced as a child? What books do you remember reading that you felt too young for? 

Silly Ol' Pooh Bear

Last year, Ethan and I read A. A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh for school. We fell in love with all the characters and Milne's fantastic sense of humor.

More than that, we loved the imagination and charm that filled the book. We loved it so much that we had to immediately find the sequel The House at Pooh Corner and devour it as soon as it arrived.

I love sharing good books with our kids. I love reading the words, letting the rhythm and song fall on our ears. I especially love when the older kids listen surreptitiously from another room. This time they just came and joined us. Everyone was very excited every time I announced it was time to read again.

Ethan turned six last September. Can you guess the favorite book he got for his birthday?

Now We Are Six. 

And it's a definite favorite, judging by the number of times we've read and reread it.

To Like or Not to Like

In a world that's saturated by social media, friendship is cheap.

On Facebook and Twitter, we "collect" friends and followers, even though we may never really speak to or connect with said friends and followers. We just "like" or repost photos and stories and statuses. Or retweet things we think are interesting. Sometimes we post photos in the hopes that they will draw a lot of attention and get lots of "likes" and/or comments. Then we'll feel liked, right?

But is there any real connection?

It's really just a popularity contest. We can choose the "friend of the day" like a person chooses a flavor of ice cream. We also can judge people by what they post. Sometimes, posts even cause feelings of inadequacy and jealousy, most of us forgetting that we can choose to do some of the same things we see or read about -- watch the same movies, read the same books, visit the same restaurants and cafes, save to travel to the same places, be the same patient/loving mother we think our friends are.

It just takes more effort (and money) for some.

Do you remember as a child being in a group of friends and seeing the "odd" girl hanging out on the fringe? Sometimes she was reading a book. Sometimes she was playing by herself. Sometimes she was standing, longing to be included. Do you remember feeling sad for her but hoping that someone else would invite her to join in? Do you remember when you became that "odd" girl and suddenly you understood just how lonely it felt to be on the outside edge of the circle? It made you promise yourself that if you ever made it back into the circle that you would always include any girls on the fringe.

What causes people to pick and choose who they like and don't like? Why do we separate into groups, causing others to feel on the outer edge? It takes effort to include everyone. It takes thought.

Thought.

Sure, we're only human. We can't do everything perfectly, and sometimes we're going to forget to show the kindnesses that we've been shown. But when we do think of others -- include others -- we're doing something different...and we're showing God's love. Two good things.

We can't really choose to like or not like someone. Well, we can...but should we? In a world filled with loneliness and hopelessness, let's try harder to be a friend to everyone.

It'll be worth the effort.

Christmas Eve...

There's something about this day.

Emily summed it up well by saying how she likes it a little bit more than Christmas Day.

Maybe it's the anticipation?

Maybe it's the excitement of what's to come?

Maybe it's the stillness?

Or maybe it's the light that shattered the darkness and brought new hope to Israel...

Silent night. Holy night.

All is calm, all is bright

'Round yon virgin, mother and child.

Holy infant so tender and mild  

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Label Readers

I'm getting really tired of all the labels we give to ourselves and our kids, trying to explain every condition/ailment under the sun.

We all have a label. It's called " human." 

What if we all realize this, take responsibility for our own actions and abilities /struggles and accept each other "as is" without giving ourselves a name or label or condition? 

Whoa.

I've read that "normal "is only a setting on the dryer. No one is normal. Because think about it. Who actually determines what normal is? 

Maybe when we see this, we'll stop feeling defensive -- or judgmental -- and we'll look in the mirror and like who we see, accepting our own selves flaws and all.

Hmm... 

I think that's a start to peace on earth.

Thoughts on the Eve of Another School Year

 Top row taken of each one in kindergarten; Bottom row taken in June 2014

It's very early on the day my kids start a new school year. And I can't sleep. Not because I'm worried. Not because I'm too busy. Just because I can't believe we've reached this point in life.

We have a senior, a freshman, and a 2nd-grader.......

Sigh.

During the first week of Emily's life, I remember looking at her and thinking that we'd only have her at home for 18 years. University seemed such a long time away. Then there were times during those long early-morning feedings that I wondered if I'd survive having her at home for 18 more years. It seemed like such a long time away.

"Blink and you'll miss it!" I remember people warning me. I knew they were right, but a big part of me thought, "It's such a long time away yet."

And here I sit, typing out my thoughts on the eve of our daughter becoming a senior. She'll be 17 in October. She's been looking at universities and learning to drive. It really isn't such a long time away anymore.

It's here. It's now. It's amazing!

People are right: Blink, and you will miss it.

Or just hang on and enjoy the ride. The view from the "parental window" is exciting, daunting, terrifying, and joyful all at the same time.

*   *   *

A Prayer for Our Kids on the First Day of a New School Year:

Lord, help our children as they embark on a new year of learning.

May they know the joy of discovering new ideas and learning new concepts.

May they be excited when they get things right and humble when they get things wrong.

May they feel gratitude for the privilege it is to be able to learn.

May they be thankful for good health and strong bodies and bright minds.

May they share their joy of learning with others in such a way as to excite those people to want to learn.

May they continually weigh what they learn against the core of their moral being.

May they be kind to one another and share their learning space with respect and love.

May they always do their best.

May they never forget where they've come from or where they are headed.

May they also never forget to enjoy the moment, to find peace with where they are and patience for what's to come.

May they always be awe of all You have created.

May they have wisdom to manage their time properly so they can do their best on assignments.

May You give them wisdom in their journey through school and later into the workforce.

May they never stop thanking You for the lifetime gift of learning.
And may they always remember how much we love them, no matter what!

Thank You for loving them more than even we can!

Amen

Of Time and Books and Love

I love books. I've always loved books. I think that's what drew me into writing at a very young age.

Growing up, we always had a ton of books in our house, and my mom was a great believer in going to the library for more. One year when I was a kid, we even spent a rainy day on our beach vacation at the local library.

I love the way books smell and feel and, well, everything about them.

I'm especially fond of children's books. I started collecting them when I was a kid myself. So it was a huge thrill, years ago, to work for Boyd's Mills Press, the book publishing arm of Highlights for Children. I got to see the process of publishing children's books up close and personal.

As time moved on, however, and babies appeared on the scene, my patience level waned for reading anything longer than a board book. I had a stack of books that I wanted to read...but never seemed to have the stamina to do it.

Once the older two kids became more self-sufficient, though, I began to read again...a bit. Then another little one arrived and my reading level dropped to the point of merely reading the front and back covers of books I hoped to one day have the energy to read.

And so the stack grew taller, until I finally decided that I'm a "collector" of books. As a collector, I have the option of reading or not reading the books I have on my shelves, right?

Somehow that relieves some of the guilt I've been feeling in having all these fun books and not reading them -- yet.

Works for me, especially since I still love books -- to collect and (hopefully) read. *wink-grin*

Fleeting Summer Monday Musings

Emily and Stuart on a facetime chat

Happy Monday!

I cannot believe that a little less than a month from now we'll be starting school. Yikes!

Our daughter starts 10th grade, our older son starts 6th (with 7th-grade math and language arts), and the "baby" starts kindergarten. How did all this come up so fast?

Didn't the summer drag a bit longer when we were young?  I remember having times when I felt extremely bored...almost (though I'm not sure I would have readily admitted to it) eager for school to start again. That said, I did like school, so maybe?  Still, I remember summer feeling like one long relaxing hot day.....

Now?  I feel like it's pretty much the same scramble as the school year. 

Ah, well. The play is over and now we can settle down for a few weeks and get some of the necessary tidying done in the house. I'd been hoping to get the dining room and kitchen sorted out before the new school year. I'd love to have more space (and less stuff!) for our lessons...especially with another student joining us.

Speaking of Ethan...  He's loving his Summer Bridge book and keeping right up with it. He's even trying to spell words for himself. It's amazing to watch him go. He was drawing a get-well card today and spelled "ritiin" on it for "written." Not bad for a nearly-4-year-old.

Speaking of Emily... (Okay. So no one actually mentioned her, but...) She's glad the play is over (practice-wise), but I think she's missing the acting part.  We had a great idea of starting our own little skit group to take some fun entertainment to elderly-care homes in the area.  Watch this space. 

My real dream would be to do a Christmas pantomime, complete with a humorous "baddie" and audience participation. Such fun!  Oh, that and open a tea shop. But time will tell.

No one mentioned Edward... But we finally sorted out last year's curriculum to send back and opened up this year's stuff...and he's well-chuffed by all the fun stuff he has this year. So well-chuffed that he was ready to start school today. Hmm... Hang on to that feeling, Budboy. Only a few weeks to go.

Stuart's off in Kansas for the week. We "facetimed" him after he left. I love so much that we have this technology now. It's such fun to be able to keep in touch face-to-face.

How's your week starting? Hope your Monday is a great one!

Monday Musings...in Memory

Happy Monday!

It's our first since our summer vacation from school started. (Woo-hoo!!) And it feels good to have a lighter schedule.

The kids started their "Summer Bridge" books today...and they're actually excited. (Makes me wonder how I can use something similar for them for school time. *wink-grin*) This is Ethan's first year to join in. He's SO excited. He keeps saying it's like doing "real" school. 

We're actually using it as an experiment to see if he's ready to start school in the fall. He's already reading/spelling basic words and doing simple addition and subtraction, so we're wondering if he might do well to start kindergarten at home this coming school year. It's always a toss up since we don't want to rush anything, but then there's the notion that his "window" is wide open, too. So we'll take it gently for the moment, and see how it goes before we order any curriculum.

Emily is performing in a Shakespeare play this summer. She's "Curio" in Twelfth Night, and they'll be doing the performances in a local park. Looks like a good time for everyone. Here's hoping for good weather.

We go tonight -- clad in our tie-dye shirts -- to say farewell to Stuart's co-worker and friend, Bret. It still feels so surreal to us. We keep thinking about his wife and kids...and how much shock they must be feeling right now. Stuart's company offered to pay for the travels of any of the salesmen/women who wanted to come in for the service. Should be a large crowd. Bret worked there for over 20 years.

Eating Crow...Gracefully

Recently, my job at the newspaper has given me more than the usual amount of opportunities to teach my kids important lessons. It seems the busier I get -- ie. the more stories I take on -- the less organized I am and the more mistakes I make.

Sigh. 

Mistakes are, of course, a part of everybody's life in some way or another...especially as children when we're "learning the ropes" in life, so to speak. So it's not an unusual or uncommon lesson to teach.

Just hard sometimes.

Sigh.

Still, that's when it becomes such a valuable one. 

Through my attitude and actions, I am showing them how to accept mistakes and fix them properly...and, hopefully, gracefully.

Basically: Eat crow.

In today's world, so many people want to hide from their mistakes. They want to pretend nothing happened and just let things roll by. It's an age of "it's not my fault."

I must admit that it's very tempting to join in.

But, while "crow" isn't very tasty, and I won't be perusing Allrecipes.com for crow recipes anytime soon, it feels so much better to do the right thing and make sure to admit my faults, apologize, and move on.

After all, a little "crow" never hurt anyone... Because, look! I'm still here.

A Sigh and a Humph

There's a danger in blogging.

While it's a fun way to keep track of the happenings in a family -- post pictures and/or write a blurb about what goes on -- and becomes a diary of sorts, it doesn't offer a realistic picture of the day-to-day events, including the emotions and triumphs and defeats.

Well, not unless you write about those, too.

But if you write too much about them, your blog becomes a drag, a veritable notepad of complaints...weighing down the readers with all the "blueness" you're feeling.

Sigh.

It's really a balancing act, knowing which details to include and which to keep hidden in the family's wall safe (...behind the photo in the living room, combination 45-92-17... Oops! Was that my "out-loud" typing?)

So you're stuck, really.

Write about too many happy events and you almost seem too perfect, creating feelings of inadequacy in others around you. Write about too many complaints, and your readers will want to find a hemlock tree...

The power of the pen. I learned about it while studying journalism in college...and later when I worked at the newspaper.

If you say that a person "refused" to comment, while it's his right to do so, it makes the people reading/hearing the story wonder what that person is hiding. If you say he "declined" to comment, people nod and say he (the speaker) must have felt it was necessary...it's his right after all. An odd difference in two words that mean exactly the same thing, which is (drumroll, please) the guy didn't talk.

So it goes with blogging.

As the blog writers, we can include anything we want to share...or keep out anything we don't want known.

For instance, while we might have had a fun time doing "XYZ," one of the kids might have had a meltdown before we left the house and another split open his lip on his way back to the car. While the included photos show smiling cherubs and sunny weather and the text surrounding them says a "fun time was had by all," the parents might have been battling about household chores or a big bill might have come due....who knows.

Only the writer.

To the reader, the world of the blogger is just peachy, perfect all the way down to the professionally-coiffed and impeccably-dressed little ones standing in a neat row.

It's a big responsibility...and one that I take very seriously. I know that my photos and posts make it seem like our family has "fun in the sun most of the time"...but that's simply not true...not that that wouldn't be fun...in the sun...

There are tons of posting styles, and I love and appreciate and read all of them. It's the true freedom of blogging.  I try to mix up my posts, keeping in mind that occasionally I need to "be real" and say what I'm thinking and feeling at that moment, even if it's not as positive as usual.

But I'll try to never make it a "sounding off" place. I might feel so strongly about something that I have to let it out, or I'll burst...but that's all I'll do. Just let it out. It's not meant to be offensive...just my brain at that moment.

And as my brain at this moment is a bit jumbled by thoughts and emotions, I'll end with "a sigh and a humph...parenting can be so hard sometimes."