And this week...

It is now the end of June. Emry is gaining on 15 months…and maybe 20 pounds (which will catch her up with the 6-month old in her Sunday School class). We still have little interest in walking, but we don’t mind the novelty of being put up on our feet. Our first pair of shoes are on their way (a little big but the smallest size you can get for “walkers” and she’ll grow into them…maybe by the time she’s two). And we’re very patient with Mama who finds herself quite exhausted these days, even sleeping in so Mama can take her time rolling out of bed.

With the dawn of summer, we explore a bit more outside. We HATE flies, scrunching up in a ball with our hands near our face to protect ourselves if they fly to close. But we LOVE ants, sitting outside on the cement slab and chattering away to them as they crawl about. Naturally, our yard is not as interesting as the neighbor’s yard for they have a great little hill that’s a fun challenge to climb. Thankfully, they think we’re cute and don’t mind us adventuring over from time to time.

Recently, the front tire of the stroller went seriously flat. Mama used it as an excuse for her slower running time (which is actually more the heat and trying to be a little more careful now that’s she carrying number two while pushing number one). When we got the replacement, we thought it was great fun to help Papa put it on. Funny enough, we seemed to know exactly what to do with a hex key. Papa’s hoping we’re a future engineer…

To my Dad

Dear Dad,

I’m a little late to actually hit Father’s Day, but I hope that’s okay. And this little note certainly won’t be as entertaining as the wonderful video clip Jenny and Caleb posted on Facebook. I could never be that hilariously creative…and maybe that’s a good thing.

But the video clip and other things in my life recently have reminded me just how much you have taught me. I confess I don’t use a leveler to ensure my lawn in properly cut (the one lawn I had to upkeep in Texas would have been a waste of time trying to level – I was busy trying to not get the mower stuck in deep cracks in the earth, which I’m pretty sure drop all the way to China). I’m not very good with the Lysol either, but perhaps that’s because we don’t get sick much.

On the other hand, I do know how to drive a stick-shift car (which is more than Caleb or Jenny could say). And I know how to move (a lesson, perhaps, that was not intentional but has served me very well over my lifetime). I know how to use tools, generally, and I am pretty good with duct tape. I certainly know how to wash and wax a car, mop a floor and clean a bathroom (with a toothbrush, which I confess I don’t use – although Emry does, if only it wasn’t the one she just had in her mouth…). And I can make socks smile.

Of all the lessons I’m sure you have taught me in my life (Go Navy – Beat Army!, tossing napkins in trash cans from the kitchen table, catching grapes in your mouth), there are two that stand out.

First, God’s Word. I hope I am as diligent to teach Emry Scripture as you were to teach me. About the time she will start chattering and memorizing, I will have number two to juggle so we’ll see how that goes. But if she can hide Psalm 23 and John 3:16 in her heart from the time she is two until she is thirty-something, I know she will never forget.

Second is managing money. It’s a lesson I take for granted, but just last week I was talking to a friend who is an accountant by trade, trying to put a workable budget in place in her family. One would think someone who managed money for a living (before having 2 boys, going on three) would have the best budget in the world in her own life, but I have realized that managing money is not something most people understand (which is lucky for Dave Ramsey). But I don’t think I will ever forget being given my first allowance and told how to budget my little (but HUGE) dollar: 10% to God, 10% to savings, 80% towards something I really want. It doesn’t take a genius to know that a paycheck and adulthood expenses are a little more complicated than a 9-year-old’s dollar, but the foundation of managing is the same. And I thank you for that foundation.

As I watch Emry interact with Ed, I realize how important a dad is in a little girl’s life. She watches her papa all the time, waits anxiously for him to come home from work and asks “Papa?” every time a car drives down the alleyway. She soaks in the lessons he teaches her from how to hold her fork to how to use a hex key to making silly noises with her sippy cup. Even a game of chase is much more fun with Papa than Mama. Watching them makes me even more grateful for you, my Dad.

Happy (belated) Father’s Day!

Book Goal 2016

I announced in January that my intention this year was to read through the alphabet three times. That means 78 books. And three for each letter of the alphabet. Now six months into the year, how am I doing? Well…

I certainly won’t have a problem getting through 78 books. The tricky part has been finding some of the letters. I admit, “cheating” may be in order for more than just the letter “X” (which is hard enough to find in the midst of a title, let alone at the start of one). Titles that start with “U” are proving to be a bit elusive. “Y” isn’t easy either. But I’ll figure it out.

The other problem I’m having is reading books I don’t need to. What do I mean? Well, there are books I find that I REALLY want to read. So, I check them out and read them. Only to discover I have already read FIVE books that start with the letter “D” this year. Or “W”. Or “R”. Yeah, the 78 won’t be a problem. But maybe I should have decided to read 78 books that start with the letter “L”…

I officially have the alphabet read through once. I am working on the other two with only 35 books to go. I have a stack next to my bed that will cover eight of those. So, at six months I am more than half way. I’ll get it done. I just wish more people used “Xylophone” in the title of a book…

Niagara Falls

Ed grew up in Pittsburgh – and when I mean “grew up” I mean nearly 30 years before he left. In all that time, he never once visited Niagara Falls. Some people just haven’t seen much…

But two weekends ago, we remedied that. Because we didn’t think of it months ago, we didn’t have time to get Ed’s and Emry’s passports, so we just stayed on the United States side, which was perfectly enjoyable. The weather was gorgeous (well, a little chilly on Sunday, but that was fine!) and we saw rainbows, and got wet, and truly enjoyed a little time away.

The top of Horseshoe Falls. The sidewalk and area around it is under construction, so this was as close as we got.

A lovely rainbow!

The falls from the observatory.

 Emry and Mama.

Our first stay at a hotel (with bunny and Sock Monkey, of course).

 Our first driving lesson. These new cars that don’t need keys are great – she knows how to start and turn them off!

Guess What?

Yep – I’m going to be a sister!

(Whatever that is…)

Relics: Dusty, Dead and Bizarre

…the name of the God of Jacob defend thee. Psalm 20:1b

“I was once goaded by a poor silly Irish papist to try it, who told me, in his consummate ignorance and bigotry, that if a priest would but give him a drop of holy water, and make a circle with it around a field full of wild beasts, they would not hurt him. I retired in disgust at the abominable trickery of such villains, reflecting what a fool I am that I cannot put such a trust in my God as this poor deluded man puts in his priest and a drop of holy water.” Joseph Irons

A couple of weeks ago, we were in a different part of the city looking about at where the company I work for is moving to at the end of July. Since we were over there, as is Ed’s custom, he wanted to drive about for no particular reason at all. So, he told me to plug something into my GPS and off we went to find this huge Catholic church he had once taken his father to for a tour. Now a “huge Catholic church” is nothing abnormal in Pittsburgh – there are tons of them – but this one is unique. For, gathered inside Saint Anthony’s stone walls, are 5,000 “Christian” relics.

Just to put this in perspective for those of us who are not Catholic and think collecting dusty bones, teeth and sticks one can’t possibly prove belonged to anyone and is rather a disgusting hobby except for in the realm of science, this is the largest collection of relics outside the Vatican. That’s a pretty big assortment of dead things.

My first sarcastic response was the church was aptly named. For isn’t Saint Anthony the saint of missing things? Apparently, that was another St. Anthony. (How do these Catholics keep all these saints in order? If it were me, I’d be praying to the wrong one all the time and then wondering why my prayers weren’t being answered.) My second response was just how disgusting such a collection is. Who wants to see dry bones and teeth? And lastly, no one can possible prove that that splinter was a part of Christ’s cross and not the thief’s hanging next to him. Or that all those skulls belonged to one saint over another (or to, bluntly, no saint at all). DNA testing isn’t possible since those people didn’t know their blood type let alone their body’s unique chemistry, and no one kept dental records of these martyred people to prove whose teeth is whose.

I don’t think I was properly awed at the collection this Father Suitbert Mullinger of Belgium gathered during this lifetime. With strains of Catholicism embedded in his DNA, I think Ed found my responses a bit sacrilegious. But to me, visiting this museum and bowing down to dry bones would be akin to visiting the Carnegie Science Museum and offering sacrifices to the skeleton of the dinosaur. It’s worshipping the creature over the Creator. And this guy who went around the world collecting this stuff wasted his entire life. And when he entered eternity…well, I’m sure he was surprised that God wasn’t interested that he “….builded sepulchres of the prophets, and your fathers killed them.” (Luke 11:47).

Growing up, I knew what relics were. My grandmother had tons in her house. Pictures of Jesus with weaved palm leaves hung about them. Little containers marked with tape and ink “holy water” in the cupboard next to her flour, Tylenol and marshmallows. Fancy strings of beads with crosses. Even though I came to understand the trappings of her religion, I never understood how she could respect them. What good was “holy water” if you kept it in a bottle? Palm leaves wither and don’t make for attractive décor. And why did I need a fancy necklace to pray – or, rather, chant to a dead Mary?

At St. Anthony’s here in Pittsburgh, poor deluded people walk through its doors nearly every day of the week. They bow, and pray, and cry before chips of the bones of each of the Apostles (so claimed). And, sadly, some even declare that a tooth has healed them from some wretched disease. They stand in awe of nothing but the trappings of dead men and lying religious leaders. It makes me sad. And it makes me angry.

But it also makes me thoughtful. No, I don’t believe that an ankle bone from St. What’s-his-Name can heal my sore knee. So, then, what do I trust? I say I trust God. And I do. But do I trust God as ardently as the woman who claims the piece of Mary’s veil healed her cancer? That is a question worth meditating on.

And This Week...

We are climbing now. (Not trees, but if she’s like her mother that will come soon enough.) And attempting to go through every small space we can possibly squeeze into – thus getting stuck. (Why do kids do that?) But standing? Walking? Not yet. She’s proven, again, that she’s quite content with what she can do. She didn’t crawl until after she turned one because she was more than happy with sitting where she was and playing with what she could reach. Now that she can crawl…what’s the big deal about walking anyhow? Every kid in her Sunday school class (except one-month Laura Grace, of course) can do it, but all that does is allow them to run over her. Besides, she’s so little it’s hard to believe she will stand or walk at that size. Yet we are guilty of encouraging it. I stood her up at the television stand the other day and now…

We think it’s tons of fun to stand there by ourselves, but Mama has to help us get up.

We have grown up enough that we just eat whatever Mama and Papa are eating. In fact, we prefer that for whatever they have MUST be better than what we have. With two teeth on top added to our two teeth on bottom, we can bite and chew anything – lettuce in salad and we certainly DO NOT want Mama peeling our apples. This past week we also tried…

Corn on the cob!

Awkward and messy, but definitely fun and delicious!

To Be Southern, Part 3

Ah, the wonderful quirkiness of the South. I suppose, truly, every area of our country has it’s quirky ways. It’s just easier to laugh at Southerner’s saying “over yonder” than a New Englander plugging up his nose and stating “ovah there”.

Like anywhere, it’s easy to wonder where turns of phrases come from. How do Southern children know exactly where they’re headed when their Mama tells them their toy is “over yonder”? Why are Southerners always “fixin’ to” do something? And do they really mean it when they say “well, bless her heart” over almost every story they hear?

Of course, there is also the great food of the South. Things like banana pudding. It seems so simple and ordinary and yet I’ve met LOTS of people north of the Mason Dixon who have no idea what that is and think it’s probably disgusting. Cornbread is baked in bacon grease in a cast iron pan (which every Southern housewife has – it’s good for both cooking and knocking sense into your husband). Cornbread is NOT sweet. However, tea IS sweet (think of it has syrup, not an actual liquid). Tea without sugar is like bread without butter. (And on that note, tea is cold – not hot. It’s our personal vendetta against England. Throwing it in the harbor was all well and good, Massachusetts, but that was the passion of a moment. We continue our rebellion to this very day.) You can fry almost everything. And while I don’t get into chittlin’s or fried green tomatoes, I do think grits are very good.

There is, of course, football. And we’re not talking fancy, million dollar salaries football. We’re talking Go Big Orange!, Roll, Tide, Roll! and Ole’ Miss. To prove this point, just this past week I was talking with a co-worker who buys seasons tickets with the Steelers every year (they took this over from his father-in-law who had done it since 1955). He remarked that, of course, I was from the South so I would like…ummm…

“The Titans?” I filled in his memory lapse. “I lived in Tennessee when the Titans were still the Houston Oilers. We don’t do pro. We do college.”

Now this guy knows all about college ball. He’s an Ohio State alumni and his son attends Penn State. Last year, I heard more than my share of how well Ohio State was doing and never said a word, but now I just had to say something.

“My grandfather played for Tennessee,” I offered.

“Oh!” along with stunned silence.

“And his brother played for Alabama. And his son did, too. In fact, he’s in the Alabama Football hall of fame. And his son also played for Alabama,” I added for good measure.

Another, “Oh.” And then a weakly added, “Ohio did beat Alabama…once.”

Yeah, I think I’m done hearing about these Yankee colleges attempting to play football (granted, with some success at times – but everyone has their off seasons).

It is great to be Southern.