The Best Present Ever!

Christmas 2011!  

The best present I can offer my kids this year is time. 

I always knew this, but my Christmas card this year convinced me.  It's beautiful, but… I saved time on it.  These professional photos were taken a year ago.  No one will notice.  But I will.

Beautiful images that don't tell the truth.  I know, it's not a biggie, and I'm glad I saved the energy and time so that I can enjoy the advent season without chasing another photographer down!

But it got me noticing how precious time is.  Especially as these boys are growing up and will be out on their own in no time!

Adolescence is a precious commodity because every moment of it is spent learning, whether we consider it learning or not. Most parents miss the real lessons-- they think it's about grades and sports and responsibility, but what it's really about is heart.

I never want to miss the heart.

So, my writing will wait.  My kids will only be adolescent once! I remember when my husband was alive, and we never let a day go by without romance and attention to each other.  Just like marriages, parenting relationships demand investment.

I never want a day to go by when the boys don't laugh together and with me.  I never want a day to go by when we don't romance the Lord--worship him--serve the weak. Humble ourselves.

I love to write, and sometimes we sacrifice our loves in obedience to Him.

So fewer postings, for this season of life, means I'm doing my job--investing in my kids, in God, and my community!  But I'll be back, when God leads me to return!

What an adventure!

The Emperor’s New Fuddrucker's Tee Shirt

Carter, my eleven year old, is the kid who calls it like he sees it.

And he saw Fuddruckers (no matter how much he loved the place) for what it was—naked.

No doubt when you have four hungry boys, there’s no better restaurant.  It’s clean and  fun for the family. And  their burgers—fabulous!

We’d eaten there so many times I began to take for granted the surroundings and the décor. 

Until Carter pulled on my sleeve, a confused expression on his face.  “Mom!” he whispered.  “Why would Fuddruckers put THAT on the wall?”  

I looked at what most of us would tune out like I did. A simple white tee shirt imprinted with bold black letters:  “What the FUDD?”

I shrugged.  “That’s just the way the world is.”  I was ready to let it go.

Carter wasn’t. He pulled at my sleeve again. “But, Mom!”

I looked again at the tee shirt.  It was pretty awful for a family setting.  Carter’s in the fourth grade where even some of the sweetest kids start experimenting with foul language.  I’m grateful Carter’s not one of them. “I don’t get it, Mom,” he says.  “They all think it’s funny.  I think it’s stupid.”

I do too.  And I told him. And we told Fuddruckers.

We didn’t nag or complain, mind you—just quietly told them they’re better than that. 

We told them the truth—that we love everything about them and would love to keep coming.  But I have to back Carter’s values and decisions here.

Because when we came home that evening, he decided (not me—this had to be his call) that we won’t be going back.

His brothers agreed, and we told the restaurant with respect. After all, not going back meant giving up Carter’s favorite eatery.

When the owner of the restaurant called to follow up, he listened patiently. 

“Thank you, Carter,” he said. “I already felt uncomfortable about that shirt. It’s coming off the wall today.  I hope you’ll come back.”

I know. It’s just a tee shirt.  But with an eleven-year-old, it means learning that you can battle for good in a fallen world.

And win.

Moon Scraper

From time to time, I get a new "memory" of Big Tom from one of my little Toms.  Today it was from Christian.  "Mom," he said.  "I remember Dad had this squishy blue ball he used to take into the back yard.  He'd throw it way high up in the air.  So high up we couldn't see it!   It took forever to come back down.  Then Dad would catch it and say, 'Did you see that?  It scraped against the moon and came back to us!'"

If we could bottle fatherhood and spread it around the world.  Maybe all little boys would be as joyful as these four!

Mom is the Bomb

Mom is the bomb.
She is awesome.
She's like the possum.
She really rocks.
Cause she's a fox.



Years ago when my youngest was asked to write a poem about Mom around Mothers Day, he came up with the funniest poem and presented it in front of the whole class and all the moms at a Mother's Day party.  It was so funny that my boys have repeated it to me over the years.

It was even so catchy that sometimes they thank God in a prayer using the funny poem.  You know, "Thank you, God, for Mom.  She's the bomb…."


Okay, so he's not ready for the beatnik scene, and maybe I'm a bit biased, but I like it!