Yep, That Was My Dad

I know many people who struggle with the concept of God as the “Father.” My brothers and I do not.

Our Dad lived his life as a reflection of God to us. He was such a consistent example.

Easter, 1964

He showed us God’s love for us in many ways. Because he loved us, he disciplined us. But he never disciplined us harshly or in a demeaning way. Even when he was mad at us for doing something stupid, especially in our teenaged years, he rarely needed to raise his voice. He’d just walk us through the problem and help us see the error of our ways. Then he’d help us figure out how we were going to fix it and avoid getting ourselves in the situation the next time. God disciplines us through loving correction and so did Dad.

He was also a living example of Ephesians 5:25 which says, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” Mom and Dad were married 68 years. I think Dad spent every waking moment of those 68 years making sure Mom was happy. His biggest concern when he was diagnosed with cancer was not whether he would walk again; no, it was about how his new challenges would effect Mom.

Dad and Mom, sometime in the 1960's

The other night about 1am as we sat at the hospital with him, Lynn mentioned that is was probably a good thing that Dad was unconscious. He would have been so mad at us for being out so late because of him. He would have said, “Take your Mom home and make sure she eats and goes to bed! Don’t you all fuss over me – take care of her!” He might have even threatened to “whup” us if we didn’t get going. 

Because he lived out that verse in Ephesians every day for us, I’ve seen my brothers become the same type of husbands. They live sacrificially for their wives, just as Dad did for Mom. And trust me, I kept shopping until I found someone who treated me just as Dad lived for Mom.

He consistently put Mom’s needs first but she wasn’t the only one. He always thought of others before he thought of himself. He never complained about how he was feeling or had a pity party when things were tough; he might be lying in a hospital bed, suffering in pain, but he always asked the nurse or doctor, “How are you today? Are you having a good day?” Sometimes, you could tell it surprised them, because the sick guy seemed to be so concerned about the one who was supposed to be doing the healing.

Dad’s unconditional love was extended to those around him the world might call “enemies.” Honestly, we can’t think of a single person who might have considered Dad their enemy or for that matter, even disliked him. That’s because he treated every person with the same kindness and dignity, no matter how they treated him. If we had been wronged by someone, he’d say, “We need to feel sorry for that person. Something in their life has made them mean.” He understood that all people were God’s creations and were to be treated that way.

He was holding one of my boys one day. We’d only had them a month or so and he was admiring how beautiful their brown skin was. He said, “Why are people so mean to others just for the color of their skin? People were so mean to Jackie Robinson and Martin Luther King and all the others… just for their brown skin…. How come?” His biggest fear for my boys was that someone might be mean to them.

The final thing about Dad was his sense of humor. I believe God created it in all of us. And with Dad, God gave him a little bit extra in the humor department. He loved to laugh and to tell stories that made other people laugh. He’d come home from work and tell us something funny that happened that day. He loved to make up funny songs for us and for our kids. In fact, there is one that we all know and love. He would take a child on his knee, bounce him or her like a bucking horse and then say this little rhyme. He didn’t make up the whole thing up, but he added a few lines of his own. It goes like this: 

One zaw, two zaw, zigga zaw zan,

Bob-tail dominecker, little toy tan.

Virgil, Mary, Hailem scailem

Zigglum, Zaglum

Buck!

And when he got to buck, the horse would buck the kid way up in the air and down again. The kid would scream with laughter and so would Dad. Sometimes he would be absolutely breathless from the laughter. But he’d do it again and again until everyone was exhausted. He considered laughter a gift from God to be shared over and over again.

So many people have commented on our posts on Facebook about what Dad meant to them. But the most consistent one: “He was the greatest example of a Godly man I ever knew.”

Yep, that was Dad.

 

 

 

Eternal Life AND a Wedding Gift!

In case you're keeping score, a lot has transpired in the past three weeks. We moved. Yes, there's a lot more to be said about that, but I'm still processing everything and trying to find all my pictures, so I'll write another blog this week (I hope!) about that whole deal.

But I got an email last night that made me laugh so much, I just couldn't wait to share it.

Part of the sadness of moving means that you miss out on big events in your former hometown. The daughter of some dear friends from our small group in Wichita got married last weekend. What with the move and many other factors (see upcoming blog, I promise!), we just couldn't get back there to attend the nuptials.

Last week, I went to the bride's registry and sent a gift. I love sending brides their gifts via their registries: it means they get what they want delivered to their door and I don't have to do much except add my sentiments on the enclosed card and press send. It's a win-win for everyone.

Well. This time, it was a win-win-win! Not only did Bethany the Bride get her lovely gift that she wanted, she also got a special message from Someone. The gift came with this card enclosed:

Aren't you impressed with my ability to "white out" the bride's former last name and her parents' address? I'll be getting me a job as a graphic designer next week (just after I find my Windows 95 disks.)

 

Yes, underneath the "This item must be returned..." warning, you'll see that the Creator of the Universe also uses Target's Bridal Registry when sending a lovely gift. And isn't it interesting to note that in this simple statement, He affirms the existence of the Trinity? Apparently, "We" were busy and couldn't make it to the wedding either.

When the Father of the Bride sent me this last night, I laughed and laughed. It was one of the those things that made me laugh again (out loud!) after the Hubster was snoring away and I was trying to go to sleep myself. Apparently, one is limited in the number of characters one can add to the enclosure card when using Target's "Send it directly to the Bride's address" option. It was supposed to end with "God bless you on your special day" or something like that.

I assure you that I haven't developed a God complex in the course of this move. I've developed many things, but that's not one of them.

The Father of the Bride tells me that Bethany's faith was not shaken by the message and she and her Beloved are quite sure that He was present at their marriage and in their marriage, despite Target's best effort to tell them otherwise.

Since Target wouldn't let me say it, I'll end this by saying: God's blessings to you, Bethany and Aaron! Thanks for sharing the best laugh I've had in a long time!

Things We Love About Wichita: The Quirks

Our time in the ICT is drawing short (in case you are wondering what the “ICT” is: it’s the airport code for Wichita. A while back, some hipsters adopted it as their nickname for the city and it stuck like glue.). I was driving around town yesterday, getting fast food for everyone’s lunch and thinking about how this big little town has grown on us over the past eleven years.

Yes, it’s flat and yes, it’s windy (more on that later), but there are some quirky little things about this city that have endeared it to us forever. Here’s my “short” list:

1.    Funeral Processions: In Wichita, and maybe in all of Kansas, funeral processions are escorted by vehicles that look, sound, and act like a police car. They proceed the hearse and stop traffic in all directions, block intersections, and generally bring things to a complete standstill in their wake. I’d never seen anything like this before, so the first time I was stopped by one, I went home and told my husband that I’d witnessed a VIP’s funeral. Turns out, it can be anyone’s funeral, from the Mayor to the Janitor: when his funeral procession goes down the street, everyone in both directions pulls over to the right and stops. We all wait till every car passes, then we proceed on our way. Yesterday, while we were waiting to let them pass, the man in front of me stopped his truck and removed his hat. Where else in the world do people show such respect? Especially for someone they have never met? Amazing.

Just as I was publishing this blog, I came upon this post on the Wichita Police Department’s Facebook page. Yep, it’s real.

Wichita Police Department West Bureau·

Ms Armstrong called today to try to find out and thank the officer that got out of his car and stood with hand over heart while her Grandmother’s funeral procession went by. She sent these pictures of Officer Perkins showing respect to her family. She said her entire family was extremely touched by such an act, especially in the triple digit heat. Thank you Officer Perkins!

2.    Bierocks: I had never heard of this meat-filled pastry until I moved here. If you need to know more, this will tell you. Some places, Nebraska especially, call them “pierogis.” Whatever you call them, they are great! Filling and yummy, they are the ultimate in comfort food. But, alas, I’ve wasted my time in Kansas: I never learned to make them. I mentioned that one day at Bible study and you would have thought by the looks I received that I’d said Ronald Reagan was a great Democrat.

3.    Emergency Vehicles: Similar to “Funeral Processions” above, people here actually pull to the right and stop when an emergency approaches. Yes, just like they taught you in Driver’s Ed, but no one ever did. The first time we were driving down the road and saw everyone pulled over as an ambulance approached, we assumed we were coming up to the accident scene. No, it was just Kansans looking out for the other guy and making sure the first responders could do their jobs. Once, I was driving with a friend and we were chatting along as we made our way on a busy street. I pulled over for an ambulance and my friend suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. I glanced over and realized she had her head bowed and was praying for the people speeding by. That’s a typical Kansan for you.

4.    Crayons:  My husband and I are from Missouri and we have the dialectics (is that a word?) of our regions: His from St. Louis and mine from the Ozarks. They are very different but yet we all pretty much sound the same here in the Midwest – the flat, diphthong-rich pronunciation that gets you a job reading the nightly news. But we’ve discovered one word that cracks us up every time we hear it: Crayons. You know, those things that come in a box that you use to color pretty pictures. When our kids were in Kindergarten, we took them to a reading class at WSU. During one exercise, the instructor told us to get out our “crowns” and help our kids work on a picture. Brian and I looked everywhere, through our packet of papers, in our supply kit, everywhere for a paper crown, wondering all the while why we needed to wear crowns to color. Finally, we both looked around and realized all the other parents were using crayons. We managed to get it together and color our pictures, but from that day forward, we can’t make eye contact when a Wichitan says “Crayons” because it sounds like “Crowns” to us. And if anyone mentions visiting the Crayola Café while in Crown Center, we get downright giddy.

5.    Screen Doors in the Garage: In every house we looked at before we bought ours and in every one we’ve been in, there are two doors leading from the house to the garage. One is the usual wooden “security” door and the other is a glass or screen door, much like you’d see from the front porch. We’ve never seen such a use of doors before. We think it’s so you can stand in your kitchen and see your six kids (see # 7) playing ball in the street and still keep the flies out. Makes sense to me. I’m going to miss this in Missouri.

6.    Medians: As you approach businesses near intersections, there are often medians in the middle that might block your way if you wish to turn left into the business’ parking lot. But not in Wichita. The medians are built flat and you drive over them. Yes, over them. If you’re not supposed to drive over them, they are the normal raised curb version that everyone else has. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been chauffeuring out-of-town guests, made a left turn, and had them gasp, “Oh! You just drive over it!” Yep, you do.

7.    Large Families: This one is fun. We know many, many families with four kids. Five is not unusual and six is kind of normal. No one gasps and says, “Six! Are you crazy?” Everyone just thinks it’s normal. In fact, people have asked us why we stopped at two. Church and school parking lots are SUV/Minivan heavy. Moms that look about 30 can be seen in the grocery store with four or five mini-mes happily following the cart, big ones taking care of little ones. I guess it goes back to the rich farming tradition of birthing enough youngin’s to make sure you have a crew, but most of these people don’t live on farms anymore. I think it’s just that Kansans love their families and the more the merrier. They have a great time, for sure.

8.    Wind: I never thought I’d admit this, but I’m going to miss the wind. In case you don’t live here and wonder, yes, it almost never stops blowing. When it does, everyone remarks about “what a still, uncomfortable day it is.” The weather reports are sometimes hilarious: “It’ll be just a breezy day tomorrow – winds will only be 20-30 miles per hour.” In Missouri, 20-30 miles per hour calls for wind warnings – you better tie down the kids, Maude. We’ve learned that if the weather man says, “It’s going to be windy tomorrow,” you better take heed and SERIOUSLY, put rocks in the kids’ pockets. In January, I swear the wind starts blowing in Denver on the eastern slopes and doesn’t let up till it gets to the Flint Hills. It can be miserable. But on a hot July day, a little breeze (20-30 miles an hour) can make all the difference.

We’re going to miss all these strange little things that make Wichita the great place that it is. I could go on and on (I’m looking at you, College Sports, Sprinklers, and Polite Grocery Stores), but who has time to read? They’re all making bierocks or checking to make sure number one has her eye on number eight while they play in the street. Quirky but fun. Missouri may seem a little boring after this…

We Said Yes

Fourteen years ago today, we got a phone call that changed our lives forever and for the good. After starting the adoption process five weeks before, our social worker called to tell us about twin boys who were available in Oklahoma City. “Would we be interested….” We said yes.

After calling our families and a few friends who graciously showed up to help us get our house in order so we could leave town, we looked like this:

If we look like we've been crying, it's because we had - for about three straight hours!

Thus began the two hottest weeks of my life. The heat index in Oklahoma City never got below 100 degrees (I swear. Even at night.) and most days it was above 110.

We picked up our boys on Sunday evening, July 8, 2001. We had to stay in Oklahoma for about 10 days until all the paperwork was signed and legal. During that time, we had a crash course in Parenting 101:

Never had a baby?

Okay. Here’s two.

And they’re 6 months old.

And one is sick.

And you are idiots.

Now… Go!

But, we survived. And more importantly, so did they.

Our 14 year olds are gorgeous and healthy and beautiful and all that other stuff they don’t want their mom to say. (But they do. And they are.)

Happy Adoption Day, Max and Isaac! We love you!

 

 

Things We Love About Wichita: The Locals

We are down to the last couple of weeks here in Wichita. As we close this chapter of our lives, I’m reflecting back on some of the things we love about Kansas. Today, it’s the people.

The Locals

When we moved here 11 years ago, my life went upside down. We were leaving a very comfortable existence where we had family and friends less than a mile away. We had a church where my kids were rock stars and a Costco where they were treated like celebrities. We went from a place where it felt like everyone “knew” us to a place where no one was aware that we existed (at least that’s how it felt to me!).

Our first encounter with Wichita came on a rainy weekend in January when the Hubster and I arrived for our house-hunting trip. We had 3 to 4 days to find a house. No pressure, right? Our kids were in the very capable hands of my friend Barbara, so we were just two care-free kids off on a fun weekend. Or maybe not.

Let’s just admit that most Chambers of Commerce don’t market their cities in January. At least not those in the Midwest, anyway. Florida and Colorado may have their charms in January, but winter in Kansas and the rest of flyover country is just that: to be flown over. Our first experience in Wichita fit that bill. It was about 40 degrees the whole time and it rained constantly. If the temps had dropped at all, it would have been a blizzard, for sure. At times, the fog was so thick, we got lost twice after dark trying to find our hotel.

We weren’t off to an auspicious start, to say the least. But here’s where the locals come into play. Our realtor, Phyllis, was a breath of fresh air. She, too, was a “trailing spouse,” having relocated from North Carolina to Kansas. She knew what I was experiencing and was quick to encourage me and give me grace when I needed it. We liked her so much, when it came time to sell our house this time, we didn’t hesitate to give her a call.

I was terrified of the reception our family might receive. We are a biracial family, in case you’ve forgotten, and, as we’ve been reminded recently, not everyone likes us. Yes, us. Because if you hate my children, you hate me. Can we get that straight? Okay, enough with the emotional outbursts.

But seriously, I had no idea if we’d be accepted. Would my kids be welcome in just any church nursery? Would the schools be open to black kids with a white mom? Would our neighbors hesitate to open their doors to kids like mine? I was a mess of insecurities.

As we looked at houses, I’m sure Phyllis grew a little weary listening to my fears and concerns, but she continually encouraged me. Late in the afternoon of our first day of house shopping, we were met at the door by a homeowner. He told us that he had a sick baby and just couldn’t leave. He asked us to be a quiet as possible as he’d just gotten the baby to sleep. Been there, done that, so we were happy to oblige.

As we looked through the house, we saw tons of family pictures. Their family looked just like ours: Mom and Dad were white, the kids were black. I stopped looking at the house and started looking at the family.

When we were about to leave, I asked Phyllis if I could go back in and talk to the owner. I’m sure he was a little alarmed when I walked back in his garage and said something like, “Sir, I need to ask you about your family. My kids are black, too, and we’re moving here and I need to know: Is it okay? Have you experienced any problems with acceptance or bigotry or racism or any of that stuff? Are the schools okay with biracial families? Do churches think it’s okay?”

I must have sounded like a crazy woman as I blurted out all my questions in one breath. He looked up from his packing and said, “It’s fine. It’s good. We’ve never had a problem. My kids have black friends and white friends and everyone treats each other just fine. You’ve come to a good place.” And then he smiled an understanding smile as if to say, “Chill out, lady. You’ve got to relax.”

I got back in the car and lost it. All the pent up tears and fear come bursting forth in a torrent. Phyllis just looked at me and said, “It’s going to be good. Sometimes, you just have to hear it from one parent to another, right?”

I nodded, we bought a house in a great neighborhood, and the rest was easy. Well, maybe not easy, but certainly blessed by God. Everywhere we turned in Wichita, we found people who loved our family and were ready to accept us for what we were and are: People.

We were invited to a great church by a couple in their 80s (she was a friend’s mom) and found a home that stuck. Pathway Church fit the bill for us and we will miss all our friends there. Our kids have thrived in the Goddard School District. When we take our boys and their friends out for dinner, we look like the United Nations: All colors are represented. It’s a beautiful thing.

We’ll miss the friendly, down-to-earth people of Wichita. The population here is over 300,000 and the county is over half a million. But it’s like most of them never realized their city had grown so large. They behave with small town values and friendliness and think of their neighbor as just that: someone to love.

Thanks, Wichita.  The guy was right. We came to a good place.

Things We Love About Wichita: The Zoo

We moved to Wichita from the Kansas City area 11 years ago. This summer, we’ll be saying goodbye to the plains and returning to the Missouri hills and rivers. When we arrived in South-central Kansas, we knew no one and had never really spent any time here.

So as our time draws to a close, I’m planning to write a few blogs about some of the things/people/places/whatevers that we love about Wichita and the surrounding area. First up: The
Sedgwick County Zoo.

One of the “best kept secrets” in Kansas that’s not that secret anymore is the Sedgwick County Zoo. When we announced we were moving to Wichita, anyone who had ever spent time here said, “The Zoo is great! You’ll love it….” Frankly, my St. Louis native husband, who rightly judges all zoo experiences against his hometown’s, was a bit dubious. He didn’t hold high hopes for a “small/large city” like Wichita.

But we were wrong. Thankfully, happily very wrong. We came to town in February of 2004 to close on our house with our three year old twins and knew we’d need something to do all day besides sitting around a hotel room. It was one of those gloriously warm February days we occasionally get here in the Midwest. We mentioned at our closing that we were thinking about heading to the zoo and, in typical Wichita fashion (see future post), multiple people whipped out free or reduced zoo passes and handed them over. “Oh! Yes, you have to go! It’s the best…” they all said.

Okay. Okay, people. You’re proud of your zoo. We get it. We loaded up the kids, tried to keep our derisive thoughts to ourselves, and headed down the street. Yes, I said, “down the street.” The zoo was just a few miles from our new house and all the local businesses we’d be frequenting.

We were immediately impressed.

Our first visit to the Sedgwick County Zoo, February 2004
(my kids are taller than me now, but not taller than the giraffes - yet!)

As per Wichita, everyone we encountered was uber-friendly. The animals were all up-close and personal and there were so many things for three year olds to touch, see, smell, hear, eat… It was a toddler-palooza. It was safe and clean and we knew it was for us. So, on our way out, we bought a family pass that included an option to bring along two guests. We knew it would be our home away from home in our new hometown.

And that it has been. We wore those passes flat out.

The Farm was a fun place to pick up some goat slobber on your way to lunch.

On hot days, we considered swimming with the hippos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Our friends, Dave and Jamie, visited us before they got married.
 I'm sure spending time at the Zoo with preschoolers was an inspiration.

Anyone who came to visit us had to schedule time to go to the zoo with us and when they returned, they usually asked to go again.

 

 

 

 

 





Our cousins, Addisyn and Kerenza, visited us from Oklahoma. (Twins are a thing in our family.)

 

We had favorite exhibits and favorite animals (we’re looking at you, Gorillas), but we always learned something and saw something new each time.

How many hours have we spent with these guys? Even though the boys have grown, the big fellas are still big!

 

One of our favorite summertime activities was to go through the Spangles drive through, pick up breakfast, and hit the zoo as soon as it opened at 8am. We’d find a table, enjoy an al fresco dining experience, and then go to as many exhibits as possible before the heat of the day drove us home to air conditioning.
It was a fun way to start the day.

 

We didn’t renew our passes this year. We knew we were leaving and 14 year olds just don’t get as big a kick out of lions, tigers, and bears that three year olds do.

One of our last trips with a few friends from school. The tweens and teenagers fell asleep on the tram ride.
They woke up as soon as I told them it was time for lunch.

I cleaned out my wallet recently and shredded the expired pass. It was like saying goodbye to an old friend who had welcomed you into her home just when you needed it most. Because, honestly, that’s what the Sedgwick County Zoo was for us: it was like God said, “See. You’re going to survive and thrive. I made this place just for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

The Best Weekend Ever

We just lived through a whirlwind weekend that may rank up there with the top five best ever. I’m not kidding! And I’ve had some humdingers, let me tell you.

We left Wichita at noon on Friday after picking up our kids at school. Yes, we allowed them to skip the last three hours of the school day. This made their weekend complete. The rest, for them anyway, was merely icing.

Friday night, we went to the 35^th Heart of America Christmas Pageant at First Baptist Church of Raytown. When we lived in the KC area, I was in about 20 of them. The Hubster was probably in 15 and our boys were in two.

When we moved away 10+ years ago, it was one of the most difficult things to leave behind. When September rolled around that first year (yes, rehearsals start in September), I felt lost. I kept thinking I was forgetting something. Then I remembered: I didn’t have to go to Pageant rehearsal. I shed a lot of tears and wasn’t very kind to my fellow man. I’d like to say I’ve gotten better with time, but my fellow men would probably disagree.

We went to the Friday evening performance and I guess I stopped crying before the lights came on, but that’s not exactly true. So many emotions! Seeing all our old friends and their kids as they act out the story of Jesus’ birthday, life on earth, death and resurrection is an emotional roller coaster. We loved every minute of it. We visited with as many as we could and then headed back to our friends to rest up for the next day’s adventure.

Saturday, we left Blue Springs around noon to drive to a wedding in the little town of Halfway, Missouri. The GPS said we had plenty of time, so we stopped and grabbed a quick lunch. After we got on our way again, the GPS reset our arrival time for 5 minutes before the wedding was to start! The Type A in me started sweating and didn’t really recover until about Monday.

We made great time and were flying (at the speed limit) through Bolivar when we approached the town square. In unison, the Hubster and I yelled, “Oh no!” The annual Christmas parade was passing through the square and barricades were everywhere! Thankfully, I went to college in Bolivar and my own GPS of buried navigational memories kicked in. “Turn left! Go through this block! Turn right!” I barked and Hubster flew through town, skirting the square and making up time. We arrived at the beautiful wedding venue with three minutes to spare.

I’ve known Kim since we were seniors in high school. We met at Missouri All-State Choir and then got reacquainted in college and were roommates there and for a year after college. We’ve always kept in contact, sometimes closer than others, but have always been a part of each other’s lives.

After a devastating divorce and a lot of growing pains, Kim started dating a wonderful man named Joe. We met him about a year ago and knew he loved her. You know how you meet a couple and you just know they belong together? We couldn’t wait until they caught up with what the rest of us already knew and made it official.

The wedding was outside. Yes, it was December 13^th, but what a perfect day! It was a little cloudy all day, but the temperature was in the 50s – a rare and beautiful treat in Missouri in December. Just as Kim and her dad entered the outdoor arbor, the sun broke through the clouds and angels sang (okay, we only heard angels in our heads, but they were there!). It was a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception. I wish I’d taken more pictures, but these will help you get the basic idea.

This is the "Twinkle Room" where the wedding took place. We all sat on benches and then moved our bench to a heated tent for the reception. Glorious!

This was the groom's hand on his newly pronounced wife's, um, side. Actually, when I first saw it, it was a little further south but he moved it before I could take a picture. I don't know why, but it made me giggle!

 

About 5pm, we jumped back in the van and drove home. I started doing a little math (that’s about all I’m capable of) and with the help of the odometer, figured we drove just a little over 650 miles in 34 hours.

It was worth every mile and every minute. The only thing that would have made it better? I wish we would have had time to watch the parade!

Her Name was Mud

She’s back in the news; that infamous White House intern whose affair with a President 20 years ago was all anyone could talk about.

(First, let’s reflect on the fact that it’s been 20 years. This doesn’t seem possible.  I was listening to a story on NPR today about “Millennials:” babies born in the 80’s and 90’s. They interviewed a girl, born in 1992, who is graduating from college. College? Wasn’t 1992 just yesterday?)

Anyway, back to the intern. Twenty years ago, I volunteered at our church. My volunteer day often coincided with another group of volunteers. They were ladies of a “certain age” who came in to help out Frank, our master of all things printed. One of his jobs was to produce the Sunday bulletin and this wonderful group of gals, most in the 70’s and 80’s came in to help stuff all the inserts into the bulletins for him.

Frank and I loved to eavesdrop on their conversations. As they sat at their table, Frank and I would find any excuse to hover near and listen in. They always had a lot to talk about. It usually involved body parts and their functions and how so-and-so’s stuff wasn’t up to snuff. They always discussed last week’s sermon and other important church business. Some days, they took up current events.

As Intern-gate was the only thing you heard about when you turned on the TV, these ladies waded into the murky waters of politics and morals. They were, as most Americans, sick of hearing about it. They were mad as wet hens at the President and wanted to show him the door. Then one of them said, “I’d be happy to never hear the name ‘Veronica Stravinsky’ again.”

While the other ladies, not missing a beat, heartily agreed, Frank and I made eye contact across the room. That was all she wrote. We both ducked out the nearest door – he made for one hallway while I dashed down another. I snorted and gulped and thought I was going to make it without completely losing it when I heard, off in the distance, Frank’s cackle. I went around the corner to find him doubled over, convulsing with laughter. Of course I joined him.

When we finally got it together, he gasped, “Did she say, ‘Veronica Stravinsky’?” I only managed a nod before we lost it again.

Most, if not all, of those ladies have been promoted to stuffing Heaven’s bulletins. I bet they’re having a great time, talking about all the “goings-on” up there.

But I wish I had one more chance to listen in on their conversations here on earth. Frank and I would be hanging out, listening in, and trying to avoid eye contact.

I won’t be buying your book, Veronica, but I thank you for one of the best laughs ever.

Le Pew et La Cathedrale

Every morning at 6:44, I go out of our house with our 6^th graders to await the arrival of their limo ride to school (hey, the State of Kansas and USD 265 pays for it; might as well be a limo). And, yes, we walk out at 6:44; but that’s another blog post about the Herndon neurosis called, “Five Minutes Early is Fifteen Minutes Late.”

At some point during this school year, the boys convinced me that we should let our Lab mix, Maggie, come outside with us for the 5-10 minute wait. Oh, why not? It was still dark at 6:44 so I figured she could get into very little mischief. And yes, I let her come out of the house into our garage without a leash. This breaks a rule and causes me to sweat a little, but that’s another blog post about the Herndon neurosis entitled, “Rules are Made to be Followed to the Nth Degree.”

Almost every morning, Maggie bounds down the garage steps and heads for the driveway to sniff the concrete and the grass along the edge. She usually gives everything a good once over and then comes back to the garage to hang out with us till the bus comes. After it drives away, she sprints to the newspaper. She either sits down by it or runs in circles around it. No, she won’t pick it up and bring it to me. I have to walk down the drive in my pajamas and pick it up. The fact that I’m wearing my pj’s and I’m outside breaks another rule. Oh, the blog posts that will follow!

Just this week, I’d commented to the Hubster that the sun was coming up earlier these days. It was not nearly as dark as it had been even last week at 6:44 am. I was a bit concerned about letting Maggie go out with us in the sunlight for fear that she might see a cat up the street and take out after it as dogs are wont to do.

But I didn’t need to worry about cats. No, this morning, as we waited for the yellow limo, we saw something creeping through our neighbor’s yard. I thought, “Oh, no, it’s a cat!” As I was trying to get the words out of my mouth, something like, “Boys! Grab the dog before she sees that cat!,” all four of us (three humans, one canine) realized it wasn’t a cat. It was (dramatic pause). A SKUNK.

A skunk, people. In West Suburbia, Kansas. Walking through someone’s front yard at Oh Dark 30. 

As we all dove for the dog, she saw it and did what dogs do: lost her mind. She bee-lined for it and caught up with it in the middle of the street. All three humans were screaming their heads off. “Maggie! Maggie stop! No, don’t get any closer! Don’t move! Come back!” Of course, we all know that to dogs, this sounds like, “Maggie! Blah, blah, blah! We’re excited about something! Maggie! Ignore us please and chase that cat-thing!”

About this time, as the skunk was raising his/her tail in greetings and salutations, Max decided he should step in and rescue his beloved canine. I have to say I don’t know when I’ve moved faster, especially for 6:44 am. I lunged for him and caught his hoodie and screamed “Stop! Don’t get close!” Thankfully, to a boy, this sounds like “Stop! I will kill you if you move!” when said by a pajama-clad mother.

We watched in horror as Pepe Le Pew did what skunks do. Maggie took the attack in the face and immediately turned tail and ran for us. The three of us hadn’t stopped screaming since we first saw “the cat.” My screams changed from, “Maggie! No!” to “Boys! Get away from her!” I had this vision of her running up to them and rubbing her sprayed self all over their clothes.

Maggie came back to our yard and was doing the weird dog thing of running with your rear up in the air and your face sliding along in the grass. She was furiously trying to wipe the vile skunkness out of her eyes.

I grabbed for her collar, still screaming at the kids, “Stay away! Don’t let her touch you!” when I became aware of Isaac saying, “Mom! The bus!” I looked up to see the bus slowing to a stop and the four or five kids on board craning their necks to see the crazy woman in a purple coat, red reindeer pajama pants, and a pink knit hat desperately trying to hold on to a crazy black dog without touching it.

I’m imagining the following interrogation on that bus: “Dude, who was that crazy woman at your house?” “Dude, what was she doing to that dog?” “Dude, what did she have on?” “Dude, was she screaming at someone?”

To which my 13 year olds would have answered, “Dude, there was a skunk!” and “Dude, I’ve never seen that woman in my life.”*

I managed to get Maggie inside and took her directly to the shower. Unfortunately for him, the shower was currently occupied by The Hubster. I’m sure it kind of ruined the enjoyment of a nice hot shower to have your wife fling the door open and shove a very reluctant 40 pound dog in. He could hear me screaming, but was having a little trouble understanding me over the hysteria. Finally, he heard, “Skunk!” and “Maggie!” and put the rest of the story together. He’s smart like that.

Thanks be to God, the spraying wasn’t too thorough. Monsieur Le Pew wasn’t packing a full load or perhaps all the screaming led to a failure to perform. Whatever the reason, the shower seemed to take care of Maggie’s new perfume.

Our house, on the other hand, has a distinct parfume de Pew. To anyone out there who has ever given me a scented candle as a gift, we owe you our eternal thanks. It looks like a cathedral in here. A sandalwood-vanilla-citronella-wet-dog cathedral.

At 6:44 am tomorrow, the dog will stay inside.

 
*Update: Max called to ask if I could pick him up after school. I asked him if he was having any skunk smell issues. He said, "Yeah, my shoes and Spencer's jacket." Spencer is his seatmate on the bus. Max said, "The whole bus smells now." Somehow, I think a bus full of 11-to-13 year olds may have already had an odor issue, but I'm sure we didn't help it this morning.
 

 

 

 

Taking the Bus to Breakfast

I saw this last week.

It’s a document produced by the Montgomery Improvement Association. It gives very specific instructions as to how persons of color were to ride city buses. Segregation had been declared unconstitutional and it was time for all riders to choose their seats – front, middle, or back.

I can’t read it without tearing up. If Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the fine people of Montgomery hadn’t answered their calling and taken their seats on the city buses, my family wouldn’t exist. It’s that simple. Interracial adoption was illegal in most states; until the 1990s, there were no federal laws ensuring nondiscrimination in adoption.

My friend Carey told me a story that always comes to mind on this important day when we celebrate the birthday of Dr. King. Carey grew up in the segregated schools of North Carolina. He and his wife were among the first Black children who attended public schools after states were forced to comply with desegregation laws.

Carey told me about going to football camp when he was in junior high. His dad took him to meet the bus and Carey realized there were very few Black kids riding the bus. Carey was scared. How would the other kids treat him? Where should he sit on the bus? His dad said to him, “Get on the bus for me. Get on the bus for you.”

Thank you, Carey, for getting on the bus. You got on the bus for me, Brian, Max, and Isaac.

Thank you Dr. King, for leading your followers with such dignity and grace.  Because of you, this is how we celebrate MLK Day in our house.

We have breakfast with a few of our friends.  Who cares what color you are! You’re all welcome at our table and no one thinks a thing about it.

“Be loving enough to absorb evil and understanding enough to turn an enemy into a friend.”

They're all precious in His sight.

The Haberdashery Conspiracy

First of all, thanks to all of you for your kind words about “Dear Birth Mom.” It was an emotional day and I thank you for sharing it with me. I apologize for the ruined makeup and otherwise embarrassing responses you may have experienced. One man even stopped me at church and said, “I really liked your blog.” Then he leaned in closer and said, “I may have even shed a tear or two or maybe my eyes were just leaking.” Whatever your response, your kind words encouraged me.

Here in Kansas, we’re bracing ourselves for two types of storms. First, the birthday party festivities will be ramping up around 6:30 tonight. Isaac woke up at 3am. I think he might be a little excited.

Second, the weather forecast for this weekend has us all in a tizzy. You couldn’t pay me enough to be a meteorologist in Kansas (or anywhere in the Midwest for that matter) right now. Depending on your TV/Radio/Interwebs weather forecaster of choice, we’re getting anywhere from 1 to 6 inches of snow in the next 48 hours. Before it snows, we may get ice (again, depending on who you choose to listen to, or is it “to whom you choose to listen”?). One of the weather dudes is going to get something wrong and then everyone will blame him/her. Despite our love/hate relationship with these prognosticators, we’ll all run out and buy up all the break and milk from the grocery stores. I’m headed to Wal-Mart soon. I’ll pick some up for you.

Finally, after my last blog, I feel the need to lighten things up a bit and help you get through this last push through the holidays. To do so, a couple of stories:

Yesterday, I was at Sam’s, busily checking out (I love the self-checkout thingies there – that’s a whole ‘nother blog). A nice gentleman walked up to me and said something like, “I like that present you gave my dog.” The look on my face had to have been priceless. In my mind I’m thinking, “Is this code for something? Am I suddenly in a spy movie and this guy is trying to pass off some kind of government secret that will eventually lead me to some form of water torture? Or, is this the worse pick-up line ever?”

Then I took another look at him and realized he was my friend’s husband. I’ve met him a couple of times, but he was out of context. We all know how that feels. Remember what it felt like to see your third grade teacher at the grocery store? Yeah, it was that feeling.

After I recovered, I realized he was thanking me for this:

 

No pick-up line, no espionage. Just a little Chihuahua humor. (Am I the only one who can spell Chihuahua because of Les Nessman? Anyone?) This is my friend Ann’s little Pinot who I thought would enjoy some Christmas apparel. Turns out, she’s a little stunned by it.

After meeting Ann’s husband at Sam’s, I stopped by her office to give her a lamp. We tried to figure out how to get the whole thing on the plane with her to California. This was one suggestion:

I think it works. Especially if she plans to stay for New Year’s Eve.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

 

 

Dear Birth Mom

Dear Birth Mom:

Today is their 13^th birthday.

But you know that. Every year as we celebrate our babies’ birthday, I have the best time. We usually start the morning off with breakfast and gifts and then end the day with dinner at the restaurant of their choice. Sometime during their birth “week”, we have a party. This year is no exception: Seven tween-age boys plus two 13 year olds are descending into my basement to wreak havoc and eat a lot of junk.

But as each year passes, I never fail to get a little (or a lot) melancholy on this day. I can’t help but think of you. And I wonder, are you thinking of us too? Do you wonder what they look like? Do you think about their voices and how they’ve changed and are changing this very moment? Do you wonder where we live and if they have siblings? Do you…?

I often wish you would have chosen to stay in our lives. At the time of their adoption, we gave you the choice, but you couldn’t. You needed a clean break. You’d had them for 34 weeks in utero and six months in an apartment. You recognized their need for stability and for two parents who could be there 24/7. You didn’t have that luxury – you were too busy just making sure all those living with you were surviving. There was little margin for thriving or any such frill.

We’ve done our best (so far) to make sure they know they are loved by us and by you. Does it help to know they ask about you? They wonder if someday you’ll want to meet them. I know you will, when the time is right. But for now, let me tell you about them.

Isaac is tall. And pretty. He’s already about 5’7” and growing at an amazing, sometimes alarming rate. He would die to be called pretty, but he is. He has great big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. He loves our dogs. Every day when he comes home from school, the girls greet the boys at the door. Isaac always stops, gets down on the floor and gets his daily dose of dog germs. He’s the quiet one – until you get to know him. Then you have to ask him to kindly shut it. He has favorite topics: Minecraft and various other games, our dogs, and food. Yes, the kid loves to eat. He gets up from every meal and wants to know when and where the next one will take place. He loves buffet restaurants. He told me when he was about seven that he wanted to go to that place “where you can randomly choose your food.” I read something the other day that summed him up completely:

“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”

“What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh.  “What do you say, Piglet?”

“I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.

 A. A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh 

Max isn’t as tall as Isaac. He’s not too happy about this, but we keep telling him he’ll get taller. He already taller than me (okay, so that’s not all that tall!) so I think he’ll hit that growth spurt soon. Unlike his brother, he talks constantly and to whomever will listen. And sometimes, he keeps talking to people who stopped listening long ago. He’s quite the ladies’ man. We’ve always joked that he had a girlfriend in every port: preschool, church, neighborhood, wherever he went. I think we’re about to cross over into the “that’s not funny anymore” region. Frankly, 13 year old girls scare me to death! At 13, he’s “dating” a darling girl. However, I’m not sure what that means since they only see each other at school and occasionally at church. He knows we’re really strict about phone calls, emails, texts, and all that. He’s a good kid with a huge heart. He has a friend whose family is in a constant state of crisis because of their father’s illness and a sister’s teenage depression. Max always wants to bring this kid everywhere we go: church, restaurants, family outings, even our vacations. When we made plans for a family trip this past summer, he told me, “Mom, I’ll sleep on the floor so we can take (his friend) along. He never gets to go anywhere and he’s never been on a vacation like we have.” That was the ultimate horror for Max. He hates the fact that someone else might not have fun like he does – every moment of the day. His heart is huge and it comes out in the beautiful smile that graces his face 90% of his day.

Birth Mom, you gave me a great gift. I get to mother these boys and it is a constant joy. No, it’s not always easy, but compared to what you did to give me this gift, it’s a walk in the park. You gave them to me; I’m doing my best to see that they do you proud. They love you, even though at this age they can’t express it. They love me, too; I know because they look at me with grateful glances and smiles that will melt your heart. And occasionally, when their tough boy shields are down, they say, “Love you, too, Mom.”

Thank you, Birth Mom. I hope this December 18^th is filled with sweet memories and happiness and that, somehow, God will visit you today with special peace that passes any mortal understanding. We love you.

From one mom to another, 

Brenda