Thank You

The Horror of Murder

It’s that time of year again: graduations, proms, school shootings.

I’m seriously not trying to make light of what the kids and families in Parkland or Santa Fe or any other location have gone through. I tried to read a few of the articles…and had to stop. I can’t imagine what they saw or heard. How frightened they were. How long – if ever – it will take for the scars to heal. I don’t ever want such an experience. And I certainly don’t want my children to have such an experience. Yet another reason they will be homeschooled.

But I am sick and tired of a bunch of high school kids, many of whom are not even old enough to drive, getting up on soapboxes and screaming about things they haven’t thought through. Or that adults with agendas tell them to shout. Or the media raises to such heights one would think fourteen years olds suddenly have the wisdom of Solomon when most of them can’t even diagram a sentence. Or spell on their Twitter. Something is very wrong with our world.

Because here are a few facts these teenagers don’t even know about. Or, if they do happen to be informed, don’t think about. Because adults don’t want them to. The media and liberals certainly don’t want them to. And their world as a whole has immunized them to. School shootings (or any shootings) are terrible…but the loss of life is nothing compared to what teenagers on a daily basis do that takes away life.

One: drunk driving. Drinking is illegal under the age of 21 across the entire United States. Therefore, any teenager drinking is committing a crime. (Something most school shooters are not doing when they have a gun. In most – not all – cases, the shooter is of age to have a gun in possession and even legally owns the weapon they just committed a crime with.) And yet, approximately eleven million teenagers drink. A very large percentage of these teenagers then go and drive a vehicle while intoxicated. It is estimated that 4,300 deaths are caused on a yearly basis by a teenager driving under the influence of alcohol – 2,333 of these deaths are teenagers themselves. That means six teenagers die every day from motor vehicle injuries caused by a teenage drunk driver.

But does anyone say anything about those deaths? Or tightening laws on teenagers getting their hands on alcohol? Or keeping teenagers from driving at all? No. Of course not. That’s just life.

And number two is even worse: abortion.  Numbers attributed to abortion are extremely hard to pin down. Even abortions committed in a clinic don’t necessarily have to be reported to the state or any other entity, not to mention self-inflicted ones or the thousands committed in some apartment somewhere. But even if I throw in the low estimate of one million babies die in the United States of America (alone) from abortion a year, approximately 10.4% of those are given to teenage girls who wanted to get rid of the “problem” their jerk of a boyfriend just handed to them. That means that 104,000 babies are murdered by their teenage mothers on a yearly basis. Which equals 285 babies a day.

But does anyone say a single world about those lives that haven’t even had the opportunity to see the world God created? Or the teenage mothers who brutally murder them, often without a second thought? Is a needle sucking out your brains any more compassionate than a bullet in the head? No. Of course not. But, again, that’s life.

I do pray for those who have gone through the horror of a mass shooting. But I just think that before a single one of them gets up on their soapbox they ought to consider the thousands of lives that are taken away on a daily basis through the means of something besides a gun. Because it isn’t the weapon that caused the crime, the horror, the death or the pain. It’s the person behind the weapon. A person who, like ourselves, is a heinous sinner and needs a Savior.

Today I was in the office and got started on the library project. Basically, it’s a long overdue project of taking the library of each firm and merging them. Since the firms have been merged since January 1 of last year…hence, the “overdue” part. Honestly, I think merging the firm might have been easier than this project, but I got a good start. And a good laugh:

Kind of makes you wonder what the “un-compact” edition looks like.

Out of the Mouth of Kids

Sadly, as humans, we easily become desensitized to things that, as Christians, we shouldn’t.  We see things so often, over and over again that when we see it again, we shrug and (maybe) look away. One of those things is women’s clothing. (Or, should I say, lack thereof!)

Since we have apparently skipped spring and gone from winter to summer, it seems like sweatshirts and jeans disappeared and were replaced with skimpy shorts and tank tops overnight. The fact that women hardly dress to go out in public during the summer months is something most of us have sadly become used to, shrug and look away in embarrassment.  But not Emry. We were sitting on our back deck when a woman in the house next door came out to get in her car. Dressed in shorts that might as well have been underwear and a tight t-shirt rolled up to reveal her mid-riff, Emry watches for a minute, turns to me and asks:

“Mama, where she going? The pool?”

What do you say? I just nodded and said, “She should be.”

A few days later, we happened to have a few moments to walk into Kohls and wander around a bit just to see what’s “in style” for the season. I don’t really care for shopping in general, but shopping during the summer is even worse. (Although, at least, my options for purchases are severally limited as I vainly seek for modest!) Emry was happily sitting in one of those Kohl carts she thinks is very cool (the seat is in front and down low so she’s in a forest of clothing). We stopped and she very wisely observed the rack of jeans hanging next to her:

“Mama, these pants have holes in them.”

I knew she was asking for an explanation. After all, we get rid of clothes with holes in the them. But what do you say?

“Yes, Emry. And you pay for the holes.”

Sometimes it takes a three-year-old to remind you of how upside down the world really is.

My Mother

To count, I have been writing a blog for the past thirteen mother’s days. And yet I could still fill volumes of all the amazing things my mother is and does. Because even after being her daughter for now 39 mother’s days, there is always something that surprises and amazes me about my mother. I imagine that will be the case until the day I die.

But this year, I want to introduce you to my mother from the perspective of my three-year-old. First, let me say that all five of my mother’s grandchildren adore her. If she is an amazing mother, she is an even more amazing grandmother. Perhaps because she knows the secret of being a wonderful grandmother: unconditional love. Not that she would excuse my children (or nephews) of their disobedience, bad attitudes, or wrong choices. But the fact that they are sinners does not change the fact that she loves them, encourages them, spends time with them, and wants God’s best for them. Would that we all had such a grandmother.

Nearly a year ago, after we arrived back home from spending a week at my parents, I switched out Emry’s toothbrush and gave her the one we had taken on our trip to Indiana. She looked at it, smiled and happily said, “This is the toothbrush Grandma made Emry.” I knew she was simply relating the fact that she had used this toothbrush at my parents to my mom, using her two-year-old logic that since Grandma makes her lots of things, Grandma must have made the toothbrush. I laughingly told her that I didn’t think Grandma could make toothbrushes, but then I could be wrong. I’m fairly convinced my mom can make just about anything she sets her mind to.

Apparently Emry is, too. Anything that comes from my mom is quickly declared as, “Grandma made me”. The bags, dresses, shorts, tops, hairbows and other sundry objects certainly fall under that category. However, I don’t think my mom has started her own publishing company for books, printing factory for stickers, or toy workshop for Disney princesses that happen to fit in Fisher Price Little People castles; but according to Emry… It’s rather funny that I could buy her the exact same thing and she would know it came from a store. When it’s from Grandma, though…well, Grandma must have grown that banana in her backyard in Indiana (right next to her pineapple plant!).

Emry’s little comments about “Grandma made” this or that of her (or Ethan’s!) possessions make me laugh as I try to picture my mom sitting at her sewing machine painstakingly stitching the seat part of a miniature camp chair she’s already made the frame for (complete with fold-out table). And yet they often remind me of all the things my mother has “made me” (or the kids, or Ed) and continues to do for not just myself but my dad, and my sisters, and my brothers, and my nephews, and my kids, and for everyone around her. Because this list is infinite. So, why would it surprise me if my mom made Emry a toothbrush?

Washington, D.C.

I love Washington, D.C. I have loved it ever since I was a six-year-old first grader is Mrs. Steely’s class at Marshall County Elementary School in Lewisburg, Tennessee. And I hadn’t even seen it yet. In fact, it would be another three years before I saw it for the first time. But the way Mrs. Steely talked about it…well, I could imagine I had been there.

For most people, I imagine seeing some European city like Paris or Venice or some exotic island like New Zealand or Tahiti would be the epitome of their greatest adventure. And while those places would be worth seeing, going to Washington, D.C. for the first time when I was nine continues to be one of the highlights of my life. And, oddly enough, one of the greatest disappointments. Why? Because we didn’t have the opportunity to see the statue of Iwo Jima that trip. But, don’t worry. I’ve seen it every other time I’ve been to D.C. A statue I could sit and stare at for hours.

Which is why, when I was getting to know my husband, I was astounded to discover he had never been to Washington, D.C. NEVER!!!! He grew up not four hours from that amazing city and never saw it. NEVER!!!! I don’t think I could have been more amazed if he told me he had been born with two heads. NEVER?!?!?

Well, I am happy to say we have remedied that. This past weekend, my parents came from Indiana to watch the kids and we took off to D.C. for a few days. An exhausting but amazing three days. Yes, yes, yes…it was great to have a trip with just my husband. I actually slept for eight hours straight one night, I can still get ready to go in the morning in just ten minutes, and I got to eat all the food on my plate for several meals by myself. Talk about a vacation! But the best part was showing Ed the amazing city of Washington, D.C.

Now, certainly, I am no expert on D.C. I’m not a tour guide. I’ve never been a night-life person. I’m more than happy with Subway over some hole-in-the-wall café. And I’m certainly not a politician. There are a million things about D.C. I have never experienced, but that’s okay. Because we walked miles, and miles, and miles to see things I have loved since I was six-years-old: the Capitol, the White House, the Washington Monument, Iwo Jima, Arlington National Cemetery, the World War II Memorial, the Thomas Jefferson building of the Library of Congress, the National Archives….and so much more! Plus, I saw things I had not seen before: the National Gallery of Art, the Smithsonian Zoo (yes, I got a glimpse of one of the pandas!), different sections of Arlington and Theodore Roosevelt Island. It was wonderful.

And we can’t wait to go back. Next time, we’ll take the kids!

Monday

Some weeks start out and it’s not even noon before I wonder why in the world I even got out of bed. Because sometimes I really don’t think things all the way through. Today was one of those days…

Need I say more?

Happy 2^nd Birthday, Curtis!

 

A year older…and more mature? Probably not! J

The Half-Way Mark

Last August, I started recording all the books Emry was reading in a goal to reach the “1,000 Books before Kindergarten” mark.  I even started her a blog to keep track of the books read and to review the ones on the listed provided by the 1,000 Books campaign. To be honest, I knew we would hit our mark quite easily. Especially since you can count any title every time you read it. In which case, we surpassed 1,000 a month ago because we’ve read almost every single book on her list at least twice…and some well over twenty times a piece! But we’re only counting each title once.

Emry loves to read and already searches for more to read. When we finish a book, she sees the other titles by the same author advertised in the back, points to them and says, “We need to get that one, and that one, and that one, and that one at the library.” Even at the young age of 3, she already has a list longer than a lifetime! I haven’t yet told her it’s the one list that grows before it ever starts shrinking.

We have discovered some wonderful books along the way. Fancy Nancy has become a favorite. Stellaluna, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt and The Birds, the Bees and the Berenstain Bears we read more times than I can count. I have watched her understanding grow. Her imagination plays off the stories she reads. She relates the pictures to the words, wonders why a picture is lacking something she thinks is vital and relates one story to another. It will almost be sad when she learns to read herself in the near future and doesn’t need me anymore. (But then it will be Ethan’s turn!)

On the other hand, as we’ve read through the list provided by the 1,000 Books campaign, I often wonder where in the world they came up with some of these titles. Many of them I did read as a child myself: Curious George, Babar the Elephant, Bread and Jam for Frances. Others I have never heard of and simply do not understand how they achieved making the list. Part of it may be my lack of appreciation when it comes to illustrations. I admire illustrators, but I simply don’t see in pictures. As soon as I could read, I graduated myself from picture books and never looked back. Another part might be the fact that I don’t think of picture books very psychological-ly. As a mom, I do think about what the story may be trying to entail and if I really want my child reading about a spoiled brat, a bully or a character that is bad but goes unpunished. But aside from that…well, maybe I’m lazy. On the other hand, since I find reading a pleasure I think I pass that aspect on to Emry more than any other.

Not that we don’t discuss some of the books we read outside of their two covers. (I mean, really? I do not want her growing up believing that Abraham Lincoln was god on earth when he was actually…well, I won’t get up on that soap box. We’ll just go find a good book on Stonewall Jackson.) And re-reading some of the books I agree are classics has made me curious. So many were written even before my parents were born! And did you know the authors of Curious George were German Jews who had already fled Germany but then escaped Paris on two bikes with their now famous manuscript in a backpack? Some books have a whole history themselves!

So, we have reached the half way mark. But I feel like we’re just getting started! So many wonderful books to read…so little time to read them all!