Pinterest Fail

“Easy gluten-free treats for kids”. I typed that into my google bar because store-bought gluten-free cupcakes cost a small fortune. And I am a terrible baker. So, when my youngest needed birthday treats to share with his class earlier this week, I was hoping Google or Pinterest or some smart person in internet land could save the day.

What’s so good about Good Friday?

“I do not understand. Why do we call this day Good Friday?” At some point today a kid is going to ask me this question. He will be whining about having to tuck his shirt in as we head to church or searching the house for a missing shoe or fighting with his brother over who rides “shotgun” and suddenly he will turn toward me and want to know, “What is so good about Jesus dying? Shouldn’t it be called Bad Friday?”

Driving Lessons

I didn’t know there were two left turn lanes.  It never occurred to me that the MARTA bus in the next lane was going to turn with me when the arrow switched to green. Turning left while driving my Dad’s big ole Oldsmobile was hard enough, but avoiding an enormous bus and staying balanced within those two white lines? Well, I hadn’t really gotten the hang of that yet.

Parenting, repenting and lessons of the heart

I am always trying to teach my kids a lesson. Always. Every cup of spilled milk, every argument, every accidentally broken picture frame, or bumped head is an opportunity to learn, “how to do it right the next time.”  Apparently, I start a lot of sentences with, “From now on I want you to …  ” Nothing more awesome than being critiqued in your parenting ways by your own progeny. I guess I need a new script.

On being rescued, paying attention and advice from a guardian angel

I wasn’t paying attention. I was jogging along, lost in my own thoughts, and out of nowhere, these dogs came charging toward me. Teeth bared, they bounded from their nearby yard growling and barking. I was jolted out of my trance, but I froze and panicked. The sidewalk was narrow; cars zooming by on one side and rabid dogs racing at me from the other. I quickly realized I was trapped.

How to fight the bad guys

When my big boys were little boys, they played the craziest game. It was a game invented by their sweet friend in the house across the street, and it will probably live on in neighborhood lore for eternity. Ninja Turtles. They played Ninja Turtles. And yeah. They aren’t going to be happy with me for making this public knowledge. 

A prayer for the wrong day

I had the wrong day. All day. There are weeks where Wednesday and Thursday are somewhat interchangeable. But this was not one of them. I sent the wrong kid to school with a note to stay after on the wrong day. I took the wrong kid to the dentist appointment, drove the wrong way to basketball practice and even put the wrong dinner in the crockpot, which I also forgot to turn on. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Yeah. One of those days.

The days of small steps

George has the greatest smile I’ve ever seen. It is the first thing I notice when I meet him. He flashes his grin, refers to me as “young lady” and immediately becomes my new best friend. George can’t hear worth a darn, though, but that doesn’t keep him from talking. His booming voice fills the whole clinic as he and I endure our physical therapy sessions together twice a week. George can count to 30 slower than anyone I know, but his smile makes it all okay.

We are what we notice

Tattling is a serious crime around our house. I have always had the rule that both the tale-teller and the wrongdoer will be punished. “Work it out! Unless there is blood. Then you should come get me” has been my parenting mantra for over a dozen years. And I can never understand why that Mother of the Year award just keeps eluding me?

Walk much?

I am not an athlete. Never have been. I can fall down standing still; and have no desire to beat anyone at anything. These are not positive attributes when it comes to sports. Somehow, though, in college, I got addicted to running. And all these years later, I am not particularly good at it, but it is still my thing. I love the wind in my face, the pavement under my feet and the movement that helps silence all the things in my head. Oddly enough, it is the only time I feel still enough to listen.