Where the rubber meets the road

One thing I was looking forward to not doing this week was cooking. I had absolutely no plans to make anything except reservations. But when MaryGrace called yesterday and asked me to take a meal to a mutual friend I jumped at the chance, thanked her profusely for asking and went right to the store.

Why the change of heart? Because I was taking a meal to Bonnie, a friend I’ve gotten to know through school and The Sound of Music production. Her children are friends with Michael and Amy and I’ve been more than impressed with them; they are sweet, fun, all-around great kids who have gone through hell in the last three months as they watched their mom and then their dad get diagnosed with cancer.

Bonnie was diagnosed first. It was just as school was ending. I saw her when we dropped our girls off at a birthday party; she looked drained which is exactly how I felt. We were all tying up loose ends, trying desperately to finish school for the year. I didn’t think much of it until three days later when I heard she’d been admitted to the hospital with acute leukemia. Sparrow Hospital was her home for the past two months where she endured countless treatments and unthinkable side effects. And through it all her husband was by her side. For better or worse, in sickness and health. They were a picture of that promise.

While Bonnie was still in the hospital being treated for her leukemia Steve was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s diffused large B-cell lymphoma. Seriously, what do you say to that? What?

Here’s what Steve said: “I pray that this pushes my children closer to God and relying on Him and finding their security in Him and not necessarily the earthly parents that God gave them for a while. I don’t say that as a negative comment; I just strongly believe that we all should look for our security from God and rest in Him no matter the circumstance.”

Steve began keeping a blog as a way to update everyone on Bonnie’s progress. The blog has now morphed into a his-and-hers cancer status update. His daily summaries are one part medical jargon, the other part sermon. This man is living his faith in the hardest of circumstances. Reading of Steve’s trust in God has caused me to question what I believe. Would I, in the face of unthinkable pain and uncertainty, be able to say as Steve did: “God has assigned this difficult task to us... He takes great care to make sure the assignment is the exact amount: measured and controlled. How comforting it is to know that on one hand the portion assigned to us is specifically measured based on our ability to handle the task yet the cup of God’s love, peace, joy and kindness overflows without measure. You can’t ask for more comfort than that during a difficult time as this.”

So yes, I jumped at the chance to cook for Bonnie, Steve and the kids on their first day home from the hospital, hoping my small contribution could in some way minister to them. Because they will never know how their words and actions during this incredibly trying time have ministered to me.

Don't Go Wobbly On Me Now

Day one of Week With No Kids was dreamy. I slept in, took my time getting ready, surfed the web without guilt, read a little, ran some errands and at 3:30 went on a trail ride with Kate, a friend from church. In theory it was a good idea.

My girls have been taking lessons from Kate for about a year and in that time we’ve talked about how I used to ride. And by “used to ride” I mean when I was in junior high, which in my mind was last week but in actuality was about 25 years ago. Kate was brave to let me get near her horses because I’m pretty sure riding a horse isn’t exactly like riding a bike.

When I got to the barn Kate had her horses, Cheyenne and Marie, in the cross-ties. We groomed them and got them all tacked up. Kate had me start on Cheyenne in the outdoor arena. She threw a few welcomed reminders my way: back straight, heels down. I rode around the arena a few times and I guess Kate figured I was sure-seated enough because she hopped on Marie and we headed out for a trail ride.

It was a beautiful day – gorgeous blue sky, perfect cotton ball clouds, light breeze – it was just perfect. The owner of the property has tons of it. We rode on the trail for almost an hour, chatting about horses and husbands and how we ended up where we are. It really was a lovely afternoon, a gracious gift. When I caught sight of the barn again I wasn’t ready for the ride to end!

One thing the ride reminded me was that horseback riding is not for wimps. You really need strong leg muscles to ride well. And as with any exercise it’s helpful to do it more than once a quarter-century. As soon as the horse stopped moving I realized I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. I knew when I got off Cheyenne I would have a serious case of John Wayne legs. All I could think was, “Oh, please legs don’t buckle under me when I get off this horse.” I managed to dismount and stay upright but it took considerable effort, especially because I didn’t want Kate to know my legs felt like Jell-O that’d been left out in the sun.

I kept it together long enough to take Cheyenne’s saddle off and walk her back to the pasture. Walking helped so I thought the worst was over. Not quite.

In the twenty minutes it took to drive home I realized my legs were still Jell-O-y. I pulled in the driveway and sat in my car for a few moments playing a little mind-over-matter. “Yes, the legs are little shaky. You can push through this!” So I gingerly got out and realized my mind might be steady but my legs were going to be wobbly for a while longer.

It’s been seven hours since the ride and I can just now hold my legs together. Barely. When I try to they push back with all their might, screaming, “Look, lady, you can’t ignore us for years then hop on a horse and hope for the best.” True. Very true.

No pain, no gain, as they say. And this little pain was certainly worth the gain of being with a friend on a perfect summer day. Definitely worth it.

Me and Cheyenne

Kate and Marie. Look at that sky! Gorgeous.

Shh... Do you hear that?

I don’t hear a thing, and it’s not just because I ruined my hearing listening to my Walkman headphones too loud. It’s because I’m the only one here. Sean’s at work. Michael and Amy are on the east coast with the youth group on a mission trip. Rebecca’s visiting the grands.

I. Am. Home. Alone. (I’ll pause as that sinks in.)

Woo hoo!

I mentioned my alone status to someone who looked absolutely horrified that I was so thrilled to have some time off. “You mean you don’t miss your children?”

Um, no.

The kids are having a great time. Rebecca got to Atlanta on Thursday and spent the entire weekend with Sean’s parents. They took her to a puppet show, a huge 4th of July picnic and she got to ride in Grandpa’s Corvette in a parade. She is doing just dandy.


Michael and Amy left Sunday morning with the church youth group – two vans of kids and adults driving 12 hours; Amy called me last night when they arrived. She said the drive was great and they were currently figuring out how to arrange the air mattresses on the floor. I also talked to Michael, who echoed Amy’s report about the drive over. Both sounded pleased as punch to be there.

How could I deprive them of such wonderful experiences? It is, indeed, a sacrifice, but one I’m willing to make. I think the sacrifice comes easier to me; Sean mentioned several times yesterday afternoon how silent it was in the house. Yes, dear. That’s called peace and quiet. Ah.

Sean’s planned a few things for us to do and already has reservations for dinner two nights this week; I am not cooking. I am going horseback riding; my girls aren’t here for their lesson so I’m going instead! I’m also planning to read, and by read I mean I will finish an entire sentence before being interrupted by someone asking for food or drink which in all likelihood I would have to play a part in preparing.

You know those ads for Corona beer, where someone’s sitting on the beach doing absolutely nothing except sitting and watching the waves? That’s how I envision my week, just without the beer, sand, salt water and potential shark incidents. So actually nothing like that but you get the picture.





Couple One: My normal life. Couple Two: My life this week (and don't we have lovely tans?). Did I say woo hoo already?

I hope your week has some bright spots ahead, too.

Friday Fun

Sean and I love Jeanne Robertson - she tells the most hysterical stories about herself and "Left Brain," her husband. Not too many clips of her on YouTube, but I did find this one:



This is exactly like watching a car wreck; you know nothing good's going to happen but you just can't stop watching!



How can this be real? Meth Bible Camp? You'd think the Methodists could have come up with a better abbreviation.





And in honor of the 4th of July:



Have a happy weekend!

Putting Things on the Light Fixture, part II

Several weeks ago I found a rubber duckie in my entryway light fixture. Apparently Michael was only getting started with placing things on the fixture because this is what I found a few days ago:


I turned the corner for a better look:


When I saw those yellow stuffed legs hanging over the glass I knew exactly what was up there:


First a duck, now a bear. What's next? Wait... pretend I didn't ask that.

Wednesday Rerun

Just taking a little break from writing today. Hope you enjoy a post from four years ago.

What's that Smell?

First published August 29, 2005

Sean and I haven’t been on a date since we moved to Michigan in April. So when he announced he had a babysitter and reservations for Saturday night I nearly cried with happiness. (Not that I haven’t adored being with my children 24/7 for 16 weeks, of course…)

So we tried out a restaurant in Okemos, a traditional hibachi place where they cook in front of you. We shared the table with a 50’s something couple who were obviously dating, and a young family with a four year old girl and a 17 month old boy. I was quite concerned when the waitress pulled a high chair up to our table but we didn’t have anything to worry about; the child didn’t sit at the table. He just ran through the place for most of the dinner with the dad following behind.

We had a good dinner (what is it about the salad dressing at Japanese restaurants? It is so good and there’s no where else to find it!), then headed to the MSU campus to walk around. But it was move-in weekend and the place was crazy with people. And I realized I’d be thought of more as a mom of a student than a student so we opted to walk elsewhere.

We got home around 9:30 (we are such party animals) and found Rebecca asleep and Michael, Amy and Kylie, the babysitter, watching a movie. Actually, Michael was watching and Amy was teaching Kylie to crochet. There are a gazillion crocheted strings lying around our house. I have to find someone to teach Amy to connect the strings…

The kids went to bed and we started closing up the house. It was such a cool evening and we had all the windows open. But when we got upstairs and were ready for bed we smelled something funny coming in our still opened bedroom windows. We bent down and stuck our noses as close to the screen as we could and smelled the unmistakable smell of marijuana. I based this observation on my vast experience of smelling pot which consists of a being at a Genesis concert in 1987. (Sean, however, was in a fraternity and had smelled it a bit more than I, but he did concur. It was definitely pot.)

So there we are, walking through our very dark house in our jammies, sniffing at every window. And we came to our deck where we saw the lights on in the basement of our next-door neighbor’s house. And we smelled some serious smoke.

The family living in that house had just moved back to the states from Belgium, and after a quick Google search I discovered that Belgium legalized pot in 2001 Surely they know they’re in America now… and surely they know that marijuana use, for better or worse, is still illegal here. We don’t know if it was the parents or the kids (they have two sons, a senior in high school and a junior in college), but we do know where it was coming from. I told Sean how fortunate we are to have such international neighbors…

It was certainly an interesting end to our first date in Michigan. And based on our track record, we can look forward to another date in February, 2006. By then it will be too cold to open the windows.

Rescued!

I’d just seen Molly and the girls off Monday morning when Rebecca came bounding down the stairs in tears. “Mom, have you seen Rascle?!” I don’t make a point of playing with her pet hamster and hadn’t paid a lick of attention to him all morning. “Um, no, babe, I haven’t.”

“He’s not in his cage!” cried the nine year old who was struggling to hold it together but was teetering on the edge of hysterics. At that point I panicked.

There has never been a more loved hamster in the world. Ever. Rebecca cherishes that hamster and to think he’d gotten out never to be found… it was not a happy thought. I had a flashback to when one of my hamsters got loose when I was about Rebecca’s age. We located Jezebel (no, I do not know why I named my hamster that) by the smell behind the stove. The thought of Rebecca smelling a dead Rascle was more than I could bear.

We got a flashlight and began searching behind dressers and night stands and in our closets. I looked behind the bookcase, under beds, under all the stuff she keeps in her room. Michael was still sleeping but I burst in there, flashlight blazing, looking under anything and everything. If Rascle had gotten into Amy’s room we’d never find him under all the clothes and books and makeup and who knows what else so I didn’t even bother with her room.

All the time I was looking all I could say was, “Please, Jesus, help us find Rascle. Please, Jesus, help us find Rascle!” I kept praying and praying and praying, but was becoming more and more discouraged as the minutes passed.

When I looked in the kids’ bathroom I didn’t see any sign of him; I opened the door to the linen closet in the bathroom, pulled out the dirty clothes hamper and what did I see? Rascle, perched on a red towel, nibbling away at a sock. I have never been more thrilled to find a rodent in my house.

I yelled to Rebecca, who was still looking in her room, “I FOUND HIM!” She came running in, scooped him up and we both kissed him on his head and hugged each other. And as I hugged her and scratched Rascle behind the ears I whispered, “Thank you, God! Thank you, God!”

Rascle and his ball
Picture by Molly
(And yes, that is how Rebecca spells Rascle)