Failure...matey!

As an English major...nay, as an even slightly educated, English-speaking human...I should be too ashamed to admit this even to my closest friends, much less blog about it to all three of my readers. (I admit to a certain amount of overlap in those categories.) And I should certainly hesitate to expose my child by telling this. It puts my cultural literacy teaching skills in the very worst light. It puts my child's literacy in almost as bad a light. But I have decided to pass the buck and blame the school, thus turning this into an expose' of the deplorable academic failures of our education system, instead of a mea culpa regarding my mothering.

So, today we were in the car and something, I'm not sure what, put the September Baby in mind of Shakespeare, and he asked me something about him...something along the lines of why do people make such a big deal about the stuff Shakespeare wrote?

Now, I took a whole year of classes on Shakespeare in college (besides, Kenneth Branagh's Henry V is one of my favorite movies ever). I felt I was therefore uniquely qualified to answer a question like that. I mean, this is what parents wait for, isn't it? The glimmers of a yearning, curious mind in their progeny...proof of life, proof of intelligence! And I'm The Mother, after all. The Stay-at-Home Mom whose job it is, besides chauffer, to Be There when the Big Questions come up. The ones whose answers shape the future, not only of the child, but of mankind! And there I was, the Literary Parent to the Good Doctor's Science Parent. So, I turned down the conservative talk radio show, put down my iPhone, and began...

"It's 'cause...well...Shakespeare...William Shakespeare...was, like, you know...a really good writer and stuff..."

The February Baby piped up, sounding surprised and a little puzzled, and said, "I thought Shakespeare was a pirate!"

I gasped and swerved. "What?" Shrilly, "A...pirate?!?"

Then I laughed and twiddled the wheel, steering the Suburban off the curb and back into the street. "You're just kidding...aren't you, sweetie? Hahaha!"

"No, I'm not kidding," he said. "Honestly, for the past ten years, I've thought he was a pirate. I never knew he was a writer."

Wow.

Yeah.

That story is all I need, if I ever do need to prove my ineffectiveness as a parent--my utter uselessness at shaping the next generation.

However, as I said, I've decided to take the modern approach and shove the blame off on his school teachers.

And The Three will be drifting off to sleep tonight while listening to me read Hamlet...or, at least, while watching my DVD of Henry V.

Curbing the complaining

While I know this is only my second week of doing this...and two times does not a good habit make (although somehow a bad habit can be established with only one repetition)...and I didn't even remember that this day is "Multitude Monday" until the middle of the afternoon, I think this is an excellent exercise for me: a malcontent, a dedicated complainer, an eloquent caviller, a bellyacher, a sniveller, a griper. (I adore having a thesaurus right on my desktop, available with a touch of a button.) Naming the myriad of good things God has granted me...counting my blessings, as Bing Crosby would call it...has to be the perfect antidote for complaining. I am, in fact, commanded by God to give thanks "always and for everything." (Ephesians 5:20) So, here is number

8.  Since I've already mentioned the thesaurus on my computer, I'll go ahead and expand on that theme. I love my Mac! I am so thankful to be able to communicate quickly with friends and family. We all love the screensaver that works like a slideshow, bringing back memories of past trips and past times. I am diverted by some blogs and deeply moved and encouraged by other blogs that I read from time to time. The ease of being able to track down answers to the random questions that occur to all five of us daily is  so helpful...and educational!

9. I am thankful that my life and livelihood does not depend on my posting blog entries in a timely fashion. I started this on Monday. It is now Friday.

10. It's Good Friday. Praise God for His indescribable gift! Going back to my theme of four days ago, there at the top, just a couple of paragraphs up...How could thoughts of Him ever leave room for any complaining? It just shows how full of sin I am, how much in need of saving, and reminds me again to say how thankful I am for Good Friday!

Multitude Monday

The title of this post is stolen from Ann Voskamp's blog, A Holy Experience, and the Gratitude Community who encourage readers to think of one thousand things they are thankful for. (I still hate ending a sentence with a preposition!) I've been pondering the challenge for some time now and have decided to take up the gauntlet...testing out this new blog site* AND reminding myself on this, the day after the horrible, historic passage of the new health care legislation by Congress, that...no matter what...I have been granted multitudes of blessings by my Heavenly Father.

1....

Now, wait...this gives me pause...I hope to end up with at least a thousand things here, but it's hard to put Number One next to one of them. I feel as if I have to make it the most important thing in the world. At the same time knowing that if I keep this up, many of my entries will be very "of the moment," almost transient things that flit by and for which I breathe a sigh of thankfulness while moving on to the next activity, job, or thought. Wait...really, it's easy. So, right this minute, what is foremost in my mind to be thankful for is the taste of Nutella on the baguette I just ate, and the memories it brought back of my trip to Europe in 1992 with Cindy. But I'll make those Numbers Two and Three, respectively, because I know that Number One must be...

God's grace.

2. The smooth, chocolatey, hazelnutty flavor of the Nutella I just ate, smeared on a piece of chewy Reising's French Bread.

3. My trip to Europe with Cindy, of which said Nutella reminded me so vividly.

4. My husband...gentle, quiet, friendly, peaceful today...in spite of the disastrous decisions our government made yesterday.

5. My children. My boys and my girl. Hale and hearty. Healthy and, mostly, happy.

6. I can once again, and still, walk upstairs to kiss them good night.

7. They want me to.

*This was originally posted at thenatteringnelson.wordpress.com. I'm trying to decide which blog site I like better. Surprise! I can't decide.

Snow!

I guess I didn't post this when I wrote it because I couldn't get the photos exactly the way I wanted them...now, a month later, it seems sillier to be so late for such a dumb reason. I'm going to go ahead and post it, even though it's not still February.

It's February in South Mississippi...a couple of years ago, I had the air conditioner repairman at our house in February! But this year, it has been cold. And it snowed! On Friday the 12th, right before the Good Doctor and I were leaving for sunny Puerto Rico for an eye meeting. The snow was so beautiful and very throwable.

The Ride to Church

Giggle, giggle, nonsense talk, violent scenarios, giggle, sounds of flailing, sounds of hitting, shouting, fussing, laughing.
Okay, boys, time to quiet down, settle your minds, and get ready for church.
Yes, sir.
Two seconds of silence, then continued, though quieter, nonsense words, violent plans for new pellet guns, and insane giggles.
Boys, settle down.
Yes, ma'am.
Click, click, click.
Win, put down the Nerf gun.
Yes, ma'am.
Click.
Win, put it down.
Yes, sir.
Ding, ding, ding.
What is that sound? Thomas, that's mine!
Thomas, give it to her.
Yes, ma'am.
Boys, fold your hands in your laps and settle down.
How do you fold your hands?
Like this...like you're praying.
No, that's not right. It's like this.
No, it's not. You do it like this.
No, like this!
No!
Yes, it is.
No, it's not.
Yes, it IS!

God's mercy alone

Written the night of 21 January:

I had knee surgery today. Knee surgery performed by a clean, unhurried, reasonably well-rested surgeon who speaks the same language I do, who was assisted by friendly, well-trained nurses...surgery in a clean, comfortable, private, climate-controlled, well-lit surgery center with heated blankets, comfortable beds, clean restrooms, drink machines, and plenty of clean water...surgery under gently administered, well-monitored, general anethesia, with my compassionate, patient, and thoughtful husband and mother to sit with me as I waited a few hours for my turn. My clean, safe, well-looked-after, and well-fed children prayed publicly for me at their schools, as did their teachers, as did our friends in their houses, prayer meetings, and churches. Kiper was able to keep our friends and family instantly updated with texts, whether they were one mile (Heather), a hundred miles (my daddy) or 1200 miles (my sister) away.

As I lay down tonight night on my clean sheets, under a brand new blanket, with a glass of cold water and a variety of medicines to ensure my comfort next to me on my lovely, solid bedside table covered with books I love and am able to read by the light of my electric lamp, I could not help but compare my lot to that of those suffering now in Haiti and think of the contrast in our experiences and current states of mind and being.

Why? Why? Why so good to me, Lord? Not through any goodness or merit in me, certainly. Your mercy alone, oh Lord. And there is nothing that I can do to be worthy of such mercy You've shown to me and my family...nothing. But I praise You for it and remember the verse "to whom much is given, much will be required." I pray that You will enable me to give in the same manner I have received.

E-mail to my sister

I want to post photos and memories from Christmas and my birthday and the recent wedding we got to participate in, but I haven't gotten myself together for that yet. So I'm posting this e-mail I sent to my sister earlier because it sort of captures this moment, this day, this stage...it all seems like a pretty big deal right now, but it's all fairly every day stuff that I fear I'll forget quickly. (I also edited it a little because I used too many exclamation points and it didn't seem dignified. Now that I'm 41 I must try to maintain my dignity at all times.)

Hey,

I am so enthralled with Ellen Langford's paintings! Thanks so much for the introduction. I looked at her website and there are about 52 works I want. I've tracked down the one called Thursday Morning and am considering buying it. We'll see.

There's no school for anyone tomorrow. Closed for cold...not really, I think it may be quite icy in the morning. Luke Logan is going to come spend the night with us. I need to take down the Christmas stuff, but all I want to do is cook soup and read, read, read. And drink hot chocolate.

Laura Lee's Slimming Secrets.

I hope you have fun with Kelli. We'll be watching the Championship Game, I expect. I can't decide who I'm really going to be rooting for.

I am watching what we call "regular tv," which means "not DirecTV," our local stations, to check to see if Petal schools are closed tomorrow. (Ella's school follows their lead...they're closed). "Jeopardy" just came on and it reminded me of Aunt Patsy and Uncle Sonny so strongly. I miss those days.

I love you,
Laura Lee

This is the painting I was talking about. Don't you think it would look so lovely upstairs in the playroom? Or in my bedroom? It's called Thursday Morning by Ellen Langford. Margie gave me an Ellen Langford calendar for my birthday and she (Ellen Langford) quickly became one of my most favorite artists. Margie was already one of my favorites...Margie, Raoul Dufy, Julian Merrow-Smith, Lisa Paris, Emily Patrick...and now Ellen Langford.