New name.

J. has been able to write his first and last names for a while now.
I began to get concerned about a week ago when he began to write his first name wrong.
He would at first jumble the letters up, putting them into different order - then he started writing altogether different letters.
Like Celoj. Or hladroc.
Those letters are clearly not his name.
I was worried, so I asked him about it.

He basically said he was bored with his name and wanted to start writing other stuff.
I asked him what kind of stuff he wanted to write and he said, "Secret stuff. And if I tell you what it is, it won't be a secret."
He wants to write in code so I won't know what it is.
Charming...

Getting limber-er.

I have to say thank you for all the heartfelt and wonderful advice coming in comments.
I have read and re-read each one several times.

I cannot tell you that we are getting answers.
But I am getting more limber. (metaphorically speaking)

So there IS something to be said about this game of limbo...

On a positive note: hunny and I are spending lots of time together trying to sort our life out.
We don't have any answers, but we do have each other.

And God already knows the answers anyway.
So if He shuts it or opens it, my job is just to let Him be God.

Just as in the game of limbo, things only get more sprawled out before the games ends...

Seriously, could my posts get any more vague?

It's even funnier when you all know me and know how hard it is for me not to tell-all.
I guess the reason for the uncertainty is so that I'll have nothing to tell you.
We can all be surprised together!!

The title of this post should have been "Chicken Scratch and other such Nonsense"

State of Limbo.

Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.

Philippians 4:11

I have struggled more with this basic concept than perhaps any other in Christian living.

How does one measure contentment?
How can a person who considers themselves to be ambitious also be content?
Thus far, contentment, by most definitions, has eluded me in adulthood.

I want to be content.

It would seem that Chris and I have landed in a new state.

I have to ask, at the risk of sounding mutinous to the Bible, was the state of 'limbo' in existence during Biblical times?

And if 'Limbo' did exist back then, how did Paul manage to be content there?

Infectious.

My daughter is loved everywhere she goes.

One of the teachers at school last week looked at the way the preschool kids are magnetized to her and remarked on it.

I was walking around with her at the Carnival and realized what a head-turner she is.

Then I got to wondering why that was the case.

She was laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

She has a laugh all her own.

Completely unrestrained.

At its most genuine and unharnessed, it sounds almost maniacal.

We fondly refer to it as her "Mad Hatter" laugh.

She was "gut laughing" at the Carnival last night and people were just drawn to her.

I love that about my daughter. It's all about being full of joy!

Not to mention, she's pretty adorable...

To brag, or not to brag?

THE bathtub.

The sweet smell of victory.

Hey, I'm just taking it one day at a time ladies...

Little A. loves to be girly. Glitter, lip gloss, blush, and perfume...
Every time I put make-up (baby girl pink blush) on A., she starts hopping up and down so she can see it in the mirror.
She's too short to see herself in my mirror without a stool.

Then she says, "Mommy, lift me up. I want to show the mirror how pretty I am."

I hope she never loses that self-image.

I know that even the youngest of beauties are bombarded with negative opinions about the way they look.

She is so beautiful. May she always see the source of her beauty in You, Lord.

When your bathtub becomes a battleground

I think that sounds like a great book title.

Tonight is as good a night as any to let you inside the chaos that is my marriage.
Yes, you can keep reading - it's not about the 'dirty laundry' - this laundry is actually quite clean.

I do my laundry. And like kj, I am allergic to putting it away.
After you do all the work to sort it, wash it, dry it, sort it again, fold it, yada yada yada - I cannot seem to bring myself to put it away.

His, that is.

I put the kids' away. I put mine away. I put the bathroom and kitchen laundry away. I even put his laundry that goes into drawers away. But whenever I think about opening his closet door, I just simply cannot.

I think to myself, 'It will only take 5 minutes of his time. Surely he can do that...'
Then I dump it neatly in the bathtub and walk away.
I ask him when he gets home to "put it away when you get the chance."
He says he will.
I ask him in the same sweet tone of voice to put his laundry away every day for the next few weeks.
He says he will - never changing his tone either.

We civilly, silently, and passively 'argue' over whose job it is to put away his laundry for weeks that turn into months. Until one day, somebody gives in.

I have always been that somebody.

In earlier years of our marriage, I did this menial task without so much as grumbling on most days. Now that I am a bit more sturdy in my beliefs about household chore sharing, I have grown the proverbial 'laundry putting away' backbone. You hadn't heard of such a backbone?
Oh yes, it does exist - and I am the proud new owner of one!

So I stand before you today, a woman with a new badge.
I was not the "somebody who gave in" for the first time in our marriage.

He put his laundry away.
After a month and a half.

I have finally outlasted him.
At least with regard to clean laundry.

Rodeo.

One down - One to go.
The rodeo at school went fine. Not Great, but fine.

Tomorrow Chris and I are going to try to take our kids to the fairgrounds.
Is it awful for me to say that after living here all these years, I don't know anything about our rodeo?
Well, I don't.
I did, however, get a brand new pair of boots yesterday.
Yes, crys, I got 'em. I understand that this compromises our friendship in countless ways ;)
I do love my boots though - and I am not sure that you will find me without them for a while.

J. also got a hat and boots. Apparently, Chris was a little cowboy back in the day - so we have some of his old Western shirts and his old belt with the last name on the back of it. The best part is the GIANT buffalo buckle on the belt!!
He and I are pretty smitten with our new boots!
Looks like the rodeo is going to get a dose of style tomorrow!

Back in the saddle... again.

I would wager that there have been many posts titled this way - but today it seems especially appropriate.
Tomorrow is our annual "rodeo" at school. It could be described as a music program, but more harrowing.
During THIS program, 90-odd preschoolers and Kindergartners must gallop into the gymnasium on the various and sundry stick-horses they have (or have not) created at home.

We sing songs and *as a special addition to this year's program* Ms. Smarty-Pants Music Teacher decided that it would be cute to end it by scootin' a boot to the Cotton Eyed Joe.
The only version devoid of foul language that I could locate ends up clocking in at a whopping 4 minutes and 22 seconds long. Let me tell you, it doesn't sound that bad - until you remember the ages of the children in question and factor in their coordination.

Picture 90 'shannons' doing their rendition of the Cotton Eyed Joe.... Sorry to sell you out like that, sis. But it's true...

They fall all over the place. They look like little bowling pins knocking each other down. And unlike 90-something 'shannons', they don't laugh it off. Each one expects you to rush over to them, scoop them up, and offer them a Boo-boo bear to make it better. It's a nightmare.

By the end of nearly 4 and a half minutes, I am frothing like an old mare that got spooked out on the trail.

Usually at the culmination of this motley rodeo, there will be dead sequins, partial boas, half-crushed googly eyes, yarn 'mane' remains, and dismembered stick-horses splattered all over the gym floor. A gruesome sight, for sure.

The parents of the Cowpokes are usually so enamored with the "Cute Factor" that I come out on the other side relatively intact.

So "back in the saddle again" is right. Maybe next year, I'll have the foresight to call in sick...

Knowing.

A fellow teacher walked up to me today and asked, "So have you begun the 'waking up tired every day, no matter how much sleep you get' phase of the school year yet?"
I was validated by her line of questioning.
We all feel that way, don't we?
It just becomes so much more bearable when you know you're suffering together.