Pinewood Derby

It was something that I'll be honest about... not that I tend to sugar coat anything else I put up on the blog, anyway.  I have always kind of thought of the Pinewood Derby concept as a dork contest.  Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, I've pretty much thought of boy scouts, in general, as a big dork fest.    My idea of boy scouts is probably not unlike many people's idea of homeschoolers.   There are those totally weird-o ones out there and we all get a tarnished rap because of them.  So, I'm admitting right here, right now that my prejudice against these handkerchief tying, short-short-wearing guys is unfair and wholly unattractive of me.

So, today, we went to a Cub Scout Pack 400 Pinewood Derby.  And it was a blast.  It was so fun to watch the boys hope for their car's success and be proud of the victories.  It was equally fun to see that no one had poor sportsmanship about losing.  It was just a fun time for all.

A couple of weeks ago, I admitted to not liking other people's kids, so it continues to amuse me how much I like these kids that we have been able to hang out with and get to know over the last 6 months. 

Today was also cool, though, because we got to meet some parents, which for our little group is a more uncommon occurrence than most boy scout groups.  This isn't your typical pack.  It's an inner city group, comprised mostly of children living in government housing.   Most of the boys don't have uniforms, let alone badges.  They don't go camping or sit still long enough to learn to tie knots.  They run around threatening each other with make-shift weapons of thrown chairs and fists.  But they are amazing. 

They are children who love attention and remember you when you come back.  They are kids who hear the message of peace you're giving them even when their ingrained habits take over when you hope they'll back down from a fight.  They are kids who make me smile as much as I make them smile.

Pretty impressive feat for other people's kids.

A Brief Personal History of Valentine's Day

If you know much about me, you've probably come to realize that I carry very little sentiment around in my life, and while I love a good romantic experience, I really don't put much stock into one-time love fests.  So, Valentine's Day is not high on my list of celebrations to go all out for.  Now, I'm not a Valentine's Scrooge or anything.  I bought Billy a gift for $3.50.  And he outdid me by spending $3.99 on his gift (which technically was for the whole family, so I guess, really, I outdid him... if we're looking at the per capita rate, which why wouldn't we?)

So, Valentine's Day comes and goes around here with little fanfare.  Some super moms and dating divas would find that really sad, but it's actually quite an improvement in my old attitude about the holiday.

When I was a 9-year-old child, I found the holiday so repulsive that I actually asked to get my tonsils removed on Valentine's Day.  I was very well aware that I was making a statement, which was effectively, "Valentine's Day is so stupid, I would rather go under sedation and wake up to extreme physical pain that lasts 2 weeks than have to go celebrate it with my fellow fourth graders."

When I grew up, Valentine's Day became no more of a day to enjoy, but rather I continued to harbor my spite toward it.  I remember quite clearly the single moms' group at my church planning a Valentine's Day mother's get together.  A time to pamper ourselves without kids... sit in the hot tub and just chat like normal women who didn't have the extreme stress that we were all under (does that woman even exist?).

I flatly suggested that we make it an anti-Valentine's party and all wear black.  Everyone laughed thinking that I was joking.  But I wasn't.  This is the problem with having a dry sense of humor.  It is very hard for people to know when you are being serious and when you are being hysterically funny because every facial expression you have is exactly the same and your tone of voice always sounds bored.  So, even when I said, "No, I'm serious," everyone still laughed.

I don't think I will ever be the person that wants a fancy dinner on Valentine's Day. But I have at least begun to educate my children on the real meaning of Valentine's Day, which of course, is to engage in civil disobedience.

Work-Out-Video-Aholic

It's true.  I love workout videos.  So much that if I were home alone and feeling like a work out, I would probably even do this one.   Not that I ever have.  Seriously.  I really haven't.

I love workout videos so much that I think I will never, ever, ever, ever get back together with a gym membership.  If you thought I just quoted Taylor Swift, you're wrong.  This is an imitation of Strong Bad and nothing else.

I had a gym membership a couple of times in my life.  I kind of remembering growing up with one, but it really became mine in college.  Mainly because it came with tuition.  But actually, I used it a lot.  My freshman year, I took martial arts 3 times a week and did strength training 3 other days (that's 6 days a week total, for our non-math-oriented friends).  Second semester I added in swimming a few times a week with my roomie, who happened to also have her first class with me and her second class in the same building as mine.  So what the heck, we ate lunch together on those days, too.  She is a very special friend!

The only other time I spent money on a membership was when Ashlyn was nearly a year old.  I suffered from pretty serious postpartum depression for that year, and my pregnancy weight gain (and subsequent retention) did nothing to help that out.  So, though we really couldn't afford it, I joined a gym that offered childcare.  I went there 3-5 times a week, too, for my personal reprieve.  Some days I met with a personal trainer Blake, whose first name was actually Robert, making his name Robert Blake, who for those of you who don't know is a celebrity murderer.  As in... he is a celebrity.  Not that he murders celebrities.  He apparently just murders estranged wives.

But my trainer was cool and nice.  He wasn't a beefcake of a dude who grunted at me.  He was actually pretty lanky, and when I told him I didn't like an exercise he found another one for me to do instead.  I liked that.  I was paying him for motivation and knowledge, not torture.

I digress pretty severely.

So, the workout videos...  why am I sticking with them?

#1.  Because I love to quote movies, and workout videos are no exception.

If you doubt this, then you have obviously never used Thighs of Steel or had an amazingly funny best friend in high school to quote things such as "Alright, Tracy, thanks!"  and "Mm-hm... sure does!"  I mean, you can see how these things can easily fit into everyday conversation 20 years later.

#2.  Because all in all, I'm lazy and loving it.

To be fair to myself, I'm just a low-energy person.  God made me this way.  I have a strong work ethic and I take care of my responsibilities, but in the end, I just don't have the energy that some people have.   So, the thought of packing a gym bag, shoving kids out the door, getting in my car, running back into the house to grab what I forgot, getting in my car, driving to the gym, and unloading the kids in the daycare all before I work out????  No thanks.  This doesn't even include what I have to do afterwards!

#3. Because the music is amazing!

Okay... back to Thighs of Steel.  Who doesn't want to work out to a song with complete lyrics of "Attituuuuuude"?

Even more modern videos like The Firm's latest release has funky beats and weird random sounds on the off-beat.  Stuff you won't run into on the radio at the gym. 

But seriously, some of the best music found in one place is on Cindy Crawford's New Dimension workout.  It's a workout for new moms, but I still use it from time to time because it is a good workout and where else will I find Sixpence None the Richer, Poe, and lunges?

Family Resemblance

Today, the girls and I went to the library, as is our weekly custom.  I swear, it confounds me that people actually buy books when you can get them for free.  But that's a side point.

The point today is how interesting and weird I think it is that family resemblances come out in random ways at random times.  You know, like that photo here or there where you realize you look just like your mother.  Not that that's ever happened to me or anything.

Ok, ya caught me.  I can remember one picture in particular from when I was in college that kind of freaked me out with the uncanny resemblance.  I had grown up hearing everyone - everyone - telling my sister that she looked so much like our mother, but that comment was rarely directed at me.  And when it was, the whole family united in a commenter bashing along the lines of, "People like that just say things because they don't know what else to say."  It was ingrained in me that I looked fully and completely like my dad.

So, this picture knocked me off my base a little, ya know?

And what's this have to do with the library?  What?  Don't you always think about family pictures when you're at the library?  Well, I don't either.

But today, one of the librarians told me that my girls looked exactly alike except for hair color.  But this is contrary to everything that I heard when they were younger.  Things like the ever-untactful, "Wow... your kids don't look anything alike!  Are you sure they're related?" 

Hmmm... let's see.  Do I really need to go into a reproduction lesson right here at the gym?

Now, as Ashlyn has gotten older, I've seen some areas where she and Eve look a bit alike.  (Eve has also gotten older, as I've not yet perfected my anti-aging serum... not that I would give it to my children, thus trapping myself forever in parenthood.)  But I don't know that I've ever really thought they look "exactly alike."  I tried to just be polite and think perhaps this man saw something that I didn't see.  Maybe he was seeing just the right angle of noses or just the perfect degree of a smile where their similarities were captured.

But then, I saw it.  As I was looking into my rear-view mirror to pull out of the parking lot, I saw it.  Both girls had their heads turned down, but I could still see their faces enough.  They were reading their own books, but they looked identical.  It was weird, and somehow it was pretty sweet, too. 

Equilibrium

Two years ago this month my life converged upon the crossroads of stress and chaos.  I was thrown suddenly into a daily routine of feeling overwhelmed.

We had come to this point after a few years of discussion and prayer.  But months of active preparation didn't stop the turmoil that happened in our home and in my heart and mind. 

It happened when a certain little boy entered our home with incessant requests for peanut butter and endless punches thrown at my other children.  He also came with lots of huge toys sent from a loving aunt, who he couldn't stay with due to her own health issues.  So, he came to stay with us until we learned more about where he would stay forever.  We were his 5th home in half as many years.  To say that there were trust issues was an understatement.  To suggest that control was hard to for him to hand over was beyond that.  But for all that was going on in this little guy's heart, my own had just as many emotions to sort through.

Maybe it's not surprising that I had such trouble taking in a child with a personality so much like mine.  After all, I'm one of the few moms that I know who is has confessed to not being a kid person.  This usually receives a sizable share of strange looks, to which I always feel obligated to explain, "I like my kids, just not other people's."**


But here I was with someone else's kid living in my house, balancing the idea that he was not mine (that was thoroughly ground into me in my 30-hours of government-led foster training) but that he needed to feel like part of a family... but not so much that it would scar him if he's ripped away from us and put back with another member of his biological family that could theoretically live in Guam and have never met the child's mother let alone him, but for goodness sake's they share a bloodline!

So, we began this insane trip toward adoption.  And long story, medium length have now adopted the little dude, and I do love him now as my own child... because um... he is my own child.

A lot has changed in those 2 years since his entrance.  He hardly eats peanut butter anymore, and he knows now that boys need to protect girls, not hit them.  But things have changed in me, too. 

It kind of hit me this morning that it's been quite a long time since I've dreaded his day's off from preschool as a preview to the eternal wrath of God.  It's been even longer since I cried everyday at the thought of being home alone with the kids while Billy left for work. 

In fact...this morning, as I brushed my hair I kind of.... felt normal.

**(I also feel obligated to tell all the moms from our homeschool co-op that the level of distaste for other people's kids is inversely related to a child's age and his ability to grasp and appreciate the nuance of sarcasm.  Hence, I teach the high school class and merely "hang out" in the 5th and 6th grade, where this skill is just starting to bloom in most.  I also like kids on a case by case basis, so if your child is not yet at Level 4, I might still like him or her.  Or I might not.  I also might have just made this all worse.)

Amistad

Tengo una amiga se llama Rebeca.  Cuando le conocé le pregunté si me ayudaría con español.  Quiero mucho aprenderlo.   Pero no tengo nadie que habla conmigo.  Así que, decidimos que hablariamos junta en español.  Cuando nos encontramos para café, esto es que haciamos - una vez, quizás dos veces.  Pero hablo muy despacio y para mi es muy dificil entender cuando alguien está hablando.  Así que, hablabamos en inglés, otra vez.

Necesito practicar mi español, pero este artículo no sobre eso.   Este es de amistad.

Rebeca y yo somos muy diferentes.  Es de Honduras y soy de los Estados Unidos.  Es joven y soy no tan mucho.  Está solo y estoy casada. Tengo hijos y no tiene ninguno. Se viste en ropas sofisticadas y llevo jeans y camisetas cada día.

Pero anoche nos vimos y pasamos 3 horas juntas porque sabemos que no es necesario estar el mismo en todo.  En realidad, es más interesante aprender otras vidas y aprender más sobre nosotros mismos través otros.  

Hay algo que puede unir todas personas aún si son diferentes.  Y este es Cristo.  Con Cristo, yo sé cada persona es igual.  Y con Cristo, es posible llegar a ser más que una edad o estado marital.  En Cristo, toda persona es valiosa.  Y hay muchas cosas que compartimos. 

Así que, me alegra mi amiga porque me trata con amor y cuando paso tiempo con ella, recuerdo que el Dios me ama.  Espero que se siente el mismo.