Covered

Journal entry 2 years ago:

August 22, 2007

Just got my surgery done. Lump is gone.

Whew.

God just blows me away. My main RN taking care of me - total amazing Christian man. He prayed with me, and sat and listened to me read my book on grace that I brought with me while I nervously waited.

I felt like God set that up just for me.

He sees me.

I matter to Him.

He wanted to calm my fear.

I am humbled by this, and beyond grateful.

Thank you Jesus for never leaving me, and for your tangible presence through this entire process. Your peace and grace are more than enough for me. Now, I thank you for keeping my body infection free as I heal.

I randomly came across this entry tonight. On the eve of this exact date. I think God might be reminding me that He's got my back. It's been a bit rough in the past few weeks. But in all the stress, uncertainty, unexpected changes, tiredness that this life can present us with, at the end of the day, He's got our backs. At the beginning of the day...He's got our backs.
He sees us.
We matter to Him.
I am reminded.
I am thankful.

NMM

I knew we were running low on diapers. At midnight, 2 nights ago, the word "low" became the word "out" of diapers. As Baby L is bellowing the alarm to let all the world know his shorts are full of sloppy green blueberry poo, I am frantically searching every nook and cranny, for one precious hiding diaper. To no avail. What is a girl to do when no stores are open and her baby is in desperate need of clean and dry manly bits...I don't know about her, but I definitely would NOT suggest snagging a pair of his 3 yr old sisters princess panties, sticking an extra long/with wings pad to it, and praying to the powers that be that the "Super absorbency" claim would hold true to it's promise. And upon inspection in the morning, when noticing that the super pad had saved the day, it certainly did not cross my mind to permanently trade in the diapers for the pads seeing as though it would be SO much cheaper!!

This week I received a huge gash to my forehead. Sometimes it's just the price you have to pay when you are a hero like me, jumping into busy hi-ways to save runaway baby carriages. Not everyone is called to the life of a gallant daredevil goddess of liberation. But those of us who are, don't even think twice or bat an eyelash when duty calls, even if we incur some harm in the process, it's all totally worth it. I can assure you that I am not embellishing the story whatsoever and that this gash was not just a huge zit. I can also assure you that after living with this atrocity for an entire week, I had not exhausted all of my first aid options for such a nasty laceration, and so decided to smother the entirety of the right side of my face with Butt Paste diaper creme as I slept. Glad to say, my hero scar is diminishing nicely.

And to make us all feel a little better about ourselves, and to remind us that it really can happen to anyone...a few pictures of things that any mother would tell you did not happen.

Just watched 17 again.

I am a HUGE SUCKER for anything chick-flick-ish.

I loved this movie.

And now I have discovered I am a huge sucker for Zac Efron.

I know he's like 12 and all, but he's a cute 12 year old who personally I think can actually really act.

My one question is this though....

In the movie there was the young character (Zac) and then him as an older man (played by Chandler. HA! Can't even remember his real name...but y'all know Chandler.)

As much as I love Chandler, I couldn't get my head around the fact that Zac looks exactly like a different older hottie actor who I think would have been a much better choice for the role...

I'm just saying...

Zac


John Stamos

I KNOW, right?? Just saying...

A worthy cause

Alright already, I hear you!


You can stop screaming at me demanding pictures of the 3 cutest kids on the planet!


Here they are...



BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....Oh the things I do to bring you joy. I know, I'm a saint. You can thank me later. Or I am accepting all things covered in sugar, since it is Sugar Awareness Month. At least in my house it is. And I am doing my part to be very aware of it. And all the goodness it entails. So I might expand the awareness to next month as well. In fact, I do believe a year is the very least we can do for such an important cause. A year it is. The phone lines are now open for your contributions. It's for the children.


And here are some sweet,warm fuzzy images to help soften up your hearts and wallets to this worthy cause.

Emptying her piggy bank for this honorable charity.


Hoping the Fairy Godmother fills up her purse!


Hypnotizing coins out of even the smallest and wettest of pockets.


Rebelling against all things sugar-free...apples and perogies...forget it.


And if all this can't convince you, I leave with you images to burn into your subconscious of the beautiful lives you will be helping. How can you turn away from these? Have you no soul?





Give now. If I have to eat another blueberry, I may just shrivel up and die. Oh, I mean the children, right, it's all for the children.

NM(C)M

Another Great idea from MckMama. And so, I steal. You read. We all realize our kids do gross stuff. We laugh. It's all good. And go.

Three hours into our road trip home, I looked in the rear view mirror only to notice that my eldest child was not sucking all of the chocolate off of her Glossett Raisins, carefully looking both ways, and then promptly shoving just the raisin in her baby brother's mouth. Which he seemed indeed very grateful for.

When house sitting at my parents place, the Fed-ex guy pulled up. As I opened the door, I suddenly became very aware that my 3 year old was, shall we say, completely void of clothing, and standing right beside me. As this twenty-something man began turning shades of magenta, I whispered to said little person (who may or may not be my child at this moment) to go put her swimsuit on to cover her naked parts. At which point, she bent fully down to take a good look at her girly bits, and then did not declare loud enough for China to hear, "NOPE, my sugar bowl seems quite happy naked thanks. It's just breathin' you know!" Nope, not my child, cause she's a perfect model of modesty at all time. Just like yours, I am sure.

Baby L was gifted this very cute and entertaining manly toy. (Cause he don't play with girl toys. Ever. Moving on.)



I always know when he's playing with the basketball, b/c from any room in the house I can hear the score sound and then the subsequent music ringing out his victory. The only thing is, the two balls it came with are somewhere in the black hole of my van's trunk that has yet to be fully unpacked from our journeys. So we have been trying, unsuccessfully, to find the perfect small sized ball to substitute the ones it came with. Until today. I was in the kitchen, when suddenly the bells and whistles are screaming and declaring a slam dunk and baby L's laughter is echoing in my hall. As I peek my head around the corner, I saw that Baby L did not have one side of his diaper unattached and dragging on the floor, as a nice sized poo ball lay proudly at the bottom of the net, music still bellowing out his achievement.

is back!

Gift Boxes

Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight.



Today, as I looked at the above verse, I was shocked to find that within my heart are several multi-sized gift boxes. Some are shiny and wide, and could maybe fit a notebook. Some are larger, with patterns, and maybe could fit a plasma television. Some are bigger yet, with stripes, and possibly could even fit an elephant. What I know for sure is that all of them, every single one, is too small.

Let me explain.

As much as anyone tries to plan their life, one can never know exactly how the every day, minute by minute life will for sure play out. I have been described as a type A person. When I looked this up, Wikipedia shoved this definition in my face...

...warning...it ain't pretty.

Type A individuals can be described as impatient, time-conscious, concerned about their status, highly competitive, ambitious, business-like, aggressive, having difficulty relaxing; and are sometimes disliked by individuals with Type B personalities for the way that they're always rushing. ^[1] They are often high-achieving workaholics who multi-task, drive themselves with deadlines, and are unhappy about delays. Because of these characteristics, Type A individuals are often described as "stress junkies."

WELL! I NEVER! At first glance, I thought "What a horrible thing I have been called!!" But after my outrage subsided slightly, I took another glance, and when I re-read it, I saw things a little differently.
~on time
~competitive
~ambitious
~high achieving (A.I.A president, remember)
~multi-task
~drive

Hmmm, seems like maybe this isn't all bad...and it is a little how I am...but regardless of how you see the definition, in a positive or negative light, one thing is for sure. Type A people (me being one of them) may be stress junkies, but when you wrap all of these characteristics into a ball...I think more than being a stress junkie, we are TOTAL control freaks.

This is where the gift boxes come in.

Scenario A : My closest friend moving to a new far away city. My heart is bleeding. I am broken. In the midst of this agony, do I trust God? My friend said they prayed and know this is where God is leading them, even though she is hurting from leaving as well. Do I trust that God loves us both enough to know what He's doing with moving her away from me? I have decided that I do trust Him, just enough to fill a medium sized box, maybe one with a purple ribbon. I will place God in that one, let Him control that little bit, and then figure it out myself.

Scenario B : First of the month is tomorrow. Bills are all due. Just enough money is in the bank to cover said bills. Van breaks down. Will require half of amount in account. Need van next day for travel to far away city for business. Do I trust God with our finances? Does He use cash in Heaven? Will He send some to me? In the shadow of the worlds disasters, is he aware of our situation? I have decided that I do trust Him, just enough to fit a small black and white patterned box, maybe one similar to one you'd get from Tiffany's. Yes, I would place God in that one, then take care of the rest myself. For this IS our finances, our livelihood, food in my children's belly's, yes, I better just take care of this pretty much on my own. You want something done, do it yourself, that's my motto. Cause remember, I am type A control freak.

Scenario C : My bank card is missing. I promised Queen S that we'd go back to school shopping today. I try to remember the last place I used it. I look all over my house. I look in random drawers, baskets and cupboards. I check jean pockets, every purse fold and even the Barbie purses and clothing. Do I trust God in this situation? Do I think He can put the right place in my mind and lead me in that direction? Do I think He can see it right now? I have decided that I do trust Him, just enough to fit an elephant sized box. You may think this is a lot. And it kind of is. But trust me, as an A type, I know what I am doing. I know that I can risk trusting God this much because if He fails me, then I know it won't be that big of a deal to postpone the trip and just handle it on my own after I have bought more time. There are only so many places it could be, so if God decides not to help me, then I can fall back on me, because I can depend on me.

Wow.

Even just writing this, I find it embarrassing and disgusting that my mind has been in a pattern of thinking this way. Is this what the verse at the top says? Doesn't it go,

"Trust in the Lord in increments of gift boxes,
and lean on your own understanding when he fails you,
When you are desperate, acknowledge Him
And he may or may not pull through for you."

You know what I did tonight? I had a bon fire. I used my boxes as kindling. I have decided to be vulnerable and trusting with a God who has yet to fail me, who in fact has given me every reason to trust Him. A God who says that He catches every one of my tears in a jar, because He remembers my sorrows, and grieves with me. A God who says He knew me before I was in my mother's womb, and who knows the number of hairs on my head. A God who says that the number of GOOD thoughts He has toward ME far out numbers the sands on all of this worlds shores. THAT is a lot of good thoughts toward me! A God, who layed down His life, so that I do not have to feel judged in His presence. So I can come to Him in all my A type personality, and so I can know that I can trust Him.

Just enough to fit...no box at all.

Two men

Can I just be mad for a minute?

I know.

So many others have it so much worse than me. I do, I know this.

I know.

I am just complaining. But you know, sometimes I just have to let it out.

These last several weeks have been filled with great GREAT things. Family, friends, food, travel, new experiences, new adventures. We have been incredibly blessed to have taken the last part of June and the entire month of July and just be. Wherever we feel like be-ing.

And in the same breath, these past few weeks have held some of the most irritating moments I can remember in my life as of late. Have you ever felt like...someone's out to get you? Like all these little bad things keep happening all in a row and after about the 6th one, all you can do is laugh and ask, "WHAT THE %$*!@* DID I DO TO TICK OFF THE POWERS THAT BE?"

I can't sleep.

That makes everything worse by the way.

Example:
Normal life...Van breaks down = angry expression and half a tub of Ben&Jerry's.
Sleep deprived life...Van breaks down = uncontrollable sobbing on the side of the road as you tear your clothes and pour ashes on your head, screaming in between sobs, "Why me? WHY-HY-HY-HY-HY MEEEEEEE?" knowing that you'll never drive again and thinking of how your children will be class rejects because they are not on the soccer team since their mother has no way of transporting them, because as aforementioned, you'll never drive again. Oh, and 2 tubs of Ben&Jerry's full fat, full whip, full calories double fudge everything covered in chocolate sauce with dark & white chocolate shavings on top.

Do you see a difference?

And when ALL your days' activities are tainted with these pretty sleep deprived glasses...oh it gets fun.

Needless to say, the van breaking down actually DID happen, although the response may have been a wee bit exaggerated...well, minus all the ice cream part...Oh Ben and Jerry, I never knew I could love two men so much...

Tired and HOT.

It is BLAZING, fry your egg on the sidewalk hot here on this side of Canada! Yes, my igloo melted and we are actually seeing the sunshine....waaaaay too much of it to keep any normal Canadian sane in my humble opinion.

So take your sleep deprived responses and couple them with seeing and hearing everything in echo from he heat, and physically being drained and having your stomach twisted in knots, and then also expected to pull in every nomination for the Supermom and Superwife awards, and you know what?

I'm done.

I am not going to think another second about the fact that we were only suppose to be up here (4 hours from home) for 3 days, and that I didn't leave a key with the neighbour so our fish are probably all dead. Or that we are fish-sitting our friends fish. And it's most likely belly up as well. Or that I have done a load of wash every night since I only packed one set of clothes for each of us. Or that it's the first of the month on Saturday and all the bills are due AND our van is broken and in my husband's comforting words, "possibly toast." Awesome. Or that my best friend in my city who lived 2 blocks from me just moved to another far away city on Thursday. And I am bleeding internally from that separation. Or that my mom is coming home tomorrow and I have to make it look as though 3 kids have not squished, smashed, popped, twisted, gnawed on, puked up, peed on, or damaged a thing in her beautiful 7 bedroom estate.

Hold on, phone's ringing...oh, it's Ben and Jerry. I have to go.

See

See Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L see Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L reach for Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L pull one of Momma's pretty flowers.

See Momma's pretty flowers fall.

See baby L jump back in surprise.

See baby L wipe his tears.

See baby L's peace offering.

See Momma's new arrangement of pretty flowers that were salvaged.


Momma just loves this boy.

Bedtime Bliss

And there you have it.
A perfect rendition of how every evening looks at my house during the pre-bedtime marathon..er, routine.

What's that? You say I don't have 4 darling children? Well, I will inform you Daddy G tends to sit on my lap from time to time for a good story too.

Ok.
Who am I kidding?

This beautiful picture of serene bliss at bedtime is the farthest thing in MY head when 7:30 rolls around. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE reading to my children...but at the end of the day when I am aching and tired and usually in dire need of an adult conversation, well, let's just say Cinderella may have gone from popper to princess in 4 pages rather than 24.

And EVERYONE knows how important oral hygiene is. Which is why I would never tell the girls that Mommy's too tired to run downstairs to get the toothbrushes and paste, so tonight we get to brush with our fingers and magic paste (water). At least they thought it was fun. I hope I'm not paying for a therapy bill 10 years down the line for it though. (Or a dental one for that matter.)

Bedtime baths.
Why I like them: You can use lavender soap/shampoo/bubble bath which really is not what it says at all I am convinced. This stuff is magic! Within 10 minutes of entering the tub infested with this miracle potion, I notice the yawns start to crack out. Then the rubbing of the eyes, followed by droopy lids and then finally the most bless-ed words to an exhausted Momma, "Mommy, can I go to bed now?" (Before that last word even gets out of her mouth, she finds herself tucked into her bed, light off and soft music playing. Yeah. I'm THAT good.)

Why I don't like them: Apparently, "Keep the water in the tub," are 6 words my children do not understand.

And finally, the great PJ debate. Baby L could care less what he wears to bed, being only one and all. In fact there have been many a night when he just may have donned a cute pair of ballerina leggings to bed. And he doesn't even bat an eye at me. But then there are the girls. Being GIRLS to start with, apparently gives them permission to demand the exact kind of personalized fashion that they need to express themselves. Well, it's no different with jammas. Why can't we all just sleep in our undies and keep it simple? Have you been to the Disney store lately? Do you know that Little Mermaid pj's with satin edging and full long multi layered skirting goes for 49 dollars? FORTY NINE, people! Heck, I'll buy a plain tee and draw the dang mermaid on it with puff paint! That should come to....oh...5.99. Much better.

At the end of the day, with all the drama that is to surely occur, is it any wonder why I just want to get a sheep dog to herd the children upstairs, firmly close the door as I run for the hills as fast as my feet will carry me? (Or run to McD's to swallow a chocolate milkshake Guinness world record speed?)

I absolutely adore my kids, no doubt about it. But when it's time for bed...I just need that super power click remote again....click....night night babies.

Version 2.9

I've noticed this trend.

When you're old...and it's your birthday...you just laugh and say you're 29.

Have you noticed this too?

Have you ever asked....why 29?

Is it because 30 is officially old?

Or because it's your last hurrah in the 20's, which is supposedly the glory years of freedom and discovering oneself?

In 4 days, I will be 29.

I am very intrigued to find out how glorious my life becomes for the next 365 days....starting Tuesday.

I do fully expect that suddenly my bank accounts will be bursting at the seams.

I do sense that my lady lumps will magically perk up as they simultaneously grow anther cup size.

If 29 is nothing short of fabulous, then of course, I fully expect to have Sven serving me martinis at 11, Pablo ready at a whim to massage my every ache, and Stephan (pronounced Stef-ON) ridding my pool of each and every buggy intruder.

And since my eggs will be rotten the day I turn 30, I better make one more perfect spawn this year to complete the zen like serenity in my home.

I also have a very strong sense that since everyone apparently wants to stay 29 forever, there must be some sort of personal super-power one receives upon the bless-ed day. And if I get to pick, I am choosing the pause-o-matic life remote...kinda like Adam Sandler's Click movie.

Whining child...click....silence.

Husband talking about film crews forEVER....click....stillness.

Best kiss you've ever had...click...holding on to that enjoyment. ;)

Thousands of fans screaming your name as your music echos in a packed out stadium...click...stare into Bono's eyes as he reaches out to you from the front row just to have you touch his hand....hey....my clicker....my super power!

So, I will surely take extra stock in the lessons of being a poor desperate housewife for these next 4 days.

For after that...I upgrade to version 2.9...

TWENTY NINE!! Let the lustrious, Bono-fied, immortality begin!

Home

We've been on the road for the past 22 days.

That's 3 weeks and one day.

Or 528 hours.

It seems like a lot longer, since plenty of those hours were spent in a cramped minivan filled with the sounds of hot, irritated children and the smell of stale cheezies and old Tim Horton's coffee.

Today, we brave out 5 more hours, and then we are..."home".

Can someone please tell me what exactly home is?

According to an ancient Proverb: People long to be at home. Your home is whatever place you long to be.

Hmm. Well, if that last proverb is true, then I guess my home is here:

or here:



or here:



or here:


(That would be front row at a U2 concert as Bono shakes his talented sweat all over the lucky few. ~ You didn't know sweat could be talented did you? Oh...it can. If it's Bono's.)

So, the definition of home really, could change every time you long to be somewhere new. And in my case, as a hormonal, mind changing woman....that could mean I have a LOT of homes!

So, as we travel back to the city that our house resides in, I am reminded, that today, actually, that is not my home. I do not long for this vacation to end and to go back to the same routines as we were in a month ago.

I still long for adventures. I still long to NOT cook. I still long to relax while the sound of grandparents and grandchildren's laughter fill the air.

The home IS apparently where the heart is, so I guess it makes total sense then, why I feel this aching emptiness as I pack up our four thousand suitcases, and head west, to a place that to me only really holds a house full of our stuff.

Julia-Goolia

Had I known her in grade 5, she's the one who would have yelled for me to hide under the bleachers with her to escape the mob of boys rounding the corner with sling shots aimed just at me.

In grade 7, she would have been the one who kicked the boy in the shin after he snaps your newly awkward bra strap for the 10th time that day.

In grade 9, she's the one who doesn't mock your totally lame poem you wrote for the mysteriously handsome new boy in 10th grade. (But encourages you to keep in in your journal for now, an NOT give it to him until your wedding day, cause then it'll be sweeter.)

In grade 10, she spends hours in the archery pit at camp with you as you both perfect your carvings in the wall of your initials and "his" initials...forever...and eternity....blah blah blah...

In grade 11, she's the one who sits in your closet till 3 in the morning with you, stuffing caramel coated chocolates in your face as you bawl and curse out that mysteriously handsome new boy who turned out to be a not so mysterious jerk.

In grade 12, she's the one who pours over YM Prom Dress magazines with you, looking for the perfect piece, only to discover, that ordering anything from a magazine and expecting it to fit perfectly probably is not the best idea.

She's the one who forgives you for stealing a boyfriend....or two. (Even if it takes 4 years, its better than never.)

She's the one who after being out of contact for 4 years, writes you a letter, telling you that her heart was absolutely devastated when she heard of you losing a baby. And, you really believe her.

She's the one who travels right across her country to come hug your fat 7 month pregnant body and make up lost time like like there is no tomorrow.

She's the one, who unless she lived RIGHT next door to you, will always live too far away. And in this case REALLY does live too far away...who likes Texas anyways??

She's the one who has been there, time and time again. Who exemplifies what a true friend is. Who says it like it is. Who is an example to many, yet humble in this fact. She's the one who has taught me how to be a better friend. And when it comes right down to it...though many many love her...she is, and always will be, MY Julia-Goolia.MINE MINE MINE!!

AND I GET TO SEE HER IN 22 DAYS AND COUNTING!!!!!


When we were 15...


When we were 18...


My Jewels now...