the start of a dream

The other day Will came in and sat by me on the hearth.
He held his mini blue guitar in his hands.
Looking up with a serious gleam in his eye, he asked,
"Mom, when I grow up can I be a rock star?"
"Is that what you want to be?"
"Yes."
I thought about it for a moment.
Growing up as a preacher's kid,
it is almost his destiny to be a rock star, isn't it?
I squeezed him and said,"Anything is possible."
And I know it to be true,
because last night I found out that my first book,
Confessions of a Tired Supergirl,
is going to be published in January 2009.
It is a dream that I have chased,
a bit awkwardly but with great hope for 9 years.
I have written since I was a kid.
Stories. Poems. Love letters. Fiction. Kids books.
It has been a long road chasing this authoring dream.
So last night we piled the kids in the car,
at 8:00, when they should just be tumbling into bed,
and went to an outdoor cafe for
a celebratory hot chocolate and thick wedge of chocolate cake,
because dreams aren't realized everyday,
and when they are, you forget bed time
and you head out for as much chocolate as you can!
And then you take pictures,
so you don't ever forget that moment of joy,
for the rest of your life.

And then you thank Jesus over and over and over,
for giving you the desire of your heart.
And then in the words of my sister Jenny, you say,
"So very fun."
And it is.

swim lessons

Jack and Will are taking swim lessons this week.
Jack is like a nut brown cork, bobbing, dipping,
slipping in and out of the water.
He was made for water.
Will, on the other hand, wants to change his shorts
if a droplet of water lands on him.
Last year, Will clung to the side of the pool with a vise like grip,
tears pouring from his eyes, his anguished cries piercing the air.
I made him stay in the pool.
It is good for him, I told myself,
as that hard thing formed in my throat,
letting me know my own tears were near the surface.
His teachers, who I think were very tan 14 year olds,
told me it was okay, they would keep working with him.
This went on for four days
despite bribery attempts and promises of candy.
Will would be thrust into the pool, weeping.
He would absolutely not put his head in the water.
I felt frantic, my thoughts see-sawing between,
"Swimming is a needed lifeskill" vs. "You are a terrible mom."
Other parents gazed on me with pity.
On day five, I made an executive decision.
I said,"You know what? We're done. Willie, come here."
I folded him in an enormous purple towel and
squeezed him like there was no tomorrow.
And Will stopped weeping.
And this Monday, at his first lesson, Will eased him self into the pool
and began to blow some bubbles.
I almost instantaneously combusted with pride.
On Tuesday, he held his nose and put his head all the way under.
All the way.
Each time he would come up for air,
he would beam and I gave him a thumbs up.
Yesterday, the class learned kicking.
But Will was all about putting his head under.
And I continued with my outpourings of praise and "thumbs ups".
Because with every head dunking,
we are celebrating that Will has conquered his fear.
And that is the stuff that makes life sweet.

wanty wanterson

In our family, if you epitomize a certain character trait,
it becomes your name for the day.
Like if you are cranky, as I often am,
you are called Cranky Crankerson.
Or if you are unbelievably adorable, you are Cutie Cuterson.
We have had several visits in our home,
from Fussy Fusserson, Whiney Whinerson, Silly Sillerson,
and on Addison's bad diaper days, Poopy Pooperson.
And lately my name has been Wanty Wanterson.
Because somehow, it is deep within me, to simply want more.
More furniture. More clothes. More Starbucks. More kisses and hugs.
More books. More space. More money. More fun. More travel.
More excitement. More relaxation. More muscles. More lip gloss.
And especially more time. I want more time than fits into my day.
More free time. More time at home. More time by myself.
More time to write. More time to be with people.
More time with God. More time with Scott. More time with my family.
More one on one time with my boys. More time with my friends.
That's a whole lot of more for one girl to keep bridled inside.
I am not allowing myself to go to Target at this point,
because I know I will go for diapers and come back with patio furniture.
I've been pondering this discontented person that I am.
And I have prayed on it, asking God things like,
"Why, do I right now, want so much?" and
"Is it really so wrong to want lip gloss?"
And good God that he is,
I have felt some answers brewing in my soul.
That one, I am made for more....and that is okay.
Two, that lip gloss, in and of itself, is not evil.
But mostly this question has been posed to Wanty Wanterson.
What am I doing with what he has already given me?
And on that, I am still pondering.
I think when life has hard edges and is too slippery to control,
I tell myself I need more chocolate or more cargo pants,
because I'm not sure how to deal with what I have already been given.
And I feel that at this point, God is right not to trust me with more,
until I have proven I can care for what I already have.
So I have decided, deeply spiritual person that I am,
that I will wash my car tomorrow.
Because the car is so dusty it has changed color.
And I'm sure, as I think on this,
other things will spring to mind that need tending to,
like clipping my kid's nails or encouraging Scott
or watering my tomatoes or reading my Bible or going for a walk.
Because I want to take care of the blessings and responsibilities
he has already given me.
And if I do that, then maybe my name can just be....Sue.

a good day

Today Jakob and Lukas came to visit.
They are, I think, 2nd cousins twice removed from my boys.
But they don't know the difference.
Cousins are cousins.
And cousin love runs hard and strong in our family.
It was an impromptu visit which even made it more special.
Unexpected treats are often the most appreciated.
So we decided to celebrate with ice cream.
I led the small parade down to Rite Aid which serves Thrifty's ice cream.
There was some potty talking, some giggling,
some joking going on, like boy cousins like to do.
I reminisced, like the old timer that I am, that when I was ten,
we could go to Thrifty's and get 3 scoops for 50 cents.
Mint chip. Chocolate Chip. Rainbow Sherbert.
A kid's dream come true on a cone.
I saw the admiration in their eyes when they heard
that I could eat a three scooper.
Maybe I wasn't just a regular mom after all.
Thrifty's prices are still good - 1 scoop for 99 cents, 3 for 1.99.
The boys each held a dollar
which rippled like small green flags in the breeze.
When we enterred the store, one of the checkers called out,
"I bet you are here for some ice cream!"
They could see the joy on our faces.
We ended up with 2 scoops of cookie dough, 2 scoops of rainbow sherbert
and a scoop of double chocolate malted crunch.
I think there was an angel named Yvonne at the ice cream counter,
because she FILLED each cone before settling a nice fat scoop on top.
We looked at her with reverence and thanked her.
Each boy solemnly layed their dollar on the counter.
As we marched home, contentedly licking our cones, Lukas turned to me.
"Let's raise our hands in the air so everyone knows we have ice cream,"
he grinned, holding up his cone like the olympic torch.
We were a bit proud of ourselves.
It was a good day.
Because, as you know,
It doesn't get much better than cousins and ice cream.

dance dance baby

I love dancing.
Something that was in me from the day I was born said,
"When a funky beat comes on, you must move."
I see it in my kids, too, and I love it.
Just the other day, Addison, was bobbing his head
to some catchy tune on radio disney,
looking very serious in his baby groove.
In college, my friends and I used to study music videos
and memorize the routines.
I can still bust out with the running man and robocop,
which horribly dates me, I know, but let's not think about that.
One of the things, that I loved about Scott when I met him was that
he could pop...and tut...
and I knew I must marry him when he did the centipede.
He won me with his sweet moves.
I love watching people dance who are good at it.
Like my friend, Nona, who has danced since she was a toddler.
Hula,Tongan dance, ballet, jazz, tap, hip hop...
She is mesmerizing to watch.
And now she has followed her dream and has her own studio.
I want to dance like Nona.
There is something fantastic about watching people move,
and leap and spin and do crazy unbelievable things that
they have trained their bodies to do.
My friend, Emily, has a cousin, Sara, who is dancing on
"So you think you can dance".
And she is fantastic.
If you need a bit of joy in your day,
if you want see some people getting free
and doing what they love to do,
watch it tonight.
And vote for Sara.
Cuz she can dance.

on a mission

I was raised on sayings like
"I have a heart for missions" or "I am called to missions".
When I was in high school I thought I was called to Australia.
Actually I thought I was called to the Man from Snowy River
He looked fantastic and had a lovely accent.
So I guess that was more high school passion than overseas mission.
I spent my last year of my senior year in high school on the MV Anastasis,
a medical mercy ship, trained in relief work.
In college I went on short term trips
to Ireland, Albania, Holland and Spain.
I helped do vacation bible schools, an outreach at the Olympics and
served prostitutes hot tea and butter cookies in the Red Light District, .
By the end of this season, I knew that a life overseas was not for me.
The fact that I had been a victim of a drive-by-spanking in Albania
was neither here nor there.
Okay maybe it was a little bit here or there.
But I was still left with the thought....What is my mission?
Who has God created me to be and what is my purpose?
I am still grappling with what it is.
Galatians 6:4 says...
"Be sure to do what you should, for then you enjoy the personal
satisfaction of having done your work well,
and you won't need to compare yourself to anyone else."
So as of this moment, the space that God has me in,
the people he has surrounded me with and the desires
that burn within me, I have this mission.

To love my husband and my three little boys,
To know Jesus in a way that changes my life
To not become undone by frivolous things
(ie laundry, hot weather, spots on the rug, stress, bills, cellulite)
To add some beauty to the world around me
To be a part of something bigger than myself
To write in a way that brings joy and points people Christ-ward,
To make people laugh as much as and as often as I can,
(relay all the humiliating haphazard things that happen to me to others.)

For today, on this monday in June,
these thoughts frame how I would like to live.
But what I'd really like to know from all you tired supergirls out there is...
what is your mission?
Just wondering.

thoughts on hell

It is 11:47. In the p.m.
And I am not asleep.
Because it is 90 degrees in my bedroom.
We love our house with the fun yard and the lemon tree.
We have lived here for a year and a half
and truly believe this house with the screened in patio
is a gift that God has lavished on the Aughtmon family.
But what we didn't realize when we moved in January of 2006
is that summer in our sweet house can be like a foretaste of hades.
I believe in global warming.
Because it is taking place in my kitchen.
The butter on the counter has melted into a yellow puddle.
The children are drinking water without me telling them to
and want to live in the refrigerator
because it is the only cool place in the house.
I can be referred to as "Cranky Crankerson".
Because I feel like I am languishing on the dunes of the Kalahari
with nary an oasis in sight.
One child complained that he didn't like dinner last night
and he almost lost a limb.
Because you don't want to mess with mama when she is this hot.
And I'm not calling myself "Hot Mama" in a good way.
Scott can attest to that.
Even the glimpses of cellulite and upper arm flab can not stop me from
donning my shortest shorts and flimsiest tanktop.
My hair is lank and wispy in the heat.
I am sweaty and most likely, a little on the stinky side.
I sit in front of a fan that blows hot air on me
and for some reason all three children
think this means I want them to lean on me
with their small heat radiating bodies.
And somehow, the ability to peel myself off the couch
and haul the children to the air conditioned McDonald's playland
is beyond me.
And I think to myself....this could be a bit like hell.
Hot. No cross breeze. Cranky people. No room to breathe. Smells bad.
Not that I was doubting it before,
But now I'm extra sure that I don't want to go to hell.
So in a strange way, I am extra thankful for Jesus today.
And for his saving grace.
And for my friends with AC.
You know who you are.
Sleepover at your house tomorrow night.

thoughts on summer

Today is our first day of summer.
This morning we rolled out of bed at a leisurely pace.
No lunches to pack. No backpacks to find. No scurrying out the door.
So I'm taking a moment to pause.
Because I don't want to let this summer get by me
and get lost in the chaos of everyday living.
I have some bills. I have some work. I have some worries.
I have some laundry, some dishes,
and some writing that needs to get done.
I have some obligations, some relationships,
and some dreams that need tending to.
But somehow, I want to remember how to soak up
every drop of summer like I did when I was a kid.
Because I love the rhythm of summer.
The vacations. The picnics. The spontaneous barbeques.
I love the feel of laying on hot concrete after taking a dip in the pool.
The way that it stays light until 8 at night
and the sound of a lazy fan stirring the warm summer air.
The smell of the beach and the slurping of cold watermelon.
So as this summer slips in with its warm evenings and new hopes,
I am grateful for another summer to enjoy.
I am praying for some joy and that God will show me how
to make some space in my days for fun. For being in the moment.
For being content with the place that he has me.
I am praying for some peace to take the place
of the anxieties and worries that suck the joy out of my days.
I am praying for some wisdom as I manuever throughout this season
and that I will be able to hear his voice.
And I'm praying for some grace, a lot of grace,
to wash over me like a wave on the beach,
so I that can be full of God's love,
overflowing with his kindness,
and brimming with thankfulness for whatever this summer brings.

a little more spice

Today I went to a kick off party for my brother-in-law, Kevin Bondonno.
He is running for city council here in our fine town of Redwood City.
He is for families, for fair housing
and all other kinds of upstanding citizenry.
I showed up to do what I could and lend a helping hand.
That's what family does.
So as I'm filling my plate, a friend happens by.
And she says that she has been reading my blog. Enjoying it even.
That makes me feel fantastic.
And then she says she missed a few days
and was reading up on the ones she missed.
And then she says that she read about a certain blog involving spices.
And I just started laughing.
Because she IS the old college friend that had happened upon me
and my sisters in World Market
in the midst of the cardamom-in-the-teeth scandal.
"I realized I was the one you were writing about," she said.
"Hope that's okay," I laughed....
wondering immediately if I had anything in my teeth at present.
"Yes, it's nice to know the rest of the story....
and I didn't notice any spices in your teeth."
I could have squeezed her.
So apparently only Jenny and Erica got to witness the spice infestation.
Sometimes we thank God for his bounty.
Sometimes for his love and for his grace.
And sometimes we are just really truly thankful
that only a few people witness our humiliating moments.
So today was a banner day for Kevin. The following of a dream.
That's good stuff.
And today was a good day for me, too.
Lori only noticed me and my sisters having fun together,
not the appalling amount of cardamom lodged in my bicuspids.
That's good stuff, too.

potty talk

This week Addison opened the bathroom drawer,
pulled out Jack and Will's toothbrushes and
with great joy, dropped them in the toilet.
At least he didn't try and flush like his brother Jack.
I had to buy the boys new toothbrushes because
you really can't clean anything that has been dropped in the toilet.
It must be banished to the "things-put-in-the-potty" graveyard.
We are diligently keeping the bathroom door closed
because Addie cannot be trusted and no one wants a potty toothbrush.
But ninja baby that he is,
he sensed a window for destruction this morning
after his brother used the facilities
and stealthily crept into the bathroom without my knowledge,
closing the door behind him.
Apparently, it only took him seconds to unload
both new hot wheels toothbrushes plus Scott's toothbrush into the toilet,
and begin happily swirling them around like a toothbrush stew.
What is up with my kids and the toilet?
The funny thing is, in both toothbrush dunking episodes,
he did not include his own sesame street toothbrush.
Coincidence? I think not.
Obviously, his brothers and father have offended him in some way
and he is seeking a pointed revenge,
trying to foil their ability to fight the war on plaque and gingivitis.
And me, I am sure I am not exempt from Addie's plotting.
I am keeping my toothbrush in the kitchen.

crazy

I think if the word "crazy" got paid every time I used it in a sentence
it would be a millionaire.
I feel crazy.
These kids make me crazy.
My hair is crazy.
Our schedule is crazy.
Sundays are crazy.
This is a crazy season of life.
That is the phrase I say to my sisters, my friends, my husband, and
to no one in particular when I am picking up the same toy for the
fourth time in one day.
But here's the thing.....
We were looking through old toys to give away and
Will said I could give away Buzz Lightyear.
"B" as he was dubbed, lit the universe for Will.
He lived and breathed Buzz and his fantastic flying apparatus.
But this week Will said good-bye to being three
and is a proud four year old.
Jack graduates from kindergarten this Friday.
He recently said good-bye to his second front tooth and sports a lispy grin.
Addison is lurching about, baby Frankenstein style,
one arm in front of him, saying,"Go! Go!"
He is saying good-bye to crawling and hello to walking.
We call him Walker Texas Ranger.
As for me, I recently threw away my nursing bras with quite a bit of joy.
My days are no longer broken into four hour segments.
I am done with the leaking, the inability to find shirts that fit
and I'm definitely done with being a dairy.
But I keep bumping into people
who are a little bit further ahead on the journey,
looking back on what I call "this crazy season of life."
And all they can say to me is,
"Don't miss it. This is the good stuff.
Don't get lost in the chaos. This time is golden."
And in the midst of my daily mess I know this is true.
So as I sit here this morning, amidst my bills
and my half done grocery list,
remembering I have somewhere to be in ten minutes
and I am still in my robe,
I am shooting up a small prayer.
Thank you God for all that you have loaded my plate with.
For babies, meal planning, the tooth fairy,
Birthday parties, growing big, eskimo kisses,
songs sung in the bathtub and electric appliances,
For church planting, dreams of writing, and 3 minute showers.
Thank you for one more day with Scott and these sweet boys.
And thanks for being in it with me.
Even though it still feels crazy.

saving sailor

I love to read.
There is something about escaping into someone's world
that frees my soul.
I love to hear the thoughts, feel the emotion,
discover the joy in someone else's head.
At the writers conference this spring
my good friend Rene Gutteridge, Rene with one "E",
introduced me to Renee Riva, Renee with two "EE"s.
After we met, I ran into her around every corner at Mt. Hermon.
She was like the Holy Spirit - everywhere at once.
So we took it as a sign we were meant to be friends.
And then I read her book, Saving Sailor.


I got to get into the savvy blond head of an 9 year old girl named AJ
during the best summer of her life,
drifting on the lake with her dog, Sailor,
dreaming about Little Joe Cartwright,
and squeezing the fun out of each day
with her 4 siblings, her park ranger dad and
her glamorous mother who looked like Sophia Loren.
It shot me right back to my own 9 year old summer.
To my crush on Brad Hogan, cutest fifth grader ever to grace the earth,
eating milk drenched sugar cereal straight out of a mini sized box,
and sneaking my kittens into bed with me
after my parents were asleep.
It brought to mind those long languid childhood summer days
that stretched out before me like the sugary beads on a candy neclace,
each day sweeter than the one before.
I finished it last night and
immediately wanted to don cut off shorts and eat an otter pop.
It was a delicious, funny, Jesus loves me read.
Just the way to start out my summer.
All I need now is some homemade peach ice cream.

the mind of a 6 year old boy is a curious thing

What goes on in the mind of a 6 year old boy named Jack?
If you are a 6 year old boy named Jack your mind is filled with
thoughts of building legos and the lego star wars video game,
thoughts of playing freeze tag with neighbor kids,
thoughts of tormenting younger brothers and eating yummy snacks,
but apparently when it comes to toilets,
there is not a whole lot of thinking going on.
There is the occasional struggle
to get what is supposed to go into the toilet - actually into the toilet.
One must pay attention to lids, seats and
the actual circumference of the bowl.
Apparently, this is harder than it looks.
And then there is the putting of things in the toilet that do
not actually belong in the toilet.
Like socks.
And what is the thought process of putting socks into the toilet?
Apparently, when one flings a sock upward into the bathroom sky,
it sometimes lands in the toilet.
And then if you are Jack, you remember, you have been told on
various occasions, definitely, do not put your hands in the toilet.
And then you think to yourself, you don't want to leave the
other sock out so you throw it in to join its partner.
And then you think you must get rid of the evidence that you have been
putting socks in the toilet in the first place.
So you flush.
And then your mother goes to clean the toilet and it won't flush.
So you confess, because above all things, you are honest.
And then you are scared because your mother shrieks violently,
turns different colors and babbles incoherently about plummers,
company coming and having only one toilet.
And then you are in bed at 6:30 and very sad
and you know that if you had the chance to go back,
you would think more carefully about toilets and putting socks in them.
These are some of the thoughts that go on in the 6 year old boy's mind.
And then mostly, you think you are very glad that you have an
Uncle Brett who knows how to fix toilets
that have had socks flushed down them.
Because now, maybe, your mom's face will go back to normal
and you can go back to thinking about the things that really matter.
Like legos and stuff.