Patriarchal Blessings

Jews have the bar mitzvah.
Catholics have the confirmation.
But Protestants? We lack a rite of passage ceremony for the 12-13 year old male.

So, in lieu of a church-wide acknowledgment and blessing, I invited my dad, my husband, and my two grown sons--all of whom are loyal followers of Jesus Christ--to bring a blessing to Joel's birthday party.

Just after eating cake and ice cream,my 80-year-old dad read these words that he had written:

To my grandson... this is my blessing;

May you continue to be true to your commitment to Jesus,  and faithful in keeping God's commandments.

May you always be:
         Eager to learn
         Wise in your decisions
         Pure in your thought life
         Fair in your judgments
         Clean and well kept in your grooming
         And honorable in your dealings with others.

Let others judge you not so much for your accomplishments as for your character.

Don't be envious of evil people,  and don't desire to be with them.
For their minds are occupied with violence, and they speak of making trouble. (Prov. 24:1)

I commend to you the Apostle Paul's words to Timothy:

     Here is a statement you can trust:
           If we have died with Him [Jesus]
                we will also live with Him;
           If we persevere,
                 we will also rule with Him.

          If we disown Him
          He will also disown us .
          If we are faithful,
          He remains faithful
          For He cannot disown Himself.  (II Tim 2:11-13)

Always know that I am proud of you and hold in high esteem.

This is my blessing to you on this 17th day of March, 2105.

Lyle. L. Dauber
Grandfather





--to be continued with other blessings from family members--

Five Minute Friday: Unexpected

Today I'm linking up again with Lisa Jo for Five Minute Friday. The idea is to write, write, write for five minutes, without editing, backtracking, or overthinking.

--------------

Unexpected is a word I should not use if I claim to believe God is who He says he is and will answer prayer. No, I should not be surprised or shocked when He does what He promises. But yet, I can remember umpteen times was taken aback by the answers to prayers.

The most unexpected answer came in the summer of 2001. For ten years I had prayed for a baby, a fourth child to complete our family. In 1996 I had a miscarriage and turned angry-bitter against God for taking what was rightfully His to take. In 1999 I lost again, but this time I had accepted His will for my best good. Then I prayed that God would still fulfill my hopes however He wanted, whether the baby come through my womb or not. He gave me a vision to adopt. That was unexpected. Why? Why did I find it hard to believe that He would give me a love for a child I'd never seen, whether it be from China or my body? In 2001, the very day we were going to send in our adoption application, I got nauseated while trying to figure out what to have for breakfast. That has only ever happened when I've had the flu or been pregnant.

I was pregnant. That was unexpected. Desired beyond almost everything, but unexpected. I called my husband and he said, "Call the agency and find out if we can
adopt a baby if we also have a biological newborn." That was unexpected. He had, at one time, been reluctant to "mess up our retirement plans" with a child 10 years younger than our third one, and now he wanted to know if we could have two babies in the same spring, about two months apart? That was unexpected.

They said no. We did not earn enough for the number of people in our home plus an adopted one. I was relieved for the first time in my life that we didn't qualify financially. That relief was unexpected.

But this little wise-cracking retirement-buster-upper pictured at the bottom of my sidebar was born on Valentine's Day 2002. And I am slowly learning to expect from God to deliver, each and every time, in ways previously unexpected.

'Twas a Mostly Lovely Birthday

Houston, we have a problem. I need my eyes checked. If I can't tell the picture is blurry until I upload it??? It's a sign of age, I guess. And aging is what I've been doing a lot of lately.

My kids made my actual birthday lovely. My kids and their significant others, shall we say. Now that my future daughter-in-law has snuggled deep into our hearts, she has inherited the "woman's job" of picking out presents for "both of them" Lucky Ben. :) Dee chose a lovely purse for me. Have I ever mentioned my love of accessories, namely bling and bags? And shoes.
This bag was well-timed; my old one is about to break at the handle, which I'm sure has more to do with the 22 pounds of crap inside it than any manufacturing defect. It was perfect a year ago when Barb gave it to me. The chiropractor always tells me my right shoulder hangs lower than my left; he said a woman's average purse weight is five pounds. "All you really need is a wallet, keys, and phone, right?" To which I've said, "You've clearly never been a woman." And besides, if we downsize our purses, we might put him out of business.



Dee also asked what kind of cake I wanted and she'd make it. I said it sounds silly, but I wanted cupcakes made from plain yellow boxed mix and canned chocolate frosting. I had even bought the stuff the night before, hoping someone would ask. Thanks, Dee! She and Joel made about 20 cupcakes and I ended up having at least five myself. But that's okay. It's my party and I'll gorge if I want to, gorge if I want to. (Too bad gorging doesn't lead to being gorgeous.)

Anyway, the other lovely gifts: a string hung on the wall with about 15 penants hanging from it that read "Happy Birthday, " a bouquet from Steve, a bouquet from Sarah, a bag of lotion and spray and a sign from Ambrey that reads: Laundry Room: Not Responsible for Lost Socks." I told her I'd love a second sign: "But I'll Take Credit for Matched Ones, Thank You." Not that I make that happen more often than a US president gets elected.

Sarah touched my heart with her card (accompanied by a gift card for a manicure. LOVE that!)
It really feels good when your student-teacher-daughter thanks you for all the years of homeschooling and that she plans to recycle some of your teaching methods. And she thanks you specifically for many "little things" that make her life easier in college: switching her laundry over, making dinner, proofreading her papers. That was really sweet. So much nicer than "Thanks for everything you do." I'd rather be told three things I do specifically that they appreciate than hear "thanks for everything"-- because it takes love and effort to do those things and love and effort to write down some of them in a thank-you card.

My hubby is not the gift-thinker-upper-finder-wrapper kind of guy. But he IS generous. After all these years, he at least knows to ask me ahead of time, "What do you want for your birthday?" and I answer, "A massage. A professional massage." And that's what I go out and get for myself when I am all in knots like I was last week. So tight the therapist suggested (more than half-way through) "just an upper-body massage" because "we're running out of time." I felt a new knot in my stomach and wanted to say, "What? How much time do we have? Oh, please do my legs and feet, too!" But like an idiot I said, "Okay." What was I thinking? I was paying for this but letting the therapist dictate what to do? Just when I think I'm all grown up and capable of calling the shots, I let myself get disappointed.

I got many well-wishes on Facebook and some nice cards. I got a GREAT scrapbook from Barb that she made. That meant so much to me that someone would put that much effort into expressing love. When someone says, "You're worth it," by spending a lot of time and energy and thought to make you feel loved, you usually feel loved.

Then certain people forget your birthday who ought to remember it. That hurts.

I know I'm hard to please. I know I have great expectations that are easily dashed. Over the past few years, I've gotten better about it, I think. Maybe not. When will my birthday stop being a big deal to me? When it stops, does that mean I've finally grown up and matured in a fine adult?

Earthquake! for Real! Right Here!

It happened on Tuesday, August 23, just two days ago. My nine-year-old son and I were standing in the foyer of our house at about 1:55 pm. He was holding his piano lesson books, and I was holding the keys and my purse. We were arguing about piano books. I thought he only had been given two and he was insisting on three. It was only his second lesson, and since the first one was here, we had never been to the teacher's home. She lives on the nearby military base and we had agreed she'd meet us near the gate and escort us in with her ID. We were supposed to be there at 2:10. I was yelling at Joel, "Now is not the time to be thinking of a missing book!"

In a split second, my first thought was, "Reilly must really be upset about me yelling. He's rattling his crate!" Then I noticed the large picture in the foyer trembling. Then it felt like the whole house was shaking, so my second thought was, "Loud thunder on a sunny day?!" Thunder under our feet, not just the walls? Living close to the proving ground, I had a third thought, "They're really testing a big one today!" and in a fourth thought, "Terrorism!" and in a fifth thought, "Earthquake?!" It happened so fast and Joel got a really scared look on his face.

"Let's get out of here, Mom!" So we did. Neighbors were on their front lawns. We all said the same thing, "What was THAT?" and all concluded an earthquake. How weird! On the East Coast!

The cell phones were jammed. I couldn't get through to my husband or kids, so I texted. That went through! Sarah was in a meeting for student teachers, and the menfolk were at work. Paul's office building shook so badly the fire alarm went off and everyone made a beeline for the exit. Things were falling off shelves there. The shaking at his office lasted a good 30 seconds, and got more violent as it went on. Steve didn't feel anything where he was, but doesn't know why. Sarah said one teacher had just been told by a fellow teacher to please stop shaking her leg, so she did, and yet the shaking continued.

We got to what I thought was the correct entry gate on post. It was closed. I told Joel, "This close to DC, I bet they're on high alert." Come to find out, I had my directions wrong. The teacher's mom (and good friend of mine) came and met us at the correct place. A previous student's mom had been there during the quake and she started yelling, "Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming!"

You know, that thought crossed my mind, too. But scientists confirmed it was indeed an earthquake whose epicenter was in southern Virginia but whose effects were felt as far south as the Carolinas and as far north as New Jersey. For me, I always thought I'd be super scared during an earthquake. I wasn't. I was uneasy, unsettled, because it just felt weird. We live in Maryland, not California! We have other natural phenomena here often, but this was our first earthquake ever. Weird.

A funny email I received the next day said the quake was "our founding fathers rolling over in their graves." I heard things like "Obama's Fault" who said no, Bush's Fault, or the sound of a 14.6 billion dollar check bouncing. Gotta love the humorists in the crowd, keeping it light.

And now that a Category 3 hurricane (Irene) is threatening the East Coast in the next few days, I am wondering. Am I ready? I don't mean materially or mentally, but spiritually. Am I prepared to meet my Maker? Absolutely! My faith is not shaken by these natural "disasters" or threats thereof.

Am I prepared for a flood? Not really. Power outages? Sort of. Am I worried about either? No. Call me naive or too trusting, but I believe God is going to shelter us and provide for our every need. He always does. Even if He leads us all the way Home while our earthly home crumbles or washes out to sea, we will be safe in His arms.

Besides, I have a birthday to celebrate Friday and, if nothing else, we have cupcakes and bottled water to survive on.

You Old What?

At the family reunion yesterday I wanted to casually surprise my "non party" just-turned-50 hubby with a "non-party birthday cake" in such a way that he would "non find out" about it. It's a bit hard when you're hosting and your fridge, countertops, and tables are already full of stuff. So a few days ago his sweet cousin volunteered to buy one and bring it.

Her: What are his favorite colors?
Me: I don't know that he has one, but he likes the Ravens, so purple and black.
Her: Okay. What should I have them write on it?
Me: I dunno How about, "Happy birthday, you old buzzard?"
Her: Okay. See you Saturday!

So Saturday came and the cousin was late, not in any small part due to the errors on said cake. First the colors weren't right. There was nothing they could do quickly to change the blue and red to purple and black as requested, so his cousin said later to us, "Just pretend, Paul. If you're not too old to pretend, that is. Pretend you see Ravens colors."

When she got to the Costco bakery department to pick it up, his cousin also noticed the message atop the the cake said "Happy birthday u old buzzer."

"No, no, not buzzer. Buzzard--you know, like the bird?! B-u-z-z-a-r-d."

The bakery lady then froze the cake a good while, took it out, scraped off the hard, misspelled letters and "fixed" the mistake.

This is what we got:



We laughed so hard. We've been calling him Buzz Rad ever since.

Happy 23rd Birthday, Ben

Twenty-three years already? Say it isn't so!

I was thinking this morning about your adventurous life, Ben. "Go for it" seems to be your motto. Like the Olympiads who say "faster, higher, stronger," (as in this post, which has a picture of you and your brother, a picture I love) you always push your limits.

Quite often, those limits have been pushed all the way to the ER.

I was listing your emergencies this morning. Have I forgotten any? I list these as battle scars, by the way--trophies in your case! They say to me, "No matter how it ended, he had a good time trying!"

age 18 months-- You got into rubbing alcohol the day before our flight to Kansas. I had inadvertently left the bottle open on the bathroom sink after sanitizing a thermometer used on your baby sister. To you the rubbing alchohol was a new drink to try? I was coming up from the basement with a load of laundry when I heard you scream. You were nonverbal at the time, so I couldn't know if you had injested it, gotten it in your eye, or just spilled it and were bothered by the fumes. But I couldn't chance it. Called Poison Control. They put me on hold. I called 911. Ambo came. Thankfully the blood alcohol test results were zero.

age 3--You pulled Dad's dresser over on yourself, having used the drawers as ladder rungs. Thankfully the twin mattress, which we kept on the floor of our only-air-conditioned bedroom for you and Sarah, cushioned the impact, and the edge of a photo frame nicked your forehead instead of gouging your eyes or breaking across your sweet little face.

age 7 --You broke your right radius going for a soccer ball with another boy, after being told to stop. The basement with a concrete floor at Beachmont was not an indoor arena. You were happy that it was your right arm broken because it got you out of writing and other schoolwork I had for you. The cast was a consolation prize.

age 12-- You wrenched your knee while snowboarding down our backyard hill. The fence was your foe. I had to help you up the hill and I was 9 months pregnant. You were a good head taller than me already. Sarah was mad because I was supposed to be taking her to visit Hannah within the hour, but had to detour to the hospital.

age 15-- You endured many lacrosse injuries, the worst being your shoulder that needed surgery years later.

age 19-- On July 4th you suffered a retinal injury while playing Tekball at Beachmont.

In November, you accidentally sliced your hand open with a box cutter.

age 20-- You ended up at Shock Trauma with a pulmonary contusion--the result of getting headbutted in the chest during a football game at Beachmont. Yippee! Dad and I said, "You can only be on our medical policy till the end of your 22nd year. Be careful!" You wisely replied, "I don't think I'll play at Beachmont any more. It always ends up bad for me. "

age 22 -- actually within weeks of your 23rd birthday, you got a full-time job with medical insurance! Hooray!

Happy birthday, Ben. Congratulations on the job, also. I'm sure you're an asset to the company, and I'm glad you and Dad are able to bond during your commute together every day. God has given you your adventurous spirit, your drive to succeed, your zeal for life. I love to see you enjoying this phase of your life with a special someone, also. Dee is a very good gift to you.

I'm praying that this year coming will be one of much growth, healing, forgiveness, change, greater love, stronger fellowship, and much fun in the Lord for you, me, and our family.

Love,
Mom

Joel's 9th Birthday

Could it get any more exciting ?






































Me, the mother. AKA Creature of torture. Fill in your own captions.


How to blow out 9 candles in as many minutes.
He didn't want me taking pictures of him, so he acted bored.
Someday we'll look back and laugh, right?




The exciting part had to wait till the next day...his birthday party with friends, and then a ride to get our new dog.

Host a Boy's Birthday Party, Post-op?

On Valentine's Day, my youngest child turns 9. Can it be, Lord, can it be? He asked me on the New Year's Day, "Can I please have a "friends" party this year?" (Meaning, not just family like every year except two of them.) I agreed.

At the time, four weeks post-surgery sounded like plenty of time to recover for an all-boy birthday party. (He made it clear: no girls. Okay, then. I'm more than fine with that. Girls' expectations are too high, anyway.)

Now, however, I am two weeks out and the very thought of "boys" in the same sentence with "party" makes me clutch my abdomen. Joel and I were discussing the details this morning.He decided on a sports theme. I approved his guest list, disapproved the arena he had in mind for indoor hockey, and nodded in agreement with the Outside Fun of soccer and football he was talking about, namely because it's outside, and therefore Paul the Dad is much more likely to "run with the ball" in more ways than one. And I suggested tug-of-war on the lawn, knowing I would only be there to offer my strength as a cheerleader and maybe get their scrawny little arm muscles and ruddy-warrior faces on camera.

I had the agenda in mind already. Time: 11-11:30. He gasped. I said I was kidding ( a little).

I had mercy and made it 11-1:00. Enough time for games, cake, and ice cream. Not enough time to set me back a week. Oh, and he said, "Nah, not cake. I'm kind of over cake for birthdays. Maybe just ice cream. Or brownies and ice cream." How perfect could that be, because right now I am "over" making birthday cakes.

If you have any more suggestions on how to make this a fun party without the momma playing a very big role the day of, please let me know.

Bloggin' my Birthday

A few days ago I turned a year older. Here are some pictures from the day. Wish I could've captured everything on camera because they were lovely memories.

1. Sarah made me breakfast (added scrambled eggs and bacon after this shot). An extra thoughtful gesture it was since she had to be out the door for her first day of Student Teaching in the adjoining county. Bouquet of purple daisies, a basket of my favorite treats, and a tear-jerkingly sweet card.

2. I got to enjoy my rule of "no work, no school on your birthday." My son Steve blessed me by doing housework while I took advantage of the deck swing and a beautiful sunshiny day and read a book outside. (Yes, it's for school, but it doesn't feel like it. I like missionary bios.) Nose shown actual size. Nothing I can do about it short of plastic surgery.

3. We went to dinner at a local Italian restaurant. As everyone was packing up their leftover, the waiter took Sarah's pizza off the table. He shuffled away and she said, "You're going to box this up, aren't you?" and he said, "No, I'll feed it to the dog out back."

Forgot to take the camera, so Ben's girlfriend snapped a picture when we got home. Paul was already in bed, which explains his absence from this photo.

4. Many, many greetings on Facebook took me by pleasant surprise and made for a lovely day from start to finish.

5. Joel made me a card with a 1965 dime taped inside. It's a nod to his current "phase" . He told me I should have been born in 1964, the year of "rare dimes" . "This one's only worth ten cents, Mom ," he said. Gee, thanks, son. I think I made the face that he is making in the picture.



6. I got funny cards and touching cards in the mail and delivered in person.

7. My friend Cheryl took me out to my favorite Mexican restaurant the next evening. Haven't laughed that hard since...well, ...the last time we got together.

8. Anticipation. My mother told me that when you start getting older, you should tell people in advance that you're visiting them. They have something to look forward to besides their next bowel movement. And they'll talk about it almost as long. Sage advice from a hilarious mom.


I love my God, my Giver of Abundant Life and 45 birthdays thus far. Love my family, my friends, my dog. Thanks, everyone, for blessing me!

Getting Excited

My trip to Kansas is just a week away. Oh, I can hardly wait! I love to fly, love to meet new people, love the big sky in the Midwest, love the memories I've held for 38 years from childhood in Kansas.

I can't wait to lounge around at Wilson Lake with Barb, to reminisce with Brenda, to play a game and see Lindsborg with Laurie, to catch up with my favorite teacher who is now in her 80s, to spend the night at a B&B, and mostly just to be refreshed and rejuvenated in the company of my precious friend and her family.

My generous husband will be taking a week off to be with Joel so that I can enjoy this getaway to celebrate with Barb.

Did I say I'm excited?

A Simple Woman's Daybook 8.13.10

Another entry in A Simple Woman's Daybook.

Outside my window...
The temperature has finally fallen to a comfortable 74 degrees. The night is black, like one huge pupil in the cosmos. From the woods behind us comes the familiar strains of a symphony of God's
critters. If you listen closely, it sure sounds like the woodpecker tapping on drums, frogs croaking on the tuba, insects shaking maracas, and some other unidentified musician whistling on the piccolos. Every night I get free admission to their concert under the stars, but they aren't playing for me. They are playing for God alone.

I am thinking...
about the brevity of life. The incredible sadness I felt when talking to my neighbor who lost his wife back in May. He stopped by to return a lasagna pan from mid-June and was telling us that he and his boys just got back from a cruise, trying to make new memories doing things Mom would not have done. She got seasick looking at boats. "Do you know how hard it is to find a way to tell people on the cruise, when they bring it up, "So what are you folks doing here?" and you stammer to explain, '"We're taking this cruise because my wife just died.'" But then he said, "The next day, one of the ladies from dinner said, in a most sensitive, caring way, 'Tell me about your wife'--and that was a God moment."

I am thankful for...
the young lady in Ben's life. Her name is Deirdra. She is a godly, sweet person, and easy to love.

From the kitchen...
I hear Stephen's keys jingling. He just came home from a jam session, carrying his djembe and cajone. I keep wanting to call him Al. Al Cajone.


I am wearing...
brown pants and a brown shirt with swirls on it. I look like a King-size Snickers bar.

I am creating...
nothing, really. Quite uncreative at the moment.

I am going...
to learn to love being a football mom if it kills me. And it very well could.

I am reading...
a Psalm a day
a Proverb a day
a chapter from Ezekiel a day (arduous reading, in my opinion)
a couple chapters of Hebrews every day, and
a missionary bio of Wm. Carey.

I am hoping...
to have walked 26 miles between Aug 6 and 26.

I am hearing...
Joel say (over and over) "Better not lay a finger on my Butterfinger."

Around the house...
scream projects I've meant to get to this summer.

One of my favorite things...
is flying. I get to fly to Kansas to celebrate my and my friend Barb's week-apart birthdays!!!! We've been friends for (achoo!) 38 years. Also I get to meet Laurie of Tulip in the Thicket in Kansas for the first time (though she already feels like a sister to me through bloggyville). I also get to meet Rachel from Home Sanctuary at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport. She's going to bring me Texas BBQ during my lunchtime layover on the way back.

A few plans for the rest of the week...
Saturday is unplanned. Yay!! Sunday we are celebrating my nephew Danny's master's degree in Special Ed/Severe Disabilities. He got a perfect score on his exam! Nearly the whole Zubrowski clan is descending on Danny and Lisa for a cookout.

A picture thought I am sharing...

for the sole purpose of self-abasement is this one...because how tempting to post only the ones that might elicit "what a great picture of you!" You can imagine who is cracking up while I'm in the middle of telling him to put the camera away now, that's enough pictures, don't you think? He was twisting the lens in his little hand like a true professional , just for the fun of it, while gathering a host of stares at PF Chang's.

Could I be any more photogenic if I tried?

Happy Birthday, Steve! 19 on the 8th

My thirdborn is 19 today.

Here are 19 things I love, admire, and appreciate about him.

1. He has a passion for the Lord Jesus.
2. He loves to serve the Body of Christ.
3. He shows that love in myriad ways (see #4-18).
4. He walks and talks daily with God through His Word, the Bible .
5. He loves to read theology but not for the sake of head knowledge, but to help him
keep watch over his heart.
6. He always has a reason for the Hope that is in him. (If he'd been a girl, which I was sure while carrying him--no sonograms to prove otherwise, just a hunch--I was going to name him Hope.)
7. He can articulate himself well in speaking, in writing, and in nonverbal communication.
8. He prays diligently for people.
9. He is discerning.
10 He doesn't take himself too seriously, a noticeable trait through his often self-deprecating humor.
11. He uses his musical gifts on the drums at church and at camp.
12. He takes jobs no one else wants, especially guys--like teaching preschool phys ed.
13. He does what is asked of him, but usually takes the initiative.
14. He takes good care of his possessions.
15. He is a careful manager of his own finances.
16. He treats everyone with respect.
17. He puts people at ease with his smile and conversation.
18. He's a good listener.
19. He's a precious human being.

Stephen, I am so glad you're ours. And I'm so glad you're home from camp. I have missed you, son. Happy birthday .To God be the glory for these wonderful 19 years.

Celebrating the Big 4-9

Paul's birthday was really low-key this year. He had no special requests for dinner, but I put together sure winners: Maryland crab cakes, Cheesy Garlic Red Smashed Potatoes, Lemon Lima beans, and sauteed veggies. I garnished the plate with red peppers in the shape of a 49.








Joel was the only kid at home at dinnertime to celebrate with us. The pictures say it all: he loves his dad, loves Ravens football, and loves cocktail sauce with crab cakes.







Please note, the wine (Furhanna) is set at Paul's place, not Joel's. Just clarifyin' for anyone
who wonders if our parenting practices have
fallen off the deep end .



Paul usually asks for a coconut cream pie for his birthday,
and I was prepared to make one. However, one of his co-workers bought a cannoli cake (deLISH!) and he was perfectly content to bring home a huge leftover piece that actually served the three of us quite sufficiently.

And ,for his birthday, I wasn't sure what to give him. I mean, he doesn't like money spent on him just because there's "an occasion" like his own birthday. But he loves golf and loves to read. Normally he checks magazines out of the library. But I wanted him to experience the fun of getting a magazine in the mail every month or every other month. Long ago someone had given him a subscription, but it had expired long ago also.

I really wanted to get him a golf mag subscription if I could 'swing' it (golf humor, there; sorry) but wanted him to be happy with the expenditure. After all, "my" paychecks are history. So I prayed for some creativity .


It was kind of funny.That very day, in the mail, came a 'we want you back" invitation from Golf. Six issues for a dollar. If you know my Paul's penchant for pennies (and more precisely, saving them) , you can imagine the big grin on his face when he opened my "extravagant" gift .

"Well, do you like it?" I asked .

"Yeah, I do." He's not one to gush, and no little "birdie" told me (sorry, I can't help myself; corny is par for the course on this blog) but I could tell by the way his green eyes danced that he was pleased.

10 Things You Might Not Know About Paul

Let's face it, I do not have the stamina to name 49 on his birthday. Maybe if I were half his age, but I'm not. I am younger, however--a fact I remind him of quite regularly.

Here are ten things you might not know about my husband. In random order:

1. He has tinnitus (ringing in the ears). It's from years of listening to an unholy decibel level of music, even when the music he converted to in his early 20s had a holy emphasis .

2. He loves to spend hot Sunday afternoons on the deck, drinking iced tea, listening to music (at lower decibels than in his youth), getting tan .

3. He loves to acquire free T-shirts. Never mind that some of his shirts represent things he has no affiliation with. or interest in. Free T-shirts equal endless pleasure for him.Except the American Red Cross ones that say "It's Hip to Give." He earned those with his blood . Literally.

4. He despises cats. And makes no apologies for it. He is cordial to them, but avoids them at all costs .

5. Though not the youngest in his family, he was the last to get married. The fact of the matter is, he had determined early on that dating is an expensive hobby, whereas playing the same guitar year after year was a fairly cheap one. And a guitar makes no demands of your time. He decided that he would not spend a penny on a girl until he was fairly certain he'd be parting with all of his pennies at the altar in exchange for her love. And demandingness.

6. He is a good iron-er. My personal superhero: Iron Man.

7. He is really good at word games: Scrabble, Taboo, UpWords .He is also really good at strategy games: chess, Risk, Clue. He is also really good at outdoor games: baseball, football, tennis. So if you take him on in a game, you might want to anesthetize him first .

8. His exercise routine is admirable. One day he runs on the treadmill, the next he lifts weights .
Sundays he takes off.

9. He predicts the ending of almost every movie. Seriously, I don't know how he figures out "whodunnit" so often. Once in awhile he gets stumped, but that's a sure sign the movie is really good in his opinion.

10 . He obsesses about finishing a jigsaw puzzle once he starts it. And if the last piece in a 1000 piece puzzle turns up missing? Oh boy. The. man .can .NOT. sleep. If the Bible were not finished being written, I am sure God would include the "finding the lost puzzle piece" among the parables of coins and sheep . Just for Paul. He feels the passion of the pursuer of lost pocket change and lost puzzle pieces. Lost, stinky woolies? Eh. Not so much.

So, there ya have it.

Happy birthday to my half-deaf, well-tanned, free T-shirt lovin', cat-hatin', last-married, fresh-pressed, smart-gamin', health conscious, mystery solvin', puzzle maniacal, one year older husband.

From your eavesdropping, pale, shopaholic, animal lovin', first married, oft-wrinkled, not-so-smart-gamin', health semi-conscious, mystery-producing, puzzle loathing, four year younger
wife.

Bahama Breeze Birthday

Going out for Sarah's birthday is never just an event; it's a process. We asked her where she wanted to go and she said, "somewhere new and far away." New to her, that is, not necessarily a new restaurant. "Far away" means a drive of about an hour --preferably longer--not in the heart of town. She has always loved long drives, from the moment she was born. (But that's a whole 'nother post to be categorized under "colicky baby.") This night she would be ordering a drink as she was turning the legal drinking age of 21. She was more excited about being carded, to be honest.

After that, she decided she'd rather go south, not north. So even though Philly is far away, it's north. Even though south could mean Annapolis, it was already 6:15 when she got home from babysitting and all of us were hungry. We didn't have the patience to drive an hour. A 30-40 minute drive plus a 40-minute wait was pushing the limits. Finally, following much online searching and Paul suggesting restaurants he'd been to with colleagues or heard good things about, Sarah decided on Bahama Breeze in Towson.

The hostess told us it would be a 40 minute-or-less wait. The "patio" is seat-yourself, first-come, first-served, where live music was playing. Not sure if the singer was Jamaican, but he could certainly pull off the calypso sound with natural flair. His voice was better than his diction, but his smile made up for some garbled words. I must say, he made Air Supply's "All Out of Love" lyrics sound more like a celebration of break-up than a ballad of a heartsick Romeo.

More entertaining than he, however, was Sarah, whose social commentary amuses me often. Her subject this time? A couple she surmised were an e-Harmony pair --early 40s; woman was a bottle blond and somewhat into him. He looked like a jerk from Atlanta who was really into her. I didn't like his Joe-Cool mannerisms, red wine in hand, leaning to blondie's face; Sarah agreed he was trying too hard, but "people on alcohol get like that," she said. They had started at the bar, then made their way to the patio area for self-seating when a table came available.

"Just look at them, they're too affectionate to be married, and too old have met the normal way," she concluded. Then there was a couple barely out of high school who had been there maybe ten minutes, who rudely made their way ahead of e-Harmony Couple. "Watch; I bet they're gonna get in a fight, Mom. That e-Harmony guy has been waiting a long time. He's gonna say something to that rude dude." Both of us were disappointed when e-Harmony got called to a regular table in the main part of the restaurant. No fight to watch.

Once seated in the main part of the restaurant ( 40 minutes exactly from check-in), I ordered a fabulous mango mojito. Sarah got a Caribbean Sin, which she wished was named something else. She said, "Mom, should I ask her what Caribbean Sin is like?" I said, "Probably like sin anywhere." Unfortunately, she didn't get carded. "I must look 35," she said. (Sorry, there's not a picture of her drink, but here's mine.)
Mojito Cubano
Bacardi Superior Rum, crushed spearmint, lime, sugar cane


The appetizer we chose was Crab, Shrimp, Mango and Avocado Stack
Jumbo lump crabmeat, chilled shrimp, fresh avocados and apple-mango salsa layered and stacked; with a spicy honey-red pepper drizzle. Generous amounts of shrimp, plenty of jumbo lump crabmeat, finely diced mango, with the perfect amount of avocado, baby greens, slivered almonds, and a deliciously sweet-hot red pepper sauce. We thought it should be served with six tortilla triangles, not two, but other than that, we thought it was delightful.

The birthday girl chose the chef's special, boneless fried chicken over mashed potatoes with spinach-cream sauce, black beans and corn. Every bite fantastic.

I had a hard time narrowing my choices, but finally went with Calypso Shrimp Linguine
Tender shrimp in every bite…sautéed with garlic, scallions, tomatoes, Creole spice and a touch of cream. Some restaurants claim to put tender shrimp in every bite; Bahama Breeze delivers on their promise.

Paul ordered NEW Cuba Libre Shrimp Salad
Chilled shrimp tossed with a rum and cola glaze; served with fresh greens, pineapple and candied almonds tossed in sugar cane vinaigrette.The presentation of this was show-stopping with the top of the fresh pineapple and the bright yellow flesh supporting the major players.

Joel's entree came from the very limited kids' menu. He chose chicken fingers with fries--some of the best salty fries I've had in a long time. Usually kids' meals taste like afterthoughts, but not so this one.

Each dish tasted so good that we decided from the get-go that we'd eat for three minutes and then rotate clockwise, except for Joel, who took a couple bites here and there from the rest of ours, but who was quite content with his selection, thank you very much.

The service was excellent. Two managers came to the table after we told the waitress it was our first time. They made us feel very welcome--great PR, if you ask me. I love the atmosphere: romantic, friendly, dim but not dark, with classy Caribbean decor. E-Harmony couple sat three booths away, on the same side of the table, which is so high-school if you ask me when nobody's on the other side. At least Sarah and Joel sat opposite Paul and me, so we wouldn't be mistaken for star-crossed lovers. How embarrassing that would've been to our kids. His only complaint was the giggling gaggle of the bachelorette party seated near us, but they left after 20 minutes, and I didn't find them at all distracting. I was too busy enjoying every bite and sip of Bahama Breeze.

Our new favorite restaurant.

Me & My Girl

Sarah turned 21 today.
(Officially at 5:32 am.)

You know how memories are, seldom chronological. I am
remembering snapshots through the years, in random order.

I can remember :

the first time I held her. We both cried. There have been several occasions over the years when we both cried at the same time.

-the first time she rode her bike. We lived on Dunmurry Road and her bike had pink plastic tassels hanging from the handlebars. The sidewalks were kind of busted up, so I was extra nervous. But she did fine.

-her fine straight in pigtails as she wore a lime green little sundress and consoled her infant brother "Fian" (Stephen), even when he wasn't crying, She'd pat his bald head and say, "It's otay, baby. Sawah's hee-yuh. I yuv you."

-going to Russia together when she was a senior. I had really wanted to give her a homsechool graduation ceremony, complete with a big party, but she said, "No, Mom. I really don't want that. It's not me. I'd rather you put the money into our trip." So I did, reluctantly.

-how hard she cried when I told her of each of my miscarriages. You'd have thought she was the mother hearing the sad news.

-how eager she was for us to adopt a little girl from China, only to find out I was pregnant after 10 years of trying, and then she cried over that news. When I told her I was carrying a boy, she cried more. She wanted a sister. When she saw her baby brother Joel for the first time, she cried again and said it was the happiest day of her life.

-watching her teach Sunday School. She's a natural with age groups that don't come naturally even for some parents. I'm talking two-year-olds. She loves them!

-the camaraderie between her and her friend Hannah. The height difference is hysterical. Sarah is 5'11" and Hannah is 4'11". Hannah and Sarah have never had an argument, though they haven't agreed on everything. I tease Sarah that "for two people who never see eye-to-eye unless Hannah stands on a milk crate, you two get along famously!" Their friendship has taken them from VBS when they were six to camp counselors together at 20.

-the way she takes care of her grandparents.

-the way her dad will do anything for her. I'm talking about airing her leaky back tire every other morning, jump starting her engine on the days in between, and lining up all her "car doctor" visits.

I could go on. But that's where I'll stop.

Happy birthday, Sarah. I love you no matter what.

My Oldest Child is 22

On this day, 22 years ago, I became a mother. Like today, daffodils were in bloom, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and I was happy and naive in my new role.

I was thinking back today to special memories of Ben as a boy that painted a picture of the man he has become today .

1. He was always working hard. He loved to help me vacuum, loved order, not a messy kid, but not afraid of mud, either. He had stains to prove it, but he just wasn't a slob. He is still a hard worker, except he doesn't love to help me vacuum. His love for order shows itself in an ordered schedule, a simply kept-up room (not gleaming, but not cluttered). And he chose accounting as a career.

2. He loves to play hard. Growing up, he got into every sport with gusto. Soccer, basketball, skateboarding, snowboarding, lacrosse, football, you name it. The x-rays and ambulance rides prove it. His passion for extreme living recently caused us to ban him from going snowboarding in blizzard conditions. (If we hadn't, the cops would have.) He also recently took a canoe out on the Chesapeake Bay with a friend. Trying to turn it, they capsized. He had to swim back to shore in frigid water in early March. He could barely breathe to talk, it was so cold. I'm glad I didn't know about it until he was home and shoving wet clothes into the washer, smiling and all red in the face like he'd been out for a brisk swim or something.

3. He doesn't take things at face value. He thinks about things from various angles. When he was about five he asked, "Mom, if there is no sin in heaven, but Satan got kicked out of heaven for pride, then didn't he have pride in heaven?" I had a mini-theologian on my hands. Right now he is examining his beliefs and where he fits in. He's not willing to just accept what we, his parents, believe. At first I balked at that, but I realize CS Lewis was right: "An unexamined life is not worth living." (I think that's Lewis and I think that's the quote. Please correct me if not.)

I could say more, but those are three that stand out in my mind. I love my son. I am so thankful God gave him the characteristics of one who lives life to the fullest.

Low

It's not any one particular thing, but a collection that have all met at the corner
of Down and Cast in my heart.

Tomorrow my baby turns eight. I can't get over how fast the years since his birth
have passed. The eight before his birth seemed unbearable. Longing for a child, another child, any child, is an indescribable pain. The joy I felt in having him, however, more than compensated for the agony of waiting. Yet I mourn the fleeting
passage of time as I realize I don't have a "baby baby" left at all.

Tomorrow is also Valentine's Day, and I'm feeling low. It has always meant the world to me that my dad has given each of his girls such love and tender affirmation throughout the year, and that he is gifted in expressing his positive emotions verbally--a rare skill from males, in my limited experience. Why am I feeling low, then? I think it's because I know in my heart of hearts there may be well be only enough Valentine Days left with Daddy as I can count on my fingers. I hope I'm wrong.

Feeling low because tomorrow I have to say goodbye to a precious student of mine.
She and her family are moving to Belgium, so this could well be the very last time I ever see her. I have been holding back my tears. What really hurts is that we haven't had this past week to spend with her or to give her a proper farewell party. We were snowed in and had no school at all. Thankfully, my co-teacher Cheryl and I got out today and decided on a collection of stationery for her, and I've added some of my personal scrapbook paper (which was always a big deal to her to choose from whenever I had special class projects requiring fun paper). I've also rummaged through and wrapped a large variety of my stickers for her to share with her siblings. They might need something to occupy themselves on the long flight to Europe.

Her leaving has brought back a flood of sad memories of when I moved a very long way at her age. Our family packed up and moved from Kansas to Maryland, closing the door on what I still consider the two most perfect years of childhood a girl could ever have. Whereas I could see nothing good about our move, "Mandy" is seeing their move as an adventure, which it is, and I adore her sunny outlook. Her smile and sweet nature are daily graces to me. I wish I'd told her so more often.

Anyway, I am feeling low. I could use your prayers. Tomorrow I will cry and try to remember all the good and wonderful things I have to celebrate instead of dwelling on my losses. To love is to ache once in a while. That's what my heart is doing today.

Need German chocolate cake recipe

So far I've gotten a link to a German chocolate cake recipe through a Facebook friend.

My dad and sister both requested GC cake and I would prefer the taste of homemade over storebought, but I need cake toppers to fit the theme of trophy/prizes (elegant, not cutesy ).

Where do I go for those?

'57 Studebaker

My dad's 75 birthday is coming in two weeks and I don't know what to give him.

I have been debating whether to make him a scrapbook, or whether he might not appreciate it the way some of us saps would. He's sappy, but I don't know if he'd look at it much after all was said and done.

Would I regret not making one? Hmm.

Would he prefer an antique car instead? Yes! Maybe I'll just pluck a '57 Studebaker off eBay and stick a big ole' red bow on it. Why a '57 Studebaker? Because it's an old joke between us. When I was a little girl riding in the car with him, he would always point out an old car and tell me what year and make it was. But the only answer I remember to the question, Daddy, what's that car?" is, "Oh, that? That's a '57 Studebaker. "

I am sure he knew what almost every car was, so why is it stuck in my head that that was his pat answer to every old car inquiry of mine?

The joke revived itself when my own children were little. Ben would spot an antique car and say, "Hey, Mommy, look! What's that?" and I would say "a '57 Studebaker." He'd be impressed with me, which I had every intention of milking for all it was worth.

After a while, though, Ben wised up and said, "Nuh-uh. It doesn't look at all like the last one you said was a '57 Studebaker. " (Rats! Why do kids have to be so observant?) As I recall, it was about the same time he started asking where babies came from.

The theme of Daddy's party will be old cars.

Any suggestions on a gift? Scrapbook or no?

Or should I just scour eBay for a toy '57 Studebaker and present him with that instead? I wish I had the cash on hand for the real thing. He would so appreciate that and he would take it out and look at it long after the party was over. And who knows, it might do a 360 as a gift someday when Daddy's too old to drive but still wants to go for a ride with his little girl . That little girl will hug him and say, "Okay, Daddy. Wait right here while I get the keys."