Saturday, April 19, 2014

beauty is not for the faint of heart

Yesterday was a red letter day here at the Aughtmon home.
After two months of my back being seized up like Quasimoto,
(sprained hips has segued into a hurt back and frozen neck...
apparently everything is connected...go figure....)
I finally felt some slight give at the waist.
Like I could almost bend down to put my pants on.
Let me just say that putting your pants on with a straight back and straight legs
is somewhat of a circus act.
A feat that is difficult to master and can lead to lots of "oohs" and "aahs".
Those "oohs" and "ahs" are just coming from me...there is no audience.
Scott and the boys have been gracious these last two months.
They are not used to me being immobile or walking with the gate of 90 year old woman.
They have helped with chores around the house.
They have put my socks on and tied my shoes.
And on one dark day of despair this past week,
Will and Addison removed the polish off my toenails for me.
Don't judge me.
I know they will both need therapy.
I can just hear them telling their wives in 20 years,
"I can't bear to look at feet. My mom made me take off her toe nail polish once.
I am scarred for life."
It's desperate times, people.
The polish that was on them had been there since Christmas.
Mine looked like I had a horribly grown out french manicure with cherry red polish.
The state of my toenails were causing me distress.
We are headed to the beach for spring break.
Flip flops are in my near future. Something had to be done.
Will and Addie were more disturbed about seeing my toenails without any polish
that actually taking the polish off.
Will said, with a grimace, "Mom, now your feet look like Dad's...except without hair."
This was the motivation that got me in the car yesterday.
I reclined the seat so that it looked like I was in a low rider.
I padded it with an ice pack and headed down the street to the nearest nail shop.
The young lady who painted them was kind and only looked at me a little strangely when
I plopped my ice pack into the pedicare chair and heaved myself on top of it.
I have stopped explaining my ice pack to people. I leave it up their imaginations.
30 minutes later order was restored to the universe.
Tangerine Creme OPI saved the day.
Now on to the next challenge.
I have to see if I can pluck my eyebrows without moving my neck.
One hurdle at a time, people. One hurdle at a time.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

peace, hope and hair

This morning I was picking up around the house and found Will's craft from
last Sunday's Kids on the Path meeting.
The lesson was about Jesus dying on the cross and what Jesus did for us.
The kids made a cross to illustrate what He did on our behalf.
On one side of Will's construction paper cross he had small pieces
of black paper that listed the bad things Jesus saved us from:
fear, sin and sickness.
And on the other side it listed all the things that Will was thankful to Jesus for.
On colorful pieces of paper the following were listed:
life, faith, peace, hope...and hair.
I laughed out loud when I saw that. And then I choked up a little.
Will has naturally curly blonde hair that he is fond of.
It makes him unique. No one else in our family has hair like that.
From the depths of his heart, Will is thankful that Jesus gave him curls.
I love that about him.
And from the depths of my heart, I am thankful that Jesus gave me Will.


Wednesday, April 9, 2014

don't mess with siri

My dad gave me his old iphone and it is equipped with Siri.
Siri is amazing.
She finds directions for me.
She answers questions about restaurants and ATMS and traffic.
She calls people for me so that I can drive hands free and still chat
with my Mom on the phone.
She is becoming a dear friend.
She is polite and kind.
I wish I could say the same for my children.
The other day in the car the boys got a hold of my phone and
I overheard them taunting her.
They asked her, "Siri, have you pooped yet today?"
There was silence.
And then she said,"I don't know. Did you?"
It was like a telephone version of, "I know you are but what am I?"
Apparently, Siri can take care of herself.
This will hold her in good stead in the years to come.
It seems may be a while before my children learn her considerate ways.

Friday, April 4, 2014

5 things you don't expect to find out from your children on a Friday morning

1.The children think that making their own lunch means
 telling you what they would like you to put in their lunch.

2.The children have been using a laser pointer
 to light up the insides of their noses like a facial night light. 

3.The children think that they will still have friends
when they blow their nose without the aid of Kleenex. 

4.The children want to know some different names for poop
so they can write a song about it.

5.The children have been using the comb you use to detangle your hair with
 to comb the cat.

Thank God it's Friday.

Monday, March 24, 2014

because He loves us so much

It is so very easy to get caught up in the cares of this world.
Because there are so many things in this life that we truly care about.
I am caring about a lot of things right now.
It is hard not to worry about my kids and how they are doing emotionally
physically and spiritually,
or about my growing pile of bills
or about the family that I heard about that is grieving the loss of a grandpa
or about my inability to find time to actually sit down with Scott and process life
or about locating helpers for our kids ministry
or about  my friends who I love with all my heart who are doing all they can
to live their very best lives in an imperfect, not fair, crazy world
or about my parents who live far away but who I wish lived close so that I
could be a part of their lives more often
or about this latest writing project with its looming deadline
or about the Convoy of Hope project to get clean water because, for Pete's sake,
half the world is just struggling to get a drink, let alone worry about anything else
or...well...you probably don't need to hear more about my cares...
because you have your own set that have you nearly flattened to the floor.
But I was listening to this song based on Psalm 18:2
And it has been reminding me of the One who really cares
and has the ability to do something about all of our cares.
The thing is that I forget that Jesus cares about what I care about.
He cares about what you care about.
He can carry these heavy cares for us. If we let Him.
And He wants to. Because He loves us so much.
Because He is our shield.
Our strength.
Our portion.
Our deliverer.
Our shelter.
Our very present help in time of need.
He is the hero in the story of our daily lives.
He rides in with his strong love and his buoyant hope and grabs us up in his arms
and reminds us one more time that we are not alone.
He never intended us to be.
And that is the truth that we (and all of our many cares) can rest in.

Friday, March 21, 2014

everybody needs their own cheerleader

I met with my physical therapist for the first time to take me
through some exercises to strengthen the ligaments that have been so offended with me
in my hips and lower back.
She showed me the hamstring stretch, in which I pull my thigh in close to the body
and try to straighten my leg towards the sky, it looked more like a bent letter L than a straight line.
As I looked to her for approval, I merely saw a look of sympathy on her face.
"It will get better," she comforted me. "I promise."
"In how long?"
"These things take a while...think 6-8 weeks."
That is the same thing the doctor said....4 weeks ago.
When my physical therapist asked me to lay on my back
keeping it in neutral position not arched or flat,
tighten my stomach muscles by pulling in my belly button towards my spine,
and hold my leg out in the air in front of me, she had to say three times,
"Okay, now suck your stomach in....suck your stomach in....such your stomach in...."
Please.
She must not know that after 3 very large children,
my stomach muscles decided to take a break. Forever.
I get a stomach workout just trying to keep my belly from hanging out over the top of my jeans.
Then she had the nerve to say, "You actually have to breathe while you are exercising."
I felt like saying, "Let's just choose one of the above."
Keep your spine neutral.
Suck in your stomach.
Hold out your leg.
OR
Breathe.
I am not a multi-tasker.
After the session, she had me roll face down and let me hug the table,
settling a giant bag of crushed ice on my back and hips.
Then she was my best friend again.
When I came home, I took the papers that she gave me and re-tried the exercises.
My youngest, Addison, came in and perched on the edge of the bed to watch me.
As I concentrated on pulling my belly button towards my spine he said,
"Mom, can I be your personal trainer?"
"I don't think I need a personal trainer. I just have to do these exercises to help my back."
He ignored me. "I'm going to be your trainer.You can do this, Mom! You can do it."
"Addie...." I tried to hold my back in the correct position.
"One more time. Just one more time."
He was hanging over the foot board of the bed his face coming close to mine.
"Buddy, you are distracting me...."
"You are doing great!" He spoke forcefully at my face.
As I struggled once more to suck in my stomach, stretch out
my leg AND breathe,
Addison smiled at me and yelled, "You got this, Mom! You got this."
I had to smile back at him. Maybe I do need a personal trainer.
This one is pretty motivating.
Only 8 more weeks to go.

Friday, March 14, 2014

just call me little miss muffet

This morning as I was trying to get the boys out the door for school,
they made an exciting scientific discovery on the fireplace mantel.
In a lacy pocket of spider web between a starfish and candlestick,
a mother spider had birthed...hatched....deposited about 50 tiny spiders
the size of a straight pin head.
They were crawling all over the web...apparently, testing out their tiny legs.
My thoughts...Ew.
My boys thoughts?
"That is so cool!"
"Awesome!"
"Awwww! They are so cute."
Jack breathed a sigh of happiness, "This is life."
"No...," I said, reaching for a nearby magazine,"This is death."
There was a communal outcry.
"No! Mom! Don't kill them."
"Mom! You can't! You are so mean! They are babies!"
Jack started singing Toby Mac's song...."Speak Life! Speak life!"
He was using Christian lyrics against me.
They were mesmerizing, so tiny and delicate.
But I would not be fooled...tiny spiders become big spiders.
I think they were planning a broad move
of how they would spread out and make every nook and corner of my home
they own personal spider playground.
But I couldn't start out the morning with my own version of arachnid genocide.
I slid the magazine under the starfish and ran to the sliding glass door.
If just one of those tiny spiders would have crawled on my hand,
I could have not been held accountable for what happened next.
But I deposited the magazine on the floor of our outdoor room....
which, I am sure, is full of spiders already.
It was my own version of Charlotte's Web.
Be free, little ones. And please find your way out the garden and
don't ever come back into my house. Or you will die.
Okay. I guess it is nothing like Charlotte's web.
But the children were happy. And I have only been super itchy about half the morning.
So we're good.....for now.