Wednesday, May 13, 2015

filling a sandwich bag..

AT OUR HOUSE, we have weird sayings.  And they usually happen by accident.  And I usually say them. accidentally.  And then they stick. forever.

Like this past weekend.

My mother was visiting.  Oops.  I told my mother that I wasn't going to blog about her anymore.  Oops.

Anyway, my mother was visiting.  I think I was trying to get motivated to fold the laundry.  And my mom offered to come and help.  She said, "Do I need to call you on the phone so you can get your laundry done??"

So, let's think about how crazy this idea is.  Here we are sitting together, talking.. and she offers to call me on the phone. And she would have done it, but I just asked her to grab a cup of coffee and sit with me.  We could visit and have some coffee instead of talking on the phone from separate rooms.

But I got to thinking about how often we talk on the phone.  And we were discussing this with the kids.

And I blurt out this high brow thought..

"You could fill a sandwich bag with all the days that mom and I haven't talked on the phone!"

And the look..

the look on one of my kids' faces.

I'm not going to tell you which kid, but this child just recently won a physics award and it part of the 80% of my children who have engineer-like tendencies.

That kid.  It's like his eyebrow went right up into his forehead  with his lips pursed in a half smile/ half smirk.

and finally the comment.. "You can't fill a sandwich bag with days!!"  

And Mom and I looked at each other and burst into laughter.  We knew.

We knew exactly what that meant.  

It's like all of us non-engineer types have this secret lingo that we can use in front of the geek-squads that will not only tell them nothing.. but completely confuse them at the same time.

And we.. can we understand their language?  Absolutely!  A little google translate and deductive reasoning and BAM! code is unfurled.

They they?  They don't stand a chance.

Mixing metaphors, quantifiable amounts and dimensions, including time travel-- adding some linguistic nuances..  and see??  it makes no sense whatsoever.

Thank you for reading this post in which I tell you absolutely nothing useful whatsoever.

Now I have to go fill some sandwich bags. 

Saturday, May 9, 2015

bold, unfettered, safe and wild

 Bold  flowers.. unfettered with life's daily cares.. safe in their creator's arms.. wildly enjoy their brief but meaningful existence..

Notice their beauty.  or not. They exist not for you unless of course, you want them to.  And then you learn their simple lesson:


Just Be.

Life moves fast enough without you rushing through it. 

Live boldly, unfettered, safe but wild.
copyright@2015/ JKW (alcohol ink creations, JKW)

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Mom is a noodle-head

REALLY.. it felt like a compliment right from the get-go.

"Your hair looks just like noodles, Mommy!"

And where do you go from there?  After all.. pasta is her favorite food.  Being connected (in any way) to a child's favorite food is the equivalent of getting a compliment on your looks  from your husband after passing by a clothing store in the mall.

It just doesn't happen that often.

So, what's not to like?  And she was right.  I took a look at myself in the mirror and connected instantly with my inner macaroni head.  After all, Mom IS a chuck-wagon.

Really.. all moms are chuck wagons.  As soon as we walk in the door after having been out for a really long time (a hour?) the entire family shows up at the door in the kitchen wanting food.


Can we blame them? I don't know about you, but I personally was the chuck wagon for my babies for the first couple of years.  The youngest two could ask for it by name.  It felt like that was crossing a line, but I fed them anyway. ... "Could you guys just act like babies when it comes to nursing??"

Nevertheless, there is an indelible impression embossed within every child that all moms are made of noodles.

I have one child who can not think of any other topic to discuss with me other than food.  I get emergency phone calls from a young man staring at a piece of frozen chicken.

And then the annoyed look from his siblings when I tell them that I'm walking someone through (yet-another) lesson on how to cook spontaneous chicken.  Spontaneous chicken= anything made with chicken in the frozen state.

So, just about now you have done the calculations.  I am a gourmet.  I cook spontaneous chicken and pasta. a lot. a lot a lot.  At one point, my husband wanted to call our homeschool the "the Webber Academy of Elbow Macaroni".. which I quickly dismissed because it sounded too pretentious.

Two Sundays back, I accidentally invited something like 16 people over for lunch on Sunday.  Actually, I had no idea how many there were until after the meal and I mentally counted them up.  Even for me-- this was "pushing it" in my comfort zone.

Of course, I didn't have a plan.  Of course, there was chicken.  I asked the Lord for help.  I had no idea how much chicken I had.  Without telling you EXACTLY how this went, I will tell you that we emptied the fridge and freezer and pantry of many items that day.  But really?  God is good.  The food was plentiful and good.  I'm not even sure what happened.

God used the noodle-head to feed people.

There's some sort of weird rush that I get from spontaneous feeding of the masses.  The fear of not knowing what is going on is always outweighed by the conquering of some unknown, challenging battle.  It's a sick disease that I have, and so far therapy has not helped.

So, I keep doing it.

As for the rest of you?  Keep being normal.  Keep on.