Thank You, Rod

Thanks to my computer guru, Rod, my blog has been fixed. The comments feature is up and running for anyone who would like to leave a message about how brilliant and witty I am. I guess you can leave other comments as well but where's the fun in that?

Comments

It's been brought to my attention that no one can leave comments on my posts. I'm working on getting it fixed. It has to do with the template I'm using. I'll let you know when it's up and running.

Make Yourself at Home

Have you ever had a friend that you were so close with you were just as at home in their house as your own? I've been pretty fortunate in life to have had two such friends, both named Amy.

Amy D. was my middle school best friend. We met in the 6th grade and we were inseparable until a tragic falling out in the ninth grade. Until then, we did everything together. We spent every weekend with each other. We invited the other on family vacations and we were like an extra daughter to the other's family.

The falling out that broke up Amy D. and I actually brought me closer to Amy R., who had been in my group of close friends all through middle school. We spent the next next four years together, the best of friends. It was just a given that we would be at the other's house. I started attending church with Amy R. and that brought us even closer.

I was so close to my friends that I was comfortable in their houses even when their families were home but they weren't. If I wanted something to eat, I could just help myself to the fridge. I knew where the TV and movies were if I got bored. I could just hang out and visit with the parents and siblings.

I did, however, learn the hard way that no matter how close you are, you should always knock before you enter. One morning, I arrived at Amy R.'s house around 7am. I was afraid of waking anyone so I decided to quietly let myself in (not something I was in the habit of doing). I walked in on her dad exercising on the mini trampoline...in his underwear. I'm still not sure who was more embarrassed.

But what happens to us as we get older?

I have a few (very few) close friends. One of them came over the other day and as I was showing her my new bookshelves she remarked, "I keep forgetting how big your house is." It struck me as odd that she didn't know my house very well. When I was at her house some time ago, I happened to be in her bedroom and I realized that it was probably only the second time I'd been in her room. I'm not saying that bedrooms should be open to the public, I'm just saying that I'm not familiar with her house.

Do you have friends that feel so welcome in your home that they can just help themselves to anything? My parents have this kind of house, they always have. The door's always open and everyone's welcome. Sometimes I wonder if my house doesn't look more like a fortress. It's not that I don't welcome my friends when they're here, it's just that I don't invite them to begin with. I want my kids to have friends like I did--ones who feel like this is their second home--but they haven't been learning from my example.

I can rightly put some of the fault on the fact that as an adult I have many more things pressing on my time. I don't have the luxury of hanging out and watching "The Brady Bunch" reruns for hours at a time. But that's just an excuse. How can my friends feel welcome in my home when I won't even let down the drawbridge for them to come in?

This my sanctuary, my place to unwind, but why not unwind with good friends? Why not take shelter with the company of those close to me?

I can't help but feel like God (if He blogged) would be writing this same thing. "My children make themselves at home in the world, why aren't they as intimately familiar with my home?" I know every inch of my house. I know where the floor squeaks and the windows draft and the water drips. I know the coziest spot on the couch and where to sit to soak up the best sunbeams. I know where everything is kept and the things that are never put back where they are kept. But am I as familiar with God's house? Can I honestly say that it's just as comfortable to me as being in my own house? Am I certain of walking in unannounced, knowing that I'll be embraced with open arms and told to kick off my shoes at make myself at home because, after all, I'm family?

There is no moat around God's house, no drawbridge to be let down. I doubt He even has a front door that we have to knock on. It's just always open and He's standing there in the doorway, beckoning us to come on in and "make yourselves at home."

Here I Am To Worship

Yesterday I was driving home from Federal Way in rush hour traffic. The kids were being especially rambunctious--wrestling, hitting, shouting. I had the radio turned up in a pathetic and failed attempt to drown them out while my white knuckles gripped the steering wheel. It is in these ordinary, sometimes chaotic moments that God likes to make His presence known.

A song came on the radio, "Here I Am To Worship". It's a song that the kids know from singing at church and it's Libby's favorite. When the song started, the kids stopped everything they were doing so they could sing along. There were no words spoken that brought their games to a screeching halt, just the first few notes of the song. Everything else ceased to matter because they had to sing. It couldn't be helped.

After the song was over they went back to their usual routine of driving me insane but it didn't bother me nearly as much this time. In hearing them sing that song, I knew that God was laying on their hearts words that would bring them closer to Him. It is in those random, seemingly innocuous moments that God can be felt and heard. I am grateful to be in His presence.

A Spot of Tea

We are creatures of habit. We have our routines, our way of doing things. Even if you aren't a branch in my particular obsessive-compulsive family tree, I would bet that you have a lot of routines that you rarely veer away from. When you shower, you do everything in a certain order. There's a right way to load the dishwasher. When you get home, your coat, keys, purse, shopping bags, etc. are all dumped in the usual spot. When you get ready in the mornings, there is a system to follow. For me, it's go to the bathroom, get dressed, do my hair, brush my teeth, eat breakfast.

But what about those things that we do that aren't habit? Do you have anything you do just because the act of doing it is enjoyable? Do you do anything that's become more of a ritual as opposed to a blind habit?

Dictionary dot com defines habit as an "acquired behavior regularly followed until it has become almost involuntary." We've performed these routines so often that they've become second nature to us--like going on auto pilot on the drive home from work. Your brain checks out while your body performs it's ingrained tasks.

Ritual is defined as "any practice or pattern of behavior regularly performed in a set manner." There's a slight difference between the two but it's there nonetheless. Habits are done so frequently that we can do them in the same way each time without thinking, but a ritual is deliberate. We perform in a set manner. We perform on purpose.

I have a ritual that I perform most every morning and sometimes in the evening. For me, my ritual is making tea. I know, I know. That sounds insignificant. How can that possibly be a ritual? Isn't that just a part of your everyday morning routine? Yes and no.

I do make a cup of tea most mornings to have with my breakfast but I don't do it out of blind habit. When I go through the steps of making tea, it is a very deliberate, even soothing, task. To begin with, I refuse to microwave my water. It's not that I have anything against the microwave, it's just that it's not the same if I don't use my water kettle that looks like a cow (it's a water "cattle", get it?). I fill up my kettle with water and set it on the burner. I listen for the sounds of the water heating, the burner quickly drying up any spilled water that may have run down to the bottom of the kettle. When I stay in the kitchen, I can tell the moment the water is about to boil and can take off the kettle just in time. Most of the time, however, I wander out of the room until I hear the familiar high pitch whistling, alerting me that I'm needed again in the kitchen.

I don't drink my tea out of a dainty, decorative tea cup. No, I drink my tea out of a mug, one that is ideal for a cup of cocoa with lots of marshmallows or even a cup of soup. My tea mug has weight to it. I can wrap both hands around it and let the heat seep into my usually frigid hands.

I use one bag of Stash peppermint tea. I don't use loose tea leaves and I don't drink other flavors, just peppermint. Peppermint is the flavor of winter, the flavor of cozy blankets, the flavor of comfort. And I always add sugar, real sugar--two scoops.

My favorite part of making my tea? The sound of the water as it fills my cup. I always have my mug ready and waiting with the teabag in it. When I pour that steaming hot water in, I almost want to sigh. It's a soothing sound. At that point, I can almost taste the mint, I can almost feel the ceramic warming my fingers, I can envision myself wrapped up in a quilt while I lose myself in my favorite book. Although this is rarely what happens next, the thought is comforting.

What happens next is always different. Usually I busy myself with chores or the computer until it my tea has cooled enough to drink without scalding my tongue. Quite often I'll get distracted and only notice my cold and neglected mug hours later when I'm getting ready to fix lunch. At that point it's usually heated up in the microwave and drunk so it won't go to waste.

But how and when I drink it is never the focus behind the ritual. The focus is simply the task itself. The motions of making my tea bring more comfort than the tea itself. This is my ritual of contentment.

Movie Review: Observe and Report

I told myself that I wasn't even going to post a review for this movie. After spending an hour and a half watching it, I figured I'd already wasted enough of my life on it, why waste more? But then I decided if I could save just one person from the painful experience of having to sit through it then it would be worth it.

Seth Rogan--with his Rolf the Dog laugh and schlubby, idiot persona--has grown on me and I usually enjoy his movies which is why I checked this movie out from the library. He plays a security guard at a mall where he crushes on Anna Faris. This came out around the same time as Paul Blart:Mall Cop, which I found funny. This movie is not. There is nothing likeable about Seth's character. He is rude, delusional and quite possibly psychotic. He dreams of being a cop so he can wield a gun and kill people. When the real police get in the way of his solving the case of a mall flasher, he goes after them with his flashlight as a weapon and, after beating several officers, ends up sitting in jail as a bloodied punching bag. He's in love with Anna Faris' character who is a mean, stuck up, drug abusing shrew who throws up on him and treats him like garbage. Seth, meanwhile, is condescending and dismissive to the only nice person in the whole mall, a girl who gives him free coffee and obviously likes him (which would only happen in movie land).

The movie is twisted but not in a fun, dark comedy kind of way. You can't root for Seth's character because the thought of him actually becoming a cop is pretty scary. Instead, you find yourself thinking over and over again, "Somebody actually wrote this? Somebody thought it was good enough to greenlight? And somebody paid money to put this movie together?" That producer should be made to watch this movie on an endless stream for 24 hours. Maybe then he'll learn his lesson. (*)

Using My Powers for Good

It's amazing what you can accomplish when you set your mind to it. I posted yesterday that I was going to try to get back on track and join the "real" world. For a first day, it wasn't bad. The kids got their individual school work done and then we did some work together. I put together a dinner menu for the rest of March and all of April. (As I mentioned in an old post, if I have dinner posted up on the fridge the kids know what to expect and there's less arguing, even if it's something they don't like.) Libby and I had some one-on-one girl time. I even did a little bit of leg work for my business.

This morning, I woke up at 7am and walked 2 miles with my dogs. After breakfast, the kids and I did some group work and now they are tackling their individual work. I'm running loads through my washing machine so I can take them over to my mother's house to dry--my dryer was kind enough to die on me yesterday. I still have a list a mile long of things that are urgent--most of them business related--but it's still early.

I think it's all just a matter of having the right attitude. I love to organize but I hate to apply that to my time. I'd much rather organize things and not my life. The funny thing about that is, when I just put my mind to it, I'm very good at getting us on a realistic working schedule. The kids will work better and behave better when I do that.

I guess the trick is to remember that and keep it as a priority.