Bryson wakes up every morning at 7:02.  Every morning.  Regardless of his bedtime.  Regardless of my bedtime.  Regardless of how many times he wakes up in the night.  The only exception to the "every morning" thing is if he misses a nap the previous day.  If this happens, he wakes up at 7:48, give or take 10 minutes.  I don't know why this is true of my son, but it is.  He comes into my bedroom if I'm not already awake (and lately I have not been.  It has been wonderful), and he climbs up onto the end of the bed, carefully avoiding my feet. 

I sit up and say, "Good mornin', buddy."  I observe his face and notice he is pouting, with his blankets bundled up into a heap in his lap.  "What's the matter, boy?" I ask him. 

"I wanna go downstairs."  Always the exact same answer.

"OK, we can go downstairs," I say as I lay back down and stick my arms (which have, to this point, remained under the covers where they stay toasty warm) out of the covers, reaching toward him, "but you have to come and give me shnuggles first." (Yes, shnuggles.  Pronounced "shnoogles" with the "oo" like "good")(did you just say that word out loud?? :) ).

"Ohhhhhh," he complains with this silly grin on his face (trying really hard not to giggle), and, picking up his blankies, creeps toward the pillow, where I have once again closed my eyes and pulled back the covers next to me.  He crawls in, making sure the blankies get under the covers with him, and I give him a giant bear hug, nose to nose with my boy, and we giggle and talk about our dreams (he's always had a "good bad dream" about something hysterical that he actually remembers and explains all in one breath) for 5 or 6 minutes.  At this time he asks, rather impatiently, "Is it time to go downstairs YET??"  I drag myself out of bed with a groan as I pull the covers tight at the same time (which also makes him giggle, watching Mommy slither out of the covers feet first), pretending to fall back asleep with my feet sticking out of the covers at least once in the process, and he waits impatiently next to the bed for me to pick him up--he holds his blankets in one arm, and stretches his other arm up as if to say, "Up, up, up!"--and we begin the procession downstairs.  Breakfast happens quickly for Bryson.  "Can I have a piece of pizza, Mommy?  No, I want eggs. Your kind, Mommy.  With the yellow stuff still sticky."

Reasa wakes up next.  She comes into my room to check to see if I'm awake, regardless of what time it is (it's usually around 7:30), then goes back into her room to make her bed and get dressed.  She waits until I notice that she has done these things before she really says anything to me.  Until I say something, she finishes chore after chore after chore.  She feeds Chelsea.  She picks up five things in her bedroom.  She brushes her hair.  She checks her bunny's water and food.  If I don't acknowledge the completion of any of her regular chores quickly enough, she will ask me if she can get Chani out and take her outside.  If she gets up before me, and I don't hurry up and get up, she will even bring me breakfast.  She seeks my approval and praise almost every second of every day.  She's like a dog who runs to catch a frisbee over and over and over again, only to bring it back and wait with anxious anticipation, just begging you to throw it again.  When I do notice and tell her what a good job she's doing, she walks into me, bangs her forehead into my stomach and throws her arms around my waist, like she's embarrased that I noticed, but so thankful that I did.  At some point in the morning, she says to me, "Mommy, I need some snuggle time."  The mornings when we miss out on that, I honestly ache for it.  Those are some of the moments I cherish with her.  Breakfast is, "A bowl of cereal," about half an hour after she wakes up, "not very much milk, please, Mommy.  I hate when it gets soggy."

Lainie wakes up last.  I have watched her do this.  She first sits up and observes what's going on around her.  She notices who is awake, and where those people are currently located.  She then lays back down, takes a good stretch, finds the "hard corner" of her favorite quilt (where the seam doubles itself over--it's only on one corner--I know because I sewed it that way) and puts her thumb back in her mouth waiting to really wake up.  Ater the rest of us have been downstairs and alive for a while (and before I feel like we're never going to get school started if I don't wake the kid up), I go to check on her, and it's always the same thing...I say something like, "Were you going to sleep all day???"  She giggles a little bit, pretending to still sleep and I bounce the top bunk like I jumped on the bed, and when I turn to walk out of the room, she says, "Mommy, wait!!  Carry me downstairs?" and I say, "Oh, alright, you lazy bum.  Sheesh.  You're getting too big for this, you know that don't you?"  This happens every day.  Every day.  Because if I didn't go upstairs to get her, she would stay in bed until 10:00.  And if I didn't do all of these things, with all my kids, the day would just not be right.  She comes down, climbs into Daddy's recliner with her quilt wrapped around her and trying to hide the thumb she sticks in her mouth.  It usually takes her at least half an hour--she'd prefer an hour--to muster up the motivation to even stand up, or decide on breakfast.  And it's always "Pancake." Or, "An apple.  Cut up.  Skin off.  In a bowl, please."

It's our rhythm.  Our morning routine.  Tiny changes, here and there...but only off by minutes.  And always with that same familiarity...like your favorite pair of worn-out slippers...you can't get new ones...they just wouldn't feel right.

So, why am I blogging this?  Honestly, I just don't want to forget.  Silly me, I watched an episode of ER tonight where a mom thought she was going to die without telling someone what her 9-ish son needed in order for his life to be "right."  She started running down through the "ABC's of Milo," and it suddenly struck that ER doctor how short life is.  So later, on Thanksgiving evening, she made sure she ran down the list of "who her son was" with his Daddy.  I literally got choked up.  There is so much I would want someone to know if something were to happen to me.  So many things that make my kids' lives what they are.  The things I take so for granted every single day, but they are part of us.  I don't want to forget.  Did you need to read it?  Probably not.  If you did, kudos to you for trudging through it.  I have a feeling this is just the beginning of this topic for me.

You know how when you start taking things for granted, something poignant comes along to remind you how important those things are?  Thanksgiving this year has meant that for me.  I'm sure I'll forget again, but for tonight, I'm not.

You know, I used to think of myself as an extremely independent, self-motivated, self-reliant person. I remember feeling very pleased that I could take care of myself. I managed my finances, paid my bills, bought a car (with some help from my dad, but none-the-less, I bought the car based upon my research and decision-making ability), handled customer service people with a degree of confidence, dealt with situations that needed to be dealt with in a timely fashion, with little hesitation, even when conflict may have been involved. I loved that when mechanic-type people talked to me about the inner-workings of a car, I understood what they were talking about. I spent enough time under the hood of a car (and the rest of the car, for that matter) with my father growing up that I knew I could change the oil, top off the fluids, change the tires, replace tie rod ends, ball joints, brakes, etc...now, granted, I would not have tackled any of those projects by myself, but when my dad told me what to do, I could generally do it (there are just some strength issues involved in repairing cars for most women--we're just not strong enough to tackle the rust or the plain old pushing parts in a car around that men can handle). And this extended beyond just cars. I could drive anyplace with brief directions from a friend, I could make decisions about what features I wanted on my phone or cable service, I could decide what bills to pay when the check came in, I could plan my time according to what I needed to do and get to appointments on time. I remembered oil changes, and returned books when they were due at the library.

I got married nine years ago, and my life changed. I mean, of course it changed. I started living with a man very different from myself. But in addition to the obvious changes in life, other things changed as well. I quickly gave over to him the responsibilities of my vehicle (along with his), and took on all of the responsibility for the house, and then soon after that, the children. Finances and bills and decisions about cable and phone features went to Seth--the "provider." Nine years later, the tides are turning again. Suddenly, Seth is working 12 hours a day, and can't be home during normal business hours. Suddenly, we have bills that need to be taken care of, finances that need budgetting, cars that need repairs and calls that need to be made. In addition to long hours, Seth has no cell phone coverage. He can't make any of those calls, including the calls to the two different mechanics working on our cars. I find myself in an awkward, now-uncomfortable position. I have to make those calls.

Ten years ago, this would not have phased me. I would have picked up the phone, made the decisions, and done what needed to be done. But not thinking about it for those ten years, and putting it on the shoulders of my husband, has changed me. Now, I agonize over picking up the phone. I cringe at the thought of deciphering the transmission talk and the thought of how much money these repairs will require us to shell out. I dread talking with the Gas company about how to catch up on the ridiculous bill we fell behind on in the spring and upon which we're still pounding away. It's almost taken care of, but what a process!! These are just things I so prefer Seth to take care of. There is a confidence I no longer possess, and I hate to admit it, but it has taken its toll on other areas of my life as well. It's not that I can't take care of these situations. I certainly can. I just don't want to take care of them!! In some ways, I have become the person I didn't want to be--the wife who lets her husband take care of everything. The little woman at home who can't really do anything but stay home with her kids. And not that there's anything wrong with staying home with your kids--what an awesome calling!! and it's a job that I love almost every day--it's just not necessarily the woman I thought I was. And honestly, I don't know that I really am. It's just interesting to take a real look at what I have become. I am questioning that woman. I am proud of what I am doing with my life right now, and I receive rewards that no woman who is "out there" in the world of work and life can imagine, and I count that as a privilege, I'm just realizing that there are things about me that have changed, and I'm not sure I am completely comfortable with them.

Hmm. Something to think about. Is this something I really want, or something I really want to change? As always, I would love to hear your comments!!

Why hasn't someone figured out how to change the channel on the tv by thinking about changing the channel?  That would come in so handy when I absolutely can not determine where my husband left the remote.  Or which couch cushion my children took off the couch and then replaced right before Daddy walked in the door after work, thereby hiding the remote for the next six hours.  And think of the various other applications of the same practical technology...opening the garage door without having to locate the opener...starting the car without needing to figure out where your toddler chewed on the keys last...turning off the beeping timer on the oven when you know the cookies still need 2 more minutes and you are no where near the kitchen...setting the snooze on your morning alarm without having to uncover yourself and walk across the room...

I mean, really.  We can spy on people from the opposite side of the world in their living rooms via satelite.  We can put people on the moon, and send rovers to Mars.  We can repair satelites that we can't even get to ourselves because we would die on the trip.  Puhleaze!!  Why can't we figure this out??

Yeah, the remote is on the other side of the room.  Seth is zonked in the recliner, I have Chani on my lap, and I really couldn't care less about how Nich Lachey helped have his brother's truck overhauled by Chip Foose (what's pitiful is that I know who Chip Foose is).  And I can't change the channel and listen brainlessly to something else while I try to get some ideas for the kids' Christmas presents.  Reality?  I should shut the tv off and spend some time concentrating on something worthwhile. 

By way of an update before I go to bed (that would be something worthwhile), my friend Tim--I wrote about him a couple of entries ago--he had his surgery to remove that tumor last Friday morning.  It was malignant, and they start radiation soon.  Please, continue to pray for him, and his wife Sara.  I'm blown away by the news (just found out today).  I don't know any details, but I know his wife is being a trooper (she's 7.5 months pregnant).  34-year-olds should not--SHOULD NOT--have malignant tumors in their brains.  Period.  There's just something wrong with that.

And the explorer...well, it requires $1600 worth of repairs on the transmission, etc.  Ahhhh, money.  Don't you wish you had enough of it that you never had to worry about it?  Honestly, right now I just wish I had vehicles I never had to worry about.  Seth's truck goes into the shop next week to have transmission work...I might get my truck back by February.  We'll see.  I'll keep you posted.
 
But, you see, then I look at my friend Tim...and another friend who just found out she's pregnant and she's going to be doing it alone...and I look at my truck, and just shrug my shoulders.  In the grand scheme of things, who really cares about fixing a truck?

Did you know tomorrow is Veteran's Day?  And that there's no school on Veteran's Day??  I just found out tonight.  Don't ask me where I've been this week.  I don't know.  I'm just glad I have tomorrow morning to write the girls 10-week reports, shop for my niece's and nephew's birthday presents, repair my house from the insanity of Thursday (gymnastics/worship team rehearsal day), and get ready for the bithday party in Lima tomorrow afternoon.  :)  So much for a day off school...

g'night.  time to sleep. 

Almost a year ago, I attended a writing conference in Indiana.  I got a much needed break from stay-at-home-mommy-land and felt like a (very sheepish) grown-up for a little while...I have always fancied myself something of a writer and have had visions of writing kids' books...but I've never taken the time to do anything with it.  I learned so much at the conference, though mostly about how to break into publishing, which, truthfully, I'm not as concerned about at this point.  Right now, I worry more about the practical, getting-words-on-paper end of things (or in my computer, for that matter).  Interestingly, my lack of writing is certainly not due to a lack of (what should be) ideas.  My children give me opportunities for great storylines on a daily basis--I have never heard children pretend with the intensity that my children pretend--or for the duration!!  I have never heard kids come up with the things my kids come up with.  We giggle constantly.  Sometimes we bellow with laughter.  The trick is remembering these adorable things when I sit down. 

OK, maybe the trick is sitting down. 

Since Chani has entered my life, my blog entry attempts have definitely become more frequent (bearing in mind that you don't always see the attempts).  Go figure.  Remember that entry about sitting still?  She will tolerate the kids' laps if she needs a place to sleep, but they tend to move too much.  If she really wants to sleep, she vocalizes her opinion of Bryson as she hops off his lap (though he attempts to trap her, that yap scares him just enough to let her go), and seeks me out.  You can only look at those puppy eyes for so long before you scoop her up and snuggle her and plop down on the floor.  Most often, after the kids have gone to bed, and she has gotten out her last bit of energy with Chelsea (they are wonderful playmates now), and I've finished the myriad of things left to do after the cherubs go to bed, she crawls into my lap while I check my email, etc.  I'm sitting there, I may as well write.  Seth is asleep on the couch by the time the kids are settled down, so there's not much else to do...

So back to the writing thing.  On Thursday, my friend Kendra forwarded me a website with information regarding a writing contest.  Short story entries.  The deadline for entering is December 15th.  Just over a month to write something.  I immediately read the details and the sample entries and thought to myself, "I could do this.  I really could."  Then, the reality hit.  "What on earth am I going to write about??"  Sure, I have loads of experience at being a homeschooling, stay-at-home mom, and that's the audience for this contest.  But the contest rules state that they're looking for "stirring fiction" that will "inspire the stay at home mom."  Wow.  The winner gets published in a homeschooling magazine and on two homeschooling websites.  My stomach does backflips when I think about actually being published.  But it ties itself in knots when I think about what I'm writing.  So far, I've sat down 3 different times to try to write something...and notice where I'm writing now.  I'm not sure I'm any good at fiction.  Maybe I'm not a writer!! 

My parents actually sent me to that conference last year, flight and all, telling me as I went that they expected a return on their investment.  They expected me to attempt to get published.  Well, here's the rub:  to write well and get published, one must write.  Continually.  The speakers encouraged all of the conference attendees to read great literature.  To write constantly.  Every day.  Faithfully.  Start a blog, they told us.  Figure out someplace to get published regularly, no matter how small.  Write letters to the editor.  Get published in your school's newsletter.  I started writing like crazy--every day--during December and into January last year, and I felt really good about the things I was writing.  The things I didn't like, I stopped writing, clicked on "save," and started something else.  Then my wonderful laptop died. And I have a difficult time writing on this computer.  It sits in the same room as the television, and in the evenings, when I have time to write (if I ignore all the other projects I find for myself), Seth has the tv on.  It's fine, it's just distracting.  I find myself listening to the statistics about the Gulf War or the most recent urban legend the Mythbusters have attempted to disprove rather than actually writing anything.  I have a lot of babble (most of which appears here), and not much actual writing.  Certainly not fiction.  I struggle even to find plots that could develop into a piece of fiction from the reality of my life.  Why?? 

So, somebody out there come up with an idea for me.  Think about the stories I've told you about my kids or the crazy things you've been through with me that I could embellish and turn into fiction.  Maybe from the outside looking in, you'll have more success than I'm having.  I hope I'm just looking too hard.  :)

It's been over two weeks since I last wrote.  Sheesh.  This is how my life goes.  In case you were wondering (and you probably weren't, truth be told), we're still alive.  I have, once again, bitten off more than I can chew...although I sure do try.  :)  Some of you are smiling, and shaking your heads, and saying, "Yup.  That's Min."  You're right.

Two weekends ago, I helped my mom plan and throw a baby dedication party for my niece and my brother and sister-in-law's best friend's baby.  I took on the cake and the rigatoni.  The cake turned out just as I had hoped (except for the fact that the crazy pink part of the frosting still didn't turn out actual pink...I keep getting this peachy tinge to my pink (it's the butter, I know it)...and the fact that Reasa accidently threw the handle end of an umbrella on the top layer...ever had a really bad mommy moment??  This was definitely mine.  The poor kid.  She sobbed.  I screamed.  I later apologized profusely and loved on her, and we both cried some more.  She made sure she asked for the "broken" piece when the cake finally got cut.  That's just the kind of kid she is.  Even when I'm losing my mind with her (she threw the umbrella out of anger at her sister, forgetting the cake was in the front seat), she really makes me soooo proud of her (and so ashamed of my ranting and raving), and the party went off just as we had planned.  Jaidyn is absolutely beautiful.  Have I mentioned that?  She has Kevin's insane hair and chubby baby cheeks, and Jenn's cute nose.  I look so forward to watching her grow.  Funny how you feel about your baby brother's baby.

Last weekend, I made a cake for my friend's mom's 70th birthday party.  Complete with fondant leaves, a basket full of chrysanthemums (argh!!  I had never even attempted flowers before!!), and fun detail work, the cake took me over 6 hours to decorate.  Without even considering how long the fondant took to work with.  Honestly, I love this.  It's just a little stressful.  I think once I get into the groove, it won't take as long, and I'll feel less stress.  It's like singing on stage at church: when you only do it every 6 months, it's hugely stressful and you shake and sweat and stutter when you get out there.  But when you do it every weekend, it's not really a big deal.  A comfort level.  I need to get to that point with my cakes. 

Now, if the cakes were the only things on my calendar along with worship team, school, gymnastics, Seth working 65-70 hours a week (and driving about 13 a week), and whatever else comes up, it would be fine.  But yesterday was halloween.  Meaning the kids chose elaborate costumes like they do every year, and our budget didn't allow for us to purchase fabric and supplies until early last week.  The cake took up Thursday evening and Friday after school, so, since I generally only do these projects while my kids are asleep, that left Saturday (ha!  Seth had off, so no sewing got done), Sunday (again, no sewing), Monday (sewed and fabricated all afternoon and until 2:30 on Tuesday morning), and Tuesday (worked on costumes from 8 until 3).  The kids chose to be Lucy, Susan and Peter at their coronation in Narnia.  Of course they did.  Really, the costumes turned out better than I expected with such a time crunch (and even Chani had her adorable pink cape to match Queen Lucy's), and I was pleased with them (they wore them all day today too--they must have agreed).  I have to tell you...I'm incredibly envious of you girls who have your adorable children's costume pictures on your blogs already...that digital camera is just ON MY BRAIN!!!  My digital is full, and my computer is being disagreeable at the moment.  Figures.  Eventually, I'll post pictures of their costumes, though I didn't get Chani.  :)  I love Halloween costumes.  I don't love the holiday...we've had sooooo many debates about what we're going to do about Halloween, and we didn't participate at all for the first 4 years of Reasa's life, but we decided when she was 5 that we wanted them to be able to dress up--they already love that so much, and we felt like we were jipping them of the opportunity to get dressed up and be adorable and eat stuff that's terrible for them.  Great reasoning, but it's true.  It's also amazing the opportunity it gives us to talk with them about spirituality and our society.  Bryson went to bed last night very disturbed--he saw really scary costumes while we were out last night, and I can understand why he was upset--he tends to have bad dreams (I can relate).  So we talked and prayed and asked God's angels to stand guard over him and his dreams last night.  It was like a light bulb went on in his little mind.  He had no understanding that angels were real for him and not just in Bible times.  He woke up in the morning ecstatic--the angels protected his dreams!!  Now, I don't know how accurate this all is in terms of theology, or however you want to look at it, but it was how he could understand God protecting him.  I breathed a silent prayer of thanks...though I know God is faithful and powerful and that he answers our prayers, you know, there are so many things I have prayed for that God has chosen to answer with a "No," or a "Wait."  I was so thankful this was a, "Yes.  This is important to me too."

OK...babbling.  I know.  If you think of it, please pray for my friend Tim Thornton.  We went to Houghton together a zillion years ago, and he is married with a 2-year-old and a baby on the way in December.  Late last week, they discovered a brain tumor.  He was supposed to have surgery on Monday, and the doctors were pretty confident they could remove most, if not all of the tumor, but you just never know how it's going to go.  I haven't heard anything, but when I do, I'll post.  Please pray for him.  My heart just aches for them...this kind of thing should not happen to people you know, you know?? 

And another "if you think of it"...my truck is currently undriveable.  Anybody have a Ford Explorer that wouldn't go into reverse??  Got any tips??  Want to pray for the healing of my truck (without huge expense!!!)?