Goals for Summer 2009

I'm writing about my goals here for two reasons:

1)I'm hoping it will give me a greater sense of accountability and I'll actually accomplish (ooh, alliteration!) a few of them.
2)I know how much you all dote on knowing the tedious details of my life.

On we go.

In no particular order...just how they popped into my head.

1)Be able to run a mile
2)Be able to bike 3 miles easily
3)Set up a homeschool schedule/curriculum for Chandler's kindergarten year
4)Set up and put into use a budget and saving plan
5)Be involved in paying the bills (I suffer lamentably from plausible deniability)
6)Get a dental check up (I hate going to the dentist. I know I'm not alone in my dislike, but I really should be a big girl and do it.)
7)Read through the Bible (You know, not just the easy parts)
8)Find a system/Get back in the groove of keeping my house tidy and cleaned (Yes, I know that's bad grammar. My English teacher mom would pitch a fit)
9)GET RID OF EXTRA STUFF
10)Paint/re-paint all doors, door jambs, and hallways
11)Do the summer reading program with the kids at our local library
12)Pick the next ladies' Bible study
13)Get all children sleeping through the night in their beds
14)Get Nadia sleeping w/o a diaper
15)Start/(dare I hope)finish potty training Kellar
16)Get Chandler & Nadia's eyes checked
17)Go to bed @ 11:30pm and get up @ 6:30am (eek!)
18)Go on at least 4 dates with Matt (Thank you Sasha for the inspiration)
19)Cut down on cokes
20)Drink more water

So later, when I refer to one or more items on the list, don't say I didn't inform you.

My turn-around...I guess.

In Beth Moore's Esther study, she uses her bird dog Beanie to illustrate how God moves us sometimes. Beth says that sometimes she and her husband and Beanie will be going for a walk and the dog will stop, frozen, in "full point" (evidently a bird dog term for what they do when they see a squirrel). Until Keith (her husband) picks Beanie up (still frozen) and turns her in another direction, she can't move forward. Her full attention is on that squirrel and she can't see what she's supposed to be doing (walking) because of it.

That's not how Beth said it, but it's the basic story. She compared this to how God will sometimes have to pick us up and do the same thing, because we're "stuck" someplace.

That happened to me this week. I guess. I'm still kind of wondering how I could've been in the wrong place and not known it. It came as such a shock for me, because it wasn't anything glaring and sinful.

One of my friendships ended, against my desire, and for reasons that seem to me ridiculous at best and conniving at worst.

How many times in a few days can you ask God "why?" It seems He doesn't have a limit, which is a good thing.

Finally after it seemed there was no other option, I knelt down (I have to admit, I don't usually kneel when I pray, but it seemed fitting) and gave up. I asked God to help me release the situation and the friendship. I prayed I would be able to get over it--both for my own healing and for the sake of my poor husband and mother, who have been my sounding board as everything was going down.

Early on, when I didn't know the friendship was ending, when I didn't know that it was more than just a rabid misunderstanding, my husband said "why does this feel like a breakup?" And upon much deep thought while I waited for the kids to fall asleep at naptime, I realized that it *did* feel like a breakup.

In high school, it seemed like a frequent type of breakup was as follows:

Nice girl who doesn't like to hurt feelings, but doesn't like current boyfriend
+
Boyfriend who doesn't want to believe that it's over, despite overwhelming evidence
=
Long, drawn out breakup with many awkward interactions until it's "over"

As I sat pondering this, I found myself hoping I wasn't the dumb boyfriend.

But if you have to ask...??

* * * * * * *

On my way home from Ohio last night, I was indulging in one of the few secular artists that I listen to and was struck by the lyrics to the song "Many the Miles" (I'll bet you could've guessed the title without my help).

I do what i can wherever i end up
To keep giving my good love
And spreading it around
Cause i've had my fair share of take care and goodbyes
I've learned how to cry
And i'm better for that

How far do i have to go to get to you
Many the miles
Many the miles
How far do i have to go to get to you
Many the miles
But send me the miles and i'll be happy to follow you Love

* * * * * * *

A friend at Bible study comforted me unknowingly when she told me the story of the boll weevils. Evidently they destroyed all the cotton crops of a southern region of our country during the Great Depression. Instead of despairing(or perhaps despairing only for a few days?), the farmers turned to different kinds of crops that could withstand the boll weevils. The farmers turned a better profit from these different crops than the cotton had before.

So the moral is that we should thank God for our boll weevil experiences...which is what I was trying to say way back at the beginning of this wild ride (that is, if there are any of you who are left). I guess my analogies go better at night when the children are asleep and quiet.

The Month (okay, two months) of Lost Good Intentions

This will be a short post. But a post nonetheless.

Since my last post, where I proudly preened my clean house peacock feathers, my entire family--yes, including myself-- has been sick for a total of 5 weeks. I've been to the emergency room twice (once Easter morning and once a week later in the middle of the night...both for sick children). I've been to the doctor once and found out that if I'd only had a code word, I probably wouldn't have had to go to the emergency room at all. Drat. I went through almost an entire container of Lysol wipes. I prayed for spring to come and sickness to flee. I claimed these verses as my own:

In my anguish I cried to the LORD, and He answered me by setting me free. The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid, what can man (viruses) do to me? The LORD is with me; He is my helper. I will look in triumph on my enemies (sickness).

Psalm 118: 5-7 (slightly altered)

My home fell back apart. My routines crumbled. Even two weeks after my sickness had departed, my voice was still gone and I took long naps in the afternoons in order to make it 'til bedtime. Even today, four weeks after the initial Month of Sickness, my singing voice isn't entirely healed. My range is crap. I'm living in the hope that God still has plans for me that involve my singing, even if it's just being able to sing along to the Sound of Music with my kids.

This week I'm finally feeling some stirrings of returned motivation. I'm actually typing a post, right? My new verse is this:

The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame.

Isaiah 58:11

Dearie me, let's hope so.

The Clean Home

I sit here at my computer.

My house is clean.

Not perfectly clean, not perfectly organized.

But so clean and so organized that I can hardly believe it is indeed my house.

You see, I got hooked on Flylady. I didn't think I needed rescue help from a personal online coach. My house was not the victim of utter CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome). I have people over usually twice a week--and manage to make it through the day without utter despair (most days). But what I lacked--and what FlyLady helped me with--was a good routine.

I dislike housework. Dishes, laundry, picking up, dusting, cleaning the bathrooms...! Yuck. I just plain dislike it.

Or so I thought.

It turns out I do not dislike housework so much as I dislike always trying to play catch up. And I'm constantly trying to get caught up because I do not have a good plan. And because I've evidently been harboring some deep and unreasonable hope that someone (maybe the Cleaning Fairy who lived at my parents' house?) would eventually show up and start keeping up with all this housework. That I shouldn't really be called upon to keep up with things because what do they think, it's my job or something?? For almost 4 years I've had the following verse hung up on my refrigerator:

"...Encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be pure, sensible, workers at home (emphasis my own), kind, being subject to their own husbands so the word of God will not be dishonored."

Titus 2:4-5

And all this time, I've always felt perfectly justified to claim victory in this verse because having lotsa little children is work and because I didn't *go* to work, therefore, I worked at home.

Alas.

I frequently had weeks on end where each day was marked by me trying to grab a nap whilst the kids watched a show, then scrambling to eat, check email, take a shower, dress: myself and the wee ones (and did I know where their socks were? Mmm...somewhere in this pile. Or maybe this pile. *dig dig dig* Mmm. Maybe they're not dry yet?) I wanted to do what was fun or at least not housework as often as possible. And I made a lot of selfish choices in order to pursue this end. Of course, while the choices were selfish, the repercussions were probably much harder than the actual work would've been. I mean, really, who wants to dig for 5 entire outfits (shirts, pants, socks, underwear) that somewhat match/fit EACH MORNING EVEN SUNDAY WHEN WE'RE TRYING TO ACTUALLY BE SOMEWHERE ON TIME???

Then I read a bit which pointed a bony finger of conviction in my direction. It labled the wife of the family as the "thermostat of the family." Evidently, I'd been relegating myself to the position of "thermometer" merely reflecting the heat in the house, when I should've been *setting* the temperature for the rest of my family. My home, ideally, should be a haven for my family, a place of peace. And yes, sometimes of quiet.

*Mull mull mull*

I did not like how snappish I'd become. How short-tempered. How selfish. I did not like digging for underwear at 4 am when my son needed a fresh pair because he'd wet his last clean ones. And then, after drowsily digging for ten or so minutes, having to tell him he'd have to just wear pj pants until the morning because I couldn't find any. And then having to feel guilty when he cried because he's very particular about how his clothes feel on his body and he doesn't like just wearing pants to bed. Poor guy. I didn't like watching my husband struggle to get to work on time because he couldn't find clean clothes, couldn't find clean dishes to pack a lunch with, and had no good options for lunch anyway, because we hadn't planned ahead when grocery shopping.

*heaves a sigh*

This. was. not. working.

Hence the change of plans.

I am already amazed at what I've learned and benefitted from this program, this free program. Perhaps it's not for everyone. I certainly didn't think it would be for me.

But as I perch on my stool and type these words, this is what I can see to my right: Countertops with nothing on them. A sink with no dirty dishes in it. Gleaming tile floors that have actually been swept AND mopped. A clean dishtowel hanging on the oven door.
Behind me: A living room with nothing on the floor. Except one cat toy.
To my left: More gleaming tile. An entryway shelf with only the amount of shoes that actually fits. Coat hooks that don't look like they're starting to mutate into a coat monster. A seating area with only my bag on it--no papers, books, or toys stacked precariously.

And I know the rest of the house is similar.

And most importantly--

I did not have to work long or hard for any of these things to happen. I had a plan and I actually used the plan, and it worked. Hallelujah! I even have a plan in case I don't follow the plan one day. The FlyLady is constantly reminding me that I don't have to worry about catching up, I just need to jump in and get started. What a lifted weight, one that I didn't even realize I was carrying.

Chandler's Prayer and the Quest for the Cutest Blog on the Block

Today I visited a blog that caught my eye and ignited my inspiration. I've seen several cute blogs in the last several weeks since I've started perusing, but this one must've been more up my alley than the others, because I finally decided to take action. I used to know how to do things on computers, but then I got stuck with an old one for several years and I just gave up, realizing that I'd never be able to keep up with a 98 Windows or whatever it was. Then my lovely brother David took technological pity on me and gave us his "old" computer which is light years beyond anything I had any experience with. Couple that with the beautiful flat screen monitor Matt got for his birthday...and the speaker system he bought soon after, and we have got ourselves...uh...more than we know how to handle.

So I finally decided to learn how to make my blog cute. I had taken note that most of the blogs I admired were from The Cutest Blog on the Block and I had assumed that this was an exclusive, expensive, or at least confusing club to take part in. Half an hour later (all right, it was closer to an hour...and yes, I had a girlfriend helping, er, cheerleading me on) I had finally figured this thang out. And I'm now the proud possessor of a Cute Blog. *wide smile*

When my darling Matthew got home from work, I told him of my wonderful accomplishment. To which he sweetly replied, "honey, I'm so sorry, but I just don't care very much about your blog. What am I gonna do--come home and read it every day?"

I told him he didn't have to care about the blog, just the feeling of accomplishment. He decided he could do that, and I proceeded to tell him all about it. Poor guy. I can't imagine what it must be like to work SO HARD all day making physical labor miracles happen and then to get home to your wife who puffs up her chest and says "I made my blog cute today! Ta da!"

Ah well. I read one of the wonderful Proverbs31Woman devotionals that tells us that basically, there is no one else who is here to compete for my job as Elizabeth Christine Floyd. I am the only one He made for this place on Earth. I don't need to feel jealous, competitive, or like I need to do anyone else's job. I am me. Ta da!



* * * * * * *

Same post, new story

* * * * * * *


Today at naptime, Chandler (age 5) was praying as normal, and suddenly realized he'd forgotten to pray for the homeless people. We try to start praying for people without homes more regularly when the cold weather hits, and this year he's very serious about it. Well, today he put a new twist on it:

Chandler: "...and Lord, I pray for the homeless people. I pray for them because they might only have one pair of underwear..."

(my ears prick up)

"...and if they only have one pair, then they'd have to wear the same ones all the time and they'd get really dirty..."

(I feel like I should say something...but what? "we don't pray about underwear"?)

"...and Lord, it's just not fun to wear dirty underwear. So I also pray that they would find a home. Thank you for all the blessings You give us, Amen."

I pause mentally, trying to process a prayer about homeless people underwear, and while I'm working through this, I smile encouragingly at Chandler and tell him that was a nice prayer.

As he drifts off towards sleep, I continue to think.

There was nothing really wrong with Chandler's innocent (if unorthodox) little prayer. I've been trying to explain to the kids how God cares even about the details of our lives. I want them to know that God is caring and intimate, that He is interested in the practical, immediate, and sometimes odd little things that are important to us. And He wants us to feel we can approach Him with these things. He wants to be a real part of our lives.

Does God care that I have enough diapers to make it until Friday when we get another paycheck? I believe He does--and even though it may not feel as spiritual as praying for the starving children in Africa, it builds my faith when the diapers really do last or when my mom unexpectedly stops by with a new pack without knowing I might need some.

Does God care about people who don't always have a fresh change of clothes or a place of their own to shower? I believe He does-- and I decided that it was sweet of Chandler to pray for their "underwear needs". What a very real problem that could be, and who else is gonna pray for it? Maybe no one other than a practical 5 year old boy who believes that God cares enough to listen.

Naptime Talk with Nadia

It's the beginning of naptime at our house. As I leaned over Nadia (age 3) a few minutes ago, she started rubbing my eyebrow with her finger. We had the following brief conversation:

Nadia: Mommy, your eyes are blue.

Me: Yes, and yours are brown. You got your brown eyes from Daddy, and I got my blue eyes from Grandma and Grandpa Inman. Their's are blue, too.

Nadia: No Mommy, my eyes are not brown. They are like yours.

Me: No, yours are brown.

Nadia: No, they're like yours. Just like yours.

Me: You think so, huh? Okay.

Nadia: Mommy, your eyebrows feel like hair.

Me: That's because they *are* hair.

Nadia: (sighing happily) Ahhhh...they feel warm...and fuzzy.

Me: (laughing) Well, uh, thank you.

My first trip to Pennsylvania

May 28, 2004
Pittsburgh, PA

Tall houses built into steep hills. A little town built all around creeping, winding streets. Shops in the "downtown" area, one in particular, reaching up out of the valley that is the street. The front window is cut glass, thick & mottled, but beautiful. There is a metal framing that twists through the glass pieces, holding the design together. A wrought iron cafe table and chairs, painted white, sits out front. Directly in front of the window, it distracts from the lines of the building.

(Side note from 2009--We were lost late at night in some teensy tiny town. Somehow Kim had managed to get sidetracked from her normal route. Perhaps there was a detour. Who knows. All I know is that I was crammed in the backseat with baby Chandler and Hunter, wishing we would just get on with it.)

May 29, 2004
Lovey-Dovey's House, PA

Lovey-Dovey is Hunter's grandmother. She's my husband's grandmother too, but "Lovey-Dovey" is Hunter's special name for her. In my head, Lovey-Dovey is who she is.

Her house is not at all how I imagined it would be. What is obviously familiar and dear to everyone around me struck me as cluttered, an entire lack of order of styles, and...confusing.

However, within the first few hours here, I noticed the butterflies. Butterflies are in prominent places, often-visited places, and the more I looked, the more I realized they were woven into the whole house. There are three white porcelain ones with blue flowers painted on them--they float above the mirror in the bathroom. Farther down the wall, there are three cream colored plastic "wicker" ones above the towel racks. The inner shower curtain has large, moth-like butterflies fluttering across it.

Butterflies on the sheets, on the tableclothes, on the coffeecups.

In the corner by the door there stands a group of thin bamboo sticks. Frothy nets in pastel colos mingle at the tops, waiting for the grandchildren: butterfly nets. Outside the tiny white darlings dance their stilting jig across the vast lawn, teasing their pursuers.

As evening falls, the house fills with aunts and uncles and cousins, and a warm glow settles in for the night. All at once, Lovey-Dovey's house is transformed. all at once, in an understated way, it shifts...the butterflies that are Lovey-Dovey's delicate beauty, the nets that are her gentle love, the vast array of nostalgic treasures she cannot part with...the stark corners of the house soften into a home.

May 31, 2004
We're on the way home from Pennsylvania.

At five o'clock this morning, all the hills and valleys were covered with a thick misting fog. The lights that usually twinkled on the hillsides gave out only a gentle glow and everything looked like raw silk, soft and luxurious.

The trees that zipped past soon lulled me to sleep.

My mind returns to a train of thought I had earlier this weekend.

The Myers girls are in almost constant contact. The few states between them do not truly separate them. There are phone calls everyday, sometimes several a day. (Thank goodness for cell phones.) Interestingly, while we're in Pennsylvania, the phone calls *increase*. Now if they're apart for more than a few minutes, one thinks of something another *must* hear right away. The cell phone rings: Is anyone feeling carsick? Because up here in our car, Anna is getting queasy. Just checking. We'll be there in about ten minutes. See you then. Love you.

The closer the sisters get, the more they cannot stand to be apart.

(Side note from 2009-- So much has changed since that first visit to Pittsburgh. Relationships, perspectives...so I am even more grateful that I thought to record the freshness of my first time "home" as Matt and Kim call it. I don't think I'd want to live there, but it is true that when we go, there is a sort of magic to our time there. I can't explain it, but there it is. )