Kitchen Help

After dinner, many hands make light work. There's Fifi at the sink. Jim is at the fridge and little Cuddlebug is behind him, see? Dumpling, never mind the camera. Get to work.

No chance. She and the camera were meant to be together. It beckons her and she cannot resist its lure.

"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille."

Ahem, Dumpling? The Bible says that if you don't work, you don't eat and I think there is dessert in the freezer.

We Love...

We've been invited to our first ever Valentine's Day party!

And we're abuzz with questions and excitement over the unknown!

Dumpling and Cuddlebug chose their card stock, Bible verse and cloth ribbon to make their Valentines special...

...but they're a little concerned over whether there will be boys in attendance. I remind them that the love of Christ is for everyone. Even boys. *wink*

If I'm not around here much 'till after Christmas...

...it's because there are so many more wonderful things at which to gaze.

Discovering that my love is not great...

This morning, we got up too early to join our homeschool group in the glass lobby of the Lila Cockrell Theater.

We were there to sit audience for the dress rehearsal of the Nutcracker ballet. The opening scene isn't part of the deal, but we only pay $5 for a ticket--so there are no complaints. The girls were decked out in their prettiest Christmas-colored garb and happy enough to sit around for a half hour waiting to be seated because they were waiting with fun, new friends.

After the production, we walked down the block and ate lunch at Shilo's Delicatessen. It's closed eight out of ten times that we try to stop in--usually evenings and Sundays--but they were open today! I was pleasantly surprised at my vegetarian croissant sandwich, but the little girls didn't care much for their potato pancakes and applesauce.

As we ate, our attention was turned to three young servicemen in camouflage studying the menu outside our booth window. They debated among themselves for a long while before coming in for a round of lunch specials and water. Twenty minutes later our hearts were warmed to see them file past the register without stopping to pay because another patron had picked up their tab anonymously.

As we left, Cuddlebug meekly inquired about a boat ride on the Riverwalk. A mild day, nowhere we have to be, a resident discount, no lines and three sweet smiles quietly awaiting my answer. It was the perfect storm. This is their victory procession to the ticket stand where I will have to borrow $15 cash money from my 8-year old because they're not taking debit today.

I do not know why my 8-year old is carrying around $15 cash money. We keep emptying that wallet into safer places, and it keeps filling up with money--like the widow and her oil. I blame the grandmas.

Back on street level, we ducked into St. Joseph's Downtown Church. It was beautifully adorned with tapestries, paintings and stained glass as was the way to share the Gospel with worshippers before publishing and literacy were commonplace. The beautiful sanctuary was also riddled with at least a dozen life-sized statues, and Fifi's demeanor gave me concern.

I worried that she might be sick or faint dead away before we left.

We reverently walked the perimeter of the room, not daring to sit in a pew, and came upon a man unpacking his bedroll and backpack on a bench. As he wriggled his left arm out of its strap, I took note that his shirt was ripped the length of his torso. Clearly, this place was more his home than mine, and so I said nothing and continued on my way to the exit.

We passed the "poor boxes," and swiped a tourist information sheet on the way out.

Thinking back, I don't know why it didn't occur to me in the moment to give the girls some bills or coins to slide into those boxes. They kept asking about the boxes. They whispered about the boxes. They noticed every one of the boxes.

"Mommy, why does that say "poor box?"

"Mommy, how do you put money in there without a key for the lock?"

Once at the back of the sanctuary, another homeless man held the door for us. I greeted him with a smile and a "good afternoon," but we must have been too close, still, to the sacred place because he did not respond.

Back on the curb again, Fifi strung together her impressions the best she could. It sounded something like, "Mommy, people like that would never think to come into any of our churches."

It is sad and she is right. Our churches are all locked. There is no steeple. There are no people. We are grieved and talk through our feelings. Inaccessibility in the protestant church is a hard truth to swallow. Especially when it's coupled with childish indignation at the idea of taxes going toward government-sponsored social programs. My question then becomes, "O.k. then, Christian--what are you doing about it?"

And on our way home, we exited the freeway near our suburban neighborhood, and I met a man who busted my heart wide open...

to be continued

Dumpling's Very First Recital

My Aching Womb...

I don't mean to be greedy, LORD...

But if You will give me the strength and health to do it again, I will. After all, I'm not quite as old as Sarah, and Jim isn't near as old as Abraham.

I know I should be grateful for the ones I've had...and have...and I am--but how could I not want to do it all over again when I come across a moment like this?

Dumpling and Cuddlebug, 2003

Wordless Wednesday: Freeze. Right there. *sniffle*

Who's Electing this President Anyway?

We're out the door to vote. Jim just called and said that our polling place has NO line! A couple of interesting things I've learned in the last day or so....

From my very diverse Bach Choir, I understand that the middle class--the ones that work for the man--are having trouble getting to their proper precinct between the hours of 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. So, maybe the only people electing a president are the self-employed, wealthy, or...unemployed.

Also, I learned that as much as I lack in formal higher education, I am still smarter than Barack Obama. He spent all of last week mocking those who would call him a Socialist, saying that it's been found out that he shared his toys in school, and perhaps gave some of his sandwich to another who had none. That's all very well and good, Mr. Obama, but that is called CHARITY.

Socialism is when you charge $520 annually for membership in a student organization so that you can fund scholarships to those who can't afford it but will benefit from the same opportunities. They will spend most of the meeting, as it turns out, talking, laughing and texting their friends on the spankin' new iphone they bought instead of tuition.

But I'm not bitter. Well, I'm trying not to be.

And finally, to keep it light, here's a few seconds with Dumpling...

Building Faith in the Least of These...

When I went in to check on her, she was sitting up with her face over the bucket that her daddy had set next to the bell that she should ring if she becomes sick and needs assistance. I asked her how she felt, and she whined a little about how much her tummy hurt.

Well, not hurt, exactly; she feels nauseated.

With Fifi's help, I find a couple of ponytail clips, sit myself down behind Dumpling and gently part her hair down the middle, gathering the short hair just behind her ears.

And then we wait.

I pet her back. I hold her close. I stroke her arm. I ask her how I can make her comfortable. She doesn't want to be propped up on pillows; she doesn't want to lay on her side; mostly though, she just doesn't want me to leave.

So we play a little guessing game as I write letters on her back with my fingertip. "T-i-m-e-f-o-r-s-l-e-e-p." But she pleads with me to stay.

Now, either of her sisters would probably argue that Dumpling is the center of everything, anywhere, all the time--but inexplicably this middle child often wants for expressions of love and attention. It breaks my heart, and I pray often that she would know she is loved--by Him first, but by all of us as well.

So I stay with her for a little while longer, and it occurs to me to ask her if she would like me to pray for her. She shrugs and offers a shy smile, which is as good as saying, "Yes, please!" and so I pray with her. But I don't pray that she will be healed. I don't dare to know that is God's will for her, and the very last thing I want to do is to plant doubt in my children by way of selfish prayers. I pray simply that Jesus would regard my sweet Dumpling, show mercy to her, have compassion on her, and let His will be done swiftly so that she may rest well and heal. I ask that He would either pluck the "bug" from her quickly, or simply let her be delivered of it.

And then I must offer to get her daddy to sit with her so that I may accomplish an evening chore. She agrees, and so I head to the top of the stairs and call for Jim. He and I are headed back to her room when we hear her call to us. Walking in, we see her hunched over her prepared trash can, ready to receive God's answer to our prayer.

It wasn't pleasant, but both of us were there. And prayers were said for her, "Help her bear it, Jesus. Please help her bear it."

A quick trip to the bathroom sink to brush her teeth, and she was back in bed feeling as good as she has ever felt. And the smile! Oh, such a happy smile.

What was that smile, I wonder?

Was it just because she suddenly felt better? Was it because she had both her parents' undivided attention for those 20 minutes? Or was it...oh, please let it be...the smile of a child who has recognized the profound truth of her Savior's love and care...through answered prayer.

Because she's the middle child, and I don't want to hear later that no one ever paid attention to her...

Here is Dumping playing pensive. I think the mama in her brings it to the fore.


Here is Dumpling during a suspenseful moment in our last lunch time read aloud.

The moment obviously resolved o.k. Here is what I saw when I looked to my left later in the chapter.

If Dumpling is down with the sniffles, Cuddlebug is going to play nurse. Or a horrible scene out of a Dustin Hoffman film.

Here Dumpling is pleading for rescue. In vain.

This is how a 6 year old averts her eyes during the kissing scenes in Ben Hur. Wait a minute! How did Cuddlebug get in on Dumpling's post?

And finally...here is how Dumpling shares her stash of Creme Mint Altoids with her very best playmate before they head out to the wild outdoors for a morning of discovery.

A sister is born for adversity...

Mmmm mmmm good. Frozen yogurt from Costco.

*sigh* Yum.

"I'm all done already."

"Oh, that's nice for you. I'm not."

"Whoa there, Cuddlebug! You almost dropped that whole sundae."

"You know...I can help you with it, if you want me to."

"Um...."

"No thank you."

"Well. I don't really want any, anyway."

"No. Really. I'm good. I'm glad for her."

"Ack! I can't stand it!"

"O.k., o.k., let me think. What can I do to get this deal done?"

Fifi's thinking, "Who needs t.v. when little sisters
are so amusing? Everywhere. All the time.
Except when they are not."

Here is where I decide that some lawyer, somewhere, at some time,
once told Dumpling that possession licking is 9/10ths of the law.

"Tastes like chicken!"

"So....? Can I have some? Friend?"

Uh oh. Fun moment over.

The Little Wooden Chess Set

Jim and I spent hours playing chess on this little wooden folding board when we lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment nestled into the side of a mountain large dirt clod on the northern end of the Phoenix valley. That was 19 years ago. Before children. Before homemaking. Even before we knew our Savior.

Our best evenings at home were usually spent listening to music and either playing chess or putting together puzzles. There was a brief Nintendo Tetris phase, but it was addictive, unprofitable and not otherwise compelling.

Making choices...Tetris doesn't live here anymore, but the checkers set does.

Cuddlebug gets some good council from big sister, Dumpling. Oh wait, maybe she's just screeching, "King me!"

A day later, something inspires Jim to try and teach these two whirly birds to play chess.

And to my delight and surprise, they learned it pretty well. In one sitting.

In the end, Dumpling took the King and won the match. And then she and Cuddlebug hunkered down to compare counts on their opponent's captured pieces. And in that case, the tables turned and the match was lost! Because they are 6 and 8 that way.

Paper Glasses Make the Teacher

Spelling Drill