Life Long Learning

  The school bell doth toll...this time for ME!  Yep, 45 years old and I'm a backpack toting, Psych 101 studying, note taking, BONAFIDE student.

    Admittedly, this is not the first time I have answered the call of the "bell."  My first college experience was while I was in the Navy, stationed in Spain.  I added English and Ethics courses to my regular duties as a "Squid" overseas.  Not a bad way to break the scholastic ice.  The next time I headed back to school was sheerly for knowledge itself.  I was on a spiritual quest and wanted to know WHY I believed WHAT I believed.  So, off to the Franciscan University of Steubenville I went, with a course load of theology, sociology, and even an acting class (SO much fun!).  I then took time off to apply some of this knowledge in a practical way.
 
   A few years passed before I heard the Diiing...Dooong...ringing a beckon to further knowledge.  I answered with, "Yes please, I'll have a course of Public Speaking with a side order of Principles of Management."  By this time I had a little one to chase around so this was a whole new ball game figuring out how to manage time.  I decided the timing wasn't right to go for my undergrad degree.  However, that was not to be my last attempt. I eventually tried going back when I was the mother of four children.  That trial period lasted one semester of four classes.  Clarity struck when one of my children was standing a mere foot away repeating, "Mommy, Mommy, Mama, Mom..." in an effort to gain my attention. I was bleary-

eyed from staying up til 3:30 A.M., hunched over my keyboard searching for the perfect ending to a history essay assignment when a flashback struck like a lightning bolt. The flashback was a vision of what kind of Mommy I had always thought I'd be and it was in stark contrast with my then current abilities as wife and mother of four kiddos aged six and under, attempting a full time course load.  Aaand...I was expecting again.  That semester was a defining moment, teaching me to "let it go."

  Here I am, 13 years later, not regretting a single moment my choice allowed me.  In fact I'm grateful I had the opportunity to be present to my family, give myself fully to my loves, and live life in the moment.  Though I am far from not being needed as "Mom" (may that never be the case!), the pealing bell summons again.  This time, it's a family affair.

My 6 year old finds neurons interesting...sort of

  My youngest of seven is in first grade and she fakes interest while I describe how the synaptic vessels deliver neurotransmitters.  My seventh grader is willing to discuss the topic of "fake news" with me since we are both currently covering this matter in our respective classrooms, and my tenth grader has volunteered to tutor me in Algebra if need be.  Trust me...if I have to take any math class, the need will definitely BE.


 My husband takes my breath away with his support.  He works hard to help me carve out the necessary time for homework yet balances me with an invite to tuck the younger kids in and say their prayers.  My teens still burst in or quietly wander through the office door and flop in my easy chair to ask questions, share their highs and lows of the day, or willingly be subjected to the latest chapter on Human Behavior.  I never took down the chin-up bar from when my eldest occupied this room so I have a pretty constant call to watch daring feats of strength while I'm memorizing definitions.

60s means heat wave in Erie

  I've learned the way for me to achieve balance is to include my family in my studies and insert my studies where my family is.  This weekend the beautiful weather whispered, well, more like shouted
our names with temperatures in the 60s.  We couldn't let that call go unanswered, so off to the park we went.  I read from the text book while my youngest played on the jungle gym and her older brothers shot hoops.  When she tired of climbing, she asked for a push on the swing.  I readily complied then jumped on the open swing next to her and pumped my legs til my feet touched the sky. We giggled like crazy as butterflies filled our bellies.

  Maybe I needed to be taught more from the school called LIFE before the "school bell" called me back.  I find myself relating what I learn in the classroom to moments I've lived through and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have a deep well of experience to draw from.  Feels like the timing's right.  We shall see.  Diiiing...Doooong.



In Her Mind's Eye...

  In her mind's eye I was a bunny rabbit.  Not just any bunny rabbit, but the most beautiful of bunnies with a healthy pink glow in the cheeks, a soft pink nose, teeth that are perfect...even if they are pink and droop from my bottom lip, and of course satiny pink ears that might as well stem from my eyebrows.  Yes, I was a delightful creation that had sprung from the depths of her boredom. 



see my pink teeth?

  In MY minds eye...well, let's just say I was a sucker...thoroughly enraptured with my five year-old daughter's commitment to seeing this project of face-painting through.  Though I had been swindled into role reversal in a proposal offered to end her despair of "nothing to do" on the fourth day off of school, I delighted in every dip of the paint brush she held in her tiny yet capable hand while I sat in my "make-up" chair and let her work her magic.

  Actually, at this stage in my life letting someone dab one of my softest paint brushes over my face felt so good that I didn't mind the offer to paint butterflies and a duck (morphed into a t-rex) upon my hands as well.  Sure darlin', set your inner artist free.  Mama is your canvas and I am captivated with your confidence as your paint droplets of "oops" become a new creation.  No fuss no muss...complete lack of worry nor need for perfection.  I want to be her when I grow up.

Taaa-daaa!  Big reveal in the mirror brings my widened eyes to new levels of "appreciation,"  while my husband, sons, and of course the neighbor boy are treated to the unveiling of Mommy Rabbit.  "Oh Mommy, you're BEAUTIFUL," Daddy graciously doles out compliments while readying his camera.  I thank my tiny artist and give knowing smiles to my sons looks of astonishment mixed with dollops of hilarity and head to the shower.

  Only, there's no time for shower before a knock on the door announces my Mom's arrival from across town.  "Just in time for tea with the bunny,"  could be my only welcome in such a situation.

  A good hour and a half into our lively conversation my husband takes pity, or so I thought, until he announces, "I just can't take you seriously like this," and heads to the store.

 I marvel at his goodness as he unloads the largest jar of Noxzema and a tidy packet of make-up removal wipes.  Surely this will remove the dyed remnants that mere face wash and water couldn't erase. 

just...won't...come...off!

  Well, six scrubbings and the removal of approximately five layers of sloughed skin returned my comfort level with leaving the house.  My little artist had to get to dance class and I was her ride.  Off we go with her singing and my scarf worn high while my hat is pulled low.  Yet there is still a smile glistening in these eyes.  This is the stuff life is made of and, "Remember when?," stories are born.

Life Is...Surprising

  It's raining outside.  I used to think I'd be listening to jazz, sitting on the window ledge of an upper studio apartment, looking down over the streets of New York City on a gray day like this.  I even pictured playing along on my own saxophone.

   Yeah...uhhhm no.  Let's just say my life holds no semblance to the existence I envisioned while in my teens. 

  I do have Michael Buble's station playing on Pandora...so I shouldn't say NO semblance right?  It is kinda jazzy.  But as for New York City- well,  I'm in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania sitting in my upper story (yet another semblance), wooden office, looking out over fallen leaves that have covered my husband's ladders.  Those tools sit next to the well-loved lacrosse portion of the yard which is the backdrop to our summer's shining star- the pool.   Of course there's the swingset with attatched platform/slide that has seen better days...and by that I mean it used to be the summer's shining star.  The kids are getting older and we have more pick-up football games than we do calls for Mommy to "come push me!"  We can't forget Millie's (our choc lab) kennel.  It's kitty-corner to the fire pit that Millie sneaks wood from to chew when she thinks we're not looking.  It's the same wood she sneaks within plain view, then takes off to the lax area to hide behind the net...it's a net Millie, we can see you!

  It's raining outside...perhaps the same condensation passed over NYC hours ago.  Crazy to think of a life so foreign to my current days.  I've never even held a saxophone to my lips.  I'll hint at my age and admit that fantasy's inspiration was influenced by Kenny G.  Who didn't love Silhouette?  flashback to Silhouette (you're welcome).  And yet, I am happy.  I am content.  I look at the leaves that cover the yard where my children's youth has played out.  I see the trees that were full of vibrant green buds just this past spring.  They have released their blooms that whispered in summer's breeze and stand disrobed, yet sturdy, guarding our lawn carpeted in the golden offerings from these sentinels.  I'm reminded of another childhood favorite that holds more meaning now then ever... Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree.  No kidding, this book sits on the edge of my desk...next to the window I look out.  Perhaps it's been waiting for this rainy day to remind me how good I've got it.  And how life is not about the destination but the journey. 

  We parents once held the bud of youth in our dreams of how life would be.  We now have the opportunity to lay down our golden glory for our children to pile up and play in.  They can cover themselves and feel secure in our commitment to share this journey with them.  Perhaps they will provide us with their own little buds to bring rejuvenation in our golden years.  It comes full circle.  I wouldn't trade a single, crazy, hectic moment nor a neck hugging, sloppy kiss on the cheek embrace for a smooth jazz note lilting what could have been.  We make our own music here with broom stick air guitars and ladles for microphones. These are the days creating the memories of tomorrow. I imagine when I am an old woman I will look out at the trees and smile, remembering my children hanging from the branches and lobbing footballs under their leaves.
 
   Then again, I've been surprised before...perhaps I will be harnessed to my eldest, sharing a tandem skydive.  I wouldn't put it passed my second to have me deep sea fishing or my third to share her hotel amenities while she attends a medical conference on the Big Island.  My fourth just may get me to New York for a Broadway play the night after my fifth reserved a front row seat so I could watch the mad drumming skills he led the band with.  I will need some quiet time so I suppose I would prefer the box seat offered to watch my sixth in the Superbowl.  I will be tired so I will gladly return to my husband who kept the home fires burning at our sweet seventh's home-- where we will live.  ;)

 

Who Ate My Tomatoes??

  Ok-- it's official...we own a pig.  A tomato-eating, pig-dog.  My husband and I keep asking the question that will never be answered, "WHY?"  "Why would Millie eat THAT?

  Why would our two-year old Chocolate Lab eat the garden's freshest produce?  Is it because it's displayed tantalizingly on our counter?  I mean, this dog is let out to do her "business" several times throughout the day and doesn't make a point to graze about in the garden, munching on tomatoes.  Does she have a vitamin C deficiency?  That's probably as likely as a complex-chemical deficiency that prompted her to feast upon the red, plastic ball-pit orbs.  This past Christmas she devoured the full-on Crayola crayons 64 pack.  I figured she had an artistic flair...which, turned out to be true when the dog-doo was arrayed in sierra red, peacock blue, and sunburst yellow...I actually began to look forward to the Spring thaw to uncover Millie's rare First Editions.  I will be forever grateful that she left the sharpener alone, a fact that did nothing to calm our eight year-old son's distress that his future in art was usurped by his pig-dog.


  While I am constantly perplexed by the "WHY's" of this entire sordid business...my husband has moved to guerrilla-like warfare tactics in attempting to stop the How's.  Unfortunately, the ground chili pepper on peanut butter toast did nothing to stop her hankering for his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches but rather divulged her taste for Cajun foods.  I won't go into the gory details that brought about the lecture to our 15 year-old son why it is not a good idea to go frogging and leave the entrails in the garden.  Yes, I guess boys still do go frogging...but that's a story for another day. 

  If I could figure out technology I'd post a video of her tail disappearing around the top of the stairs as she places herself in time-out.  Yes, she doesn't even have to hear "MILLIE!!!!" before she races upstairs and disappears.  She knew she'd been busted after hearing ours shocked gasps whilst surveying a large, vine-ripened horror that resembled a shark bit vegetable surrounded with oozing seeds scattered about the crime scene in the kitchen.  Our second eldest daughter felt oddly justified in her teenaged "MmmmHmmm" since she had been blamed for taking the last three tomatoes the day before.  Seriously, why weren't we suspicious that she would eat three?  Most parents would be proud of the vegetable consumption...but our produce was disappearing at an alarming rate.

  Oddly, we have ghost peppers lining the counter's edge...still no takers.  I guess pig-dogs are smart...or picky.

 



 

TOADally Gross!

  Another true tale from the front line over here.

We've had our share of battles with fish tanks.  Our most disastrous was undoubtedly the 55 gallon tank springing a leak on our home office desk.  The leak was noticed about 2 minutes before the silicon seal gave way to a tidal wave soaking everything within a 5 foot radius.  I'm not exaggerating- it was probably a ten foot radius but I didn't want to over calculate and give away my poor geometry skills.  Suffice it to say even after suctioning with a wet/dry vac and saturating every bath towel we own their was still plenty of water left to drain through our hardwood floor creating a rainfall into the basement.  Poor fish- startled would probably not even begin to cover their "freak out" mode.  Not only had their environment been "disturbed" but the giant mouths and noses normally pressed up to the glass are now screaming and flaring.  If these fish spoke English they would understand how futile a command, "GET THE MOP!" really was.  I do believe these finned creatures were placing bets with their amphibian bookies over which was the worst fate: a) gasping for water to fill their gills while laying belly up on fluorescent pebbles while your buddies are clinging to life behind the fake castle where there's a tiny tide pool OR b) actually being caught by the Tupperware cup scoopers digging into those stupid fluorescent pebbles then being tossed into a Coleman cooler in the bathtub.

  It is my firm belief those amphibian bookies took the bets because they saw an even more terrifying string of events looming in the future.  Who knew slimy, webbed foot beings were clairvoyant?

Turns out the fish were fine...the amphibians in the 20 gallon tank resting on the boys room dresser upstairs...not so much.  "Toad"ally different story- sorry to keep "hopping" around- I don't mean to th-"wart" your focus.  Stick with me, I promise you'll find this story a "tad" (pole...get it?  I know, I don't want it either!) absolutely ribbeting..I mean riveting! (boooooo. stink!)

  A year after the living room flood Our 12 year old Stevie decided to add to his collection of three fire-bellied toads by introducing a couple small bullfrogs.  Now, I am aware Stevie is the master of all things Animal so I didn't second guess his blowing off my concern that the bullfrogs might try to eat the smaller toads.  Stevie was proud of the non-aggressive habitat he'd expanded.  Weeks later my son stomped up the stairs to show me his latest catch... a bullfrog approximately the size of a water buffalo.  Ok- slight exaggeration, however, the body alone truly was the diameter of a softball. Stevie grasped the bullfrog around it's belly and the legs dripped down to his elbow.  I followed him to the tank murmuring my concern about such a large hungry-looking frog being placed in close proximity to smaller toads.  I think my choice of words being "Isn't their a pecking order?" canceled any authority on amphibians I might have won had I said food chain.  Stevie plopped the monster in and I was struck by it's resemblance to Jabba the Hut- the slug looking giant of Star Wars fame.  (Go ahead and Google Jabba the Hut.  You'll be able to picture this frog!)

 Less than 24 hours later Stevie was rushing across the street in alarm to where his father was working.  His calm belied his words as he said, "Look Dad, I think it's time we harvest the Big One." He held up Jabba who had two little bullfrog legs dangling from it's clamped, wide mouth.  I'm only slightly ashamed to admit I was bummed to have missed it.

 One would think after having dinner rudely ripped from one's mouth and being given a second chance at life one might learn a lesson.  However, I suppose not if that one is a humongous, cannibalistic, greedy bullfrog who just ate the whole tanks supply of crickets!

A mere few hours later our family came to a halt as the cry for help bounced off the boy's bedroom walls!  A line literally formed as five of our nine members rushed to see the reason for the distressed call.  We were not to be disappointed.  We watched in fascinated horror as Dad sprung into action grabbing Jaba by the legs and whapping him "gently" against the tempered glass wall of the tank.  About three jarring "this is for your own good" love taps into the ordeal the beast's mouth rebelliously slackened and one of the prized fire belly toads limply slithered out.  I can not even begin to imagine that poor toad's state of mind.  I suppose Jonah of the Bible could probably enlighten us a bit...

I won't go into details but suffice it to say another little line formed around the fire pit in the backyard as "frog legs" were harvested.

P.S.  No actual Star Wars characters were harmed in the telling of this story.

Working Mom vs. Stay at Home Mom..vs. Stay at Home Working Mom

   There's been a lot of hype in the media lately over the ridiculous comment made in the political arena about the "Stay at Home Mom who's never worked a day in her life."  I know, right?  Anyone who would even think those words much less utter them aloud...ESPECIALLY in front of a live microphone, running camera, or within 1,000 miles of a reporter could not possibly have ever had the "pleasure" of managing the family homestead  or does not have the proper amount of  fear for what a Mom under extreme duress can do with a carton of eggs, a broom, and a very good batting average.  What with all of the spilled Cheerios needing to be swept up, dirty laundry to be sorted, washed, dried and put away, dishes with food caked on needing to be washed, dried, and put away, poopy diapers to be attended to, potty training bottoms to be cleaned, and every room in the house needing to be dusted, mopped, disinfected and (haha) maintained- well, there isn't a lot of free time left to "work."

  However, never being one to back down from a challenge and always being one to look for ways to express the inner creative self that screams, cries, and throws tantrums to be let out... I recently decided to accept an offer to do that "all important work" that validates us- I guess the politician must have meant the kind you get paid for as opposed to the kind that's NECESSARY AND HELPED "SAID POLITICIAN" GET WHERE THEY ARE --(wouldn't their mom be proud to have been asessed that way??):/  I digress..  Anyway, so I was on a conference call with a colleague when my 1yr. old daughter who's woken up from her nap way too early and in such a cute and delightful mood starts singing, "Tinka, tinka ittol stah (Twinkle Twinkle Little Star) very close to the phone's mouthpiece.  It's only when my sweet songster begins to belt out Haaaappeee Baday tooo dooo followed by a rousing chorus of "I waaaaa caaaandeee" (her brother just got the movie HOP) that I hear giggling coming through the other end of the phone.  I don't know that I'll ever be taken seriously again...  This is life...MY life anyway.  Perhaps I can hide the fact that I'm doing business in sweatpants and cozy slippers...but I can't conceal that I am a busy mom who loves her family and is devoted to them...yet still has a whole heap of (I never know what to call it...) but it feels like a ball of ideas mixed with lightning, paint, and a dash of tornado- to offer the world.
  Hmmmm, maybe there is no such thing as a "cookie cutter" Mom/parent- that we don't HAVE to fit into a mold that works for someone else?  Could it be that we truly are individuals and can exist in a way that fits our personal life- free of judging others and being judged by peers or onlookers?  Maybe the judgements will remain..but I could always work on focusing on what is good for my family-which includes what is good for Mama (moi).  And following that thought through...What is GOOD for Mama is GOOD for the family.  Breaking free of self imposed boundaries and accepting that I can still offer value- NOT INSPITE of my family- but AS PART of my family- THIS IS WHO I AM...and therefore that breaks down all preconceived notions of who these other stay at home, or working...or working from home parents are...Hey, we are all in this together...let's encourage one another to embrace who we really are and not prey on each others weaknesses but offer support for strength in those less than stellar parenting or professional moments.
  So, my precious, little one-year old- sing on!  I know I can't keep saying, "hush!" or, "later!"...because time waits for no one.  And that means your Mama too. I can't keep saying, "hush!" or "later!" to what needs to be sent out for someone who could be encouraged by it...we are all just trying to do our best...let's be gentle with one another!

KEEPIN' IT REAL...with WATERMELON EYES...

Okay...  It's time to get real!  My 15 year old son has tried to enlighten me as to the error of my ways...that error being too Lofty, TOO Religious, too BORING!  "Mom," Isaac said, "I'm only trying to help you.  No one is going to read that stuff.  It's a total turn off."  "Well, I asked, slightly...ok, very defensively, "Have you even read it?"  He responded with, "I saw the bible stuff (teenager speak for scripture reference), and knew it's just like all those other sites out there.  You're too formal when you write Mom- too hard core.  I've lived with you long enough to know that's not you.  If you were to be in a room with strangers and they read this (he's talking about my post Drowning in muck...and Scones - which, incidentally has ONE scripture reference (adult/formal talk for bible stuff) they wouldn't get a clear picture of who you are.  "It's called writing to your audience, son," I countered, then kind of slumped from his room, which is boldly decorated with a teen's idea of cool, ie.  one of his first hunting kills: a stuffed and mounted turkey- strewn with Christmas lights ...yes, it's March, hanging on the wall.

Fume, second guess, self doubt...repeat...

Alrighty, Isaac...you want real...here we go...** READER- PLEASE REFER TO EARLIER POST TITLED: BAGS PACKED AND READY TO GO.   Perhaps a bit lofty...included deeper meaning.  I shall now share with you the REAL LIFE that was unfolding all around me as I wrote that "pie in the sky" piece.

  Earlier that morning God had placed the idea of the story in my mind- what He didn't give me was the immediate time to write it.  A good friend once told me, "God will open a window of opportunity and you must grab it then."  Now, I am known to be a bit...uuum...distractable.  So, it shouldn't be a surprise that at 7:30 p.m., while climbing steps to get my daughter's jammies, I noticed the family was occupied and a window seemed to have suddenly opened and called my name!  Of course it made sense to me to toss the p.j's over the landing and holler to the nearest child to snag them while I fired up my trusty laptop and dove through that open window.

  It didn't even bother me when my second eldest son heard me yell about the jammies and took it as an invitation to join Mom upstairs.  Within minutes I had Stevie, Sam, and Jamie playing their e-game, Dinosaur Hunting, a mere three feet away from me as I typed away.  My daughter Susie decided Mom looked lonely sitting at her desk and decided it was time for a hair make-over.   Envision if you will, me- lost in thought staring at the computer screen while my fingers are tapping out the latest blog, meant to inspire readers to start their day with God, while my nine year old has removed my pony-tail holder and is trying to tame my naturally tight curls into flowing locks with the help of a vent brush.  "Does that hurt Mom?" she asks as my head jerks back and my eyes tighten into slits with the pulls of the brushing.  "No, hon, it feels good," I respond not missing a beat in my typing.  I'm not lying either.  At this point in my life being pummeled by a hale storm kinda feels like a massage.  Around this time Lily, my ten year old joins the party and exclaims, "I get to do the make-up!"  Susie yells, "Grab the flat iron- and don't let Dad upstairs til we're done!" while Lily descends the stairs to raid my makeup drawer.  Now I'm switching screens on my computer to look up a bible verse while the kids are trying to decided if the scary voice on their dinosaur hunting game is really saying,"Giiive meee yooour sooul!"  "What the..Gimme your WHAT?" I demand.  "What are you playing, Stevie?  Jamie, get off your sister! Ouch, Sus, that one kind of hurt... No, I don't think the dinosaur wants your soul...turn it down though, I can't think."

  Okay, breathe..type, type type...God, holiness, type... "Mom?" Lily asks, "what's your favorite fruit?" She's returned with my eyeshadow pallet and her hand is hovering over various colors.  "Fruit?" I ask, "well, I like blueberries."  "Oh," she sounds a little disappointed, "do you like watermelon?"  I smile as I notice her hand poised above a bright pink and say, "Sure, Lil, I love watermelon."  Then I continue on trying to wrap up my inspirational thoughts while the flurry of activity around me escalates into a blur of hair straightening, face beautifying, t-rex slaying frenzy. 

Suddenly Susie shrieks, "Daaad!  You can't see her 'til she's done!"  I can hear his voice climbing the steps as he's not about to take no for an answer.  "It's late, Hon," he says, "and we should've been getting the kids to bed an hour ago.  "But there was a window," I silently think...

"Ok," the girls call, "You can come up! What do you think?"  I know I'm in trouble by the glazed look that always accompanies my husband Steve's efforts to cover up a laugh... he manages to croak out, "Wow!"  By this time I've seen a cell phone picture of my hair that Susie took after she pulled back my bangs with the largest, shiniest, silver daisy clip I've ever seen.  What I didn't know was that Lily had turned my eyelids not into a lovely shade of watermelon...but into a likeness of the seeded fruit itself!  I believe there was even a green rind.  Steve can't take his eyes off me as he is led to the black rocking chair with flowered cushions and Susie immediately appoints herself as his beautician and begins to gel his receding hairline into a magnificent

mohawk while I launch into reading my future blog about the wise man and poor villagers.  We continue on amidst the tracking and shooting of various prehistoric beasts until Isaac, our 15 year old and only family member who was not congregated within four feet of my "window of my opportunity" came upstairs and took one look at Mrs. Watermelon eyes and said.."WAIT...Mom, you can't be serious."  "What?" I responded, "I'm reading the blog to Dad.  Now quiet."  Isaac said, "Mom, that would be like me trying to read you something serious while wearing a Darth Vader costume."  Taking his words as inspiration I continued on.."So, the wise man," pause for *SOUND EFFECT* Darth Vader heavy breathing through cupped hands, "says to the young man..*MORE ELECTRONIC HEAVY BREATHING... until Isaac, shaking his head, disgustedly stomped back downstairs. Somehow I finished reading to my husband amidst the chaos, only to have him respond, "Well, it's kinda long."

AND THAT, DEAR READERS, IS THE BACKGROUND WHILE MY KEYBOARD AND I MAKE MAGIC HAPPEN...(tongue in cheek). 

  You should know, every word of that is true.  As is the fact that while I've been writing this Stevie has asked me about 100x if I'm ready to take him fishing.  I've doled out at least seven chores and watched my five year old do a "leprechaun dance".  Sammy has stomped upstairs and slunk back down after being scolded for his echoing volume while Evie, our 22 mos. old, is napping in the next room.  Lily brought me salsa chicken and reminded me to count my Weight Watcher points.  I had just downed a box of Mike-n-Ikes so shamefully asked Lily to wrap up the chicken to avoid going over my Points (siiiigh).  And now the sun is out...so I will hit the road to take Stevie fishing and let the others go crazy on the playground.  This is real life-my life anyway... As for being too "hard core," in the words of my 15 yr. old, I will continue viewing life through eyes trained on the goal of Heaven but will attempt to be more open in letting my imperfections and surrounding chaos show too... Certainly not perfect here...definitely human.  Isn't that how humans connect?  By relating to what is common in life.  I know not everyone will find their eyes decorated with a fruit theme or hair frizzed out a mile wide...but then, maybe it will open a window for you into my life.  Maybe it will  spark some sort of connection somewhere down the road.  I hope so.