Finger pointers

So the other day someone posted an article on facebook

about the newest way teenagers are trying to destroy their bodies.

Something about hand sanitizer and getting drunk.

It was a sad article for sure, but the saddest part was the comments.

Immediately a group of mom commenters

 began condemning the parents of teens who resort to this kind of behavior.

They must not care about their kids. 

They are raising stupid kids.

They don't know their kids and aren't in touch with them.

Their kids are acting out some deep-seated hatred of their parents short comings.

What is wrong with americas teens today must be parents.

hmmm.

I wanted to comment, I really did!

I wanted to say that I know my kids, I love them and care about them.

They are not stupid.

They have been taught right from wrong.

They were brought up in a home where their father and mother

are not perfect, but they love eachother and have the best 

interest of the family at the center of everything they do.

I wanted to say that my teens still make crappy choices.

They still do wrong despite knowing right.

They sometimes still go with the crowd when the crowd is not

doing the best thing.

Their thinking is immature when compared to how they will think

5 years from now,

but that makes them a typical teen,

not a stupid, uncared for teen raised

by parents who have no rules or morals.

If this chapter in my life has taught me anything,

it is that no matter how well you raise your kids,

they are not little robots.

While some may tow the line and rise above things like

peer pressure, temptation, depression,

laziness, disrespect and risky behavior,

all of them will not.

Some will take the hard road

despite mom and dad putting up warning signs

and shoring up the guard rails on life's path.

Some teens reach adulthood battered and bruised

with their hair all in knots and their clothes torn,

but they get there.

I have no idea why some kids avoid risky behavior

and some kids run headlong into it.

I don't know why kids who are raised in much the same way

can turn out so differently.

But I do know that awesome parents can be left to watch

their kids struggle well into their twenties

and parents who by definition we might lable as "morrally lacking"

seem to have kids who sail through

the teen years picking up scholarships and accolades along the way.

The truth is, we raise individuals who

 think for themselves

learn for themselves

experience for themselves

and

ultimately decide their own life's direction.

Believe me, I have tried every jedi mind trick available

to get inside my teens heads and think for them.

I have yet to be successful.

So, I guess my point is that the vaste majority of parents of teens
are scared to death.

We need support from eachother.

The last thing we should be doing is

jumping on eachother and pointing fingers

trying to make sense of the choices some teens make.

Parents of hard to raise teens

are most certainly going through the most emotionally draining

time of their lives.

They are already pointing the finger at themselves

and anguishing over every single decision they've made over the past

10 years trying to figure out what went wrong.

Nothing tears a heart apart more than watching someone you love

walk away from truth and embrace life altering lies.

Piling on more guilt from parents who have not walked in

these tattered and threadbare shoes is in my opinion

sad and heartless.

I know the sleepless nights well.

I understand the tears that are constantly brimming up in the eyes

of worried moms.

I know the voice inside that condemns you for not seeing

any fruit from your labor yet.

I know the pain of comparison

and the feelings of doubt that you ever did anything right by your kids.

But I also know hope.

I know that God has promised to complete the work he has begun.

I know that he is strong when I am weak.

I know that he is the God of redemption and deliverance.

I know he is loving and forgiving.

I know that he has a plan and a purpose for each of us.

I know that he knows what he is doing

and that he hears every prayer I pray over my kids

and sees every tear that falls down my face.

I know that he loves my kids even more than I do

and that he brings gladness from mourning,

strength from fear

and beauty from ashes.

And I trust him.

Adventures with Ostich eggs

 So my husband went to Whole Foods.

By himself.

Now I am sure that when he saw this larger than life

porcelain like egg

that he had flash backs of the Amazing Race episode

where the teams had to devour an ostrich egg in order

to move on.

His adventurous side must have overtaken him and

he probably thought it would be cool

to try something that they

had to struggle through.

You know, just to see how we would fare.

Plus I am sure he felt rather experienced in the culinary field

when he rolled up to the cashier with this baby in tow!

I already know how we would fare on any food challenge

on any reality show

that would involve my husband

trying anything slimy, hairy, previously crawling,

crunchy or smelly.

One bite in

quickly followed by one projectile bite out

aaaaaand that's a wrap!

So that is why I was a bit surprised

when he pulled this out of the bag.

But, he does love to experiment with different

unusual food combinations

and he enjoys cooking

so I have to give him props for

standing right on the edge of

his imaginary exotic food line in the sand.

Getting this thing into the skillet

is apparently an art form.

And it requires power tools!

 

 

The egg is sitting securely on a blender lid

so as not to move while David

drills a pilot hole.

Yes, our dinner this evening

requires a pilot hole.

and there it is.

Pilot hole success.

yay.

Now it's time for the serious drill bit.

I honestly have no idea how these baby birds even hatch!

It took way longer than expected and much more force than expected

just to break through the hard shell and expose....

*drum roll please*

 the membrane.

Yes, we have an exposed membrane.

At this point, I felt a little knot in my stomach.

Something about the word "membrane"

associated with something I am about to eat

is just about as appealing as it sounds.

Now you have a knot in your stomach too,don't ya?

Going on the advice of a friend from work,

we decided to pour the contents of the ostrich egg into the blender.

I imagine the conversation went something like this...

David: (casually and feeling a bit exoctic)"Yup, picked up an ostrich egg for dinner tonight."

Friend: "Oh you know you gotta put that thing in a blender, right?

And you need a good drill bit and a pilot hole!!"

David: "Absolutely!"

He comes home and tells me about his new found knowlege

and having previously googled what to do with this thing

and finding no mention of power tools or blenders,

I did doubt his methods.

But who am I to question employees of the Office of Naval Intelligence?

For all I know this is super secret information

and I should feel honored to have been enlightened.

A blender is supposedly the best way to keep it mixed because it tends to separate.

And it did work,

so, if the word "membrane" didn't deter you

and you want to try an ostrich egg yourself

that is a little tip for your brave soul. 

Ok, see this photo here is quite deceiving.

It looks preety standard as far as egg innards goes.

But before we even got to the yellow yolky liquid,

we had to endure about 20 minutes of clear oozing slime.

Yes, I said slime.

David shook that thing until his arms were about to fall off

and still it took that long!

Needless to say that the knott in my stomach

was threatening my appetite big time!

Once we finally got to the yolk,

it oozed for another 10 minutes.

I know this because Madison and I

were able to watch exactly half of

Fashion Star which we had DVR'd.

Not impressed with anything from that episode

 by the way.

Except for the cute flowy dresses

from the asian guy.... and they weren't even bought!

bummer.

So sometime while Nicole Ritchie was

telling that guy not to use floral in his dude shorts

we had finally filled the blender with ostich goo

and had seasoned it with salt and pepper

just to make us feel better.

We scooped out enough for one omlet at a time.

I tried to fool the knot in my stomach

by telling it that even ostrich goo

can benefit from bacon, cheese and ham.

See how much lighter the ostrich egg is

compared to chicken eggs.

It's very airy. 

Bacon!

We almost never have it,

but when we do it is nibbled on until it is almost gone before we even sit down to eat!

I know you understand.

So, I decided that I wanted mine scrambled after seeing

that Bren's omlet wasn't holding together very well.

David thought it tasted like sponge cake.

Madison thought it tasted like soggy bread.

I thought it tasted like ham, cheese and bacon

because I ate around most of the egg part!

If we hadn't added bacon strips, biscuits and grits on the side

it would have been pizza night!

*

Perspective

creeeeeeaaaak!! 

That's me opening up the door to my blog.

Everything is dust covered and cobwebbed.

I've certainly been absent for a while.

To say I have missed it would be an understatement.

I. have. missed. it.

I think that in my effort to protect myself,

I have thrown the baby out with the bath water.

I write my life. 

I write what is going on in my soul,

what makes me laugh

and cry

and think.

I write my perspective on everyday things.

I try to write as honestly as I can.

The problem is that at this particular season of my life,

I am finding that being an open book about some subjects

is not what's best for everyone around me.

This is so hard for me, because when something consumes

my every thought,

it is next to impossible to not write about it.

No, it is completely impossible.

And in certain situations, restraint and patience might be better

than spilling my guts in a public blog.

So, I've been silent. 

 Just on paper though.

I've been writing things in my head furiously

over the past year....

but that's where it remains. 

In my head.

I haven't trusted myself to blog about life in general

for fear that my issues would creep in

and taint my words and possibly hurt other people.

I would sit down to write an innocent blog post about

the mild winter we had

and end up ranting and raving

about my latest fear

 and perceived failure.

This is dangerous because

today's rants and raves,

if given time

can be tomorrow's success stories

or funny anecdotes about the time

I thought the world would surely end,

we would all live a life full of regret

and nothing would ever be the same again.

I'd rather skip the emotionally charged triade

and eliminate the risk

that my words

however truely felt at the time

would come to haunt another

and  instead get right to the success story and

the funny anecdotes.

Or at least to liveable resolution

and acceptable compromise.

But because I miss it so much,

I have decided that even if I have to blog about

clouds or traffic or cinnamon rolls to keep myself

out of vulnerable subjects,

I must blog.

The lessons I am learning in my life right now

will be shared.

They should be shared because I am certain that I

am not the only person on this earth to ever have encountered

such confliction of heart and mind. 

Such fear that I am completely wrong in every single one of my choices.

Which of course naturally leads to consuming dissapointment

and rising anger.

Such worry about what the furture will bring

to those I love who cannot see the freight train coming

despite the bright orange flag I seem to be constantly waving.

But these lessons will be shared later.

In another season when space and time

has resolved some things that right now

I think may never be resolved.

Perspective will change perspective.

I will be in a much better emotional position

to blog about this season of my life

when this season of my life

is less bitter and more sweet.

After I've learned the lessons and survived,

I will be much better equipped to

speak logically and compassionately

about things and will be more of an encouragement

and less of a whiner.

So, consider this my very vague, cryptic

re-introduction of myself to the blog world that I have missed so much.

Although I will not be diving into the depths of my current issues,

it will be impossible not to sprinkle some little nuggets of truth

that I am learning along the way

among my "day in the life" posts.

Speaking of,

I've got a great post about decorative cookies coming up soon!

And it will not include a recipe

since those that know me

understand completely that my eye for beauty

and actual execution of such beauty in

sugary dough form

does not match.

Change

Change

It sure is the season for it

isn't it?

You'd think that being a Navy wife

I'd embrace change.

And I have.

But I'm not talking about a change of scenery here.

I'm talking about the kind of change

that sneaks up on you.

The one you realized happened

while you were either looking the other way

or living in denial.

This isn't one of those posts that mourne the

inevitable growing up of children.

It's not about regret or trying to hang on to

something that is very surely slipping

through your fingers.

It's a post about change.

Something of which I thought

I had become an expert.

But I'm finding out that

maybe I'm not.

Change is running through my life

like a freight train lately.

And it doesn't even blow a warning horn!

It's the kind of change that

makes you realize that life as you know it

has morphed into something that

although you love and cherish,

you don't really recognize

and you hope that it

morphs into something easier

very, very soon.

I look into the eyes of my son

who will be 20 next month

and I see someone who

except for food and shelter

does not really need me.

But I hope he wants me.

Oh do I hope he wants me.

Right now though,

he neither wants or needs me

most of the time.

He is the main decision maker in his life now

and that scares the heck outa me.

He respects our rules, but really

he is on his own path.

No warning horn.

At almost 18 and soon to be 16,

Michael and Madison are right on Zach's heels.

In just 2 and a half years from now,

we will be the parents of 3 adults and a middle schooler.

Absolutely no warning horn.

At all.

It became evident to us this summer

that we were most assuredly

in the throws of change

when all of the sudden

we became a party of 3

instead of a party of 6.

The older kids were so busy with work,

summer trips with friends

and things that they wanted to do

and we were busy with our own summer

activities centered around

the outdoors with Brendell.

I wish I had known that the summer of 2010

was the last summer we'd spend

doing things that the teenagers

wanted to do with us.

Did you hear a warning horn?

Yeah, me either.

And so this change,

this thing that makes my kids second guess

my advice

and brush off my attempts at

deep conversation.

This thing that has them

saying a quick,

"bye Mom, I love you!"

on the way out to work

or play

This thing that has me watching tail lights

and waiting for headlights,

This thing that has me trying to remember

what being a teenager was like,

This thing that has awarded

them more responsibility

and more choices

This thing that keeps me up at night

hoping that they make good choices

This thing without a warning horn....

I don't like it very much.

Roses and Chicken Nuggets

The impact that a father has on a girl's life

is no secret.

It cannot be over stated,

emphasized enough

or exagerated.

Every girl needs an excellent Dad!

This vital need is more evident today than ever.
With so many broken homes and absent fathers
a large percentage of our little girls are growing up with
scarred hearts.
For these girls,
the precious and fleeting years that should have
been filled with her daddy's
steadfast adoration and heroic protection
are instead filled with the agendas
of selfish adults
or with the confusion that
comes from having such a deep need and no real direction
as to how to fill it.
Our girls are struggling
to realize who they are.



Within the heart of every girl

no matter what her age,

is the desire to be

loved, needed, appreciated, wanted

and cherished.
This need was put within us by our heavenly Father

whose everlasting love can meet

those needs beyond our comprehension.

How we as little girls perceive our

earthy daddies
will mold the way we think of our heavenly Father.
Dads, this makes you just about

the single most influencial player in

our lives!!



For those of you Dads out there

rocking it out as

excellent Fathers,

Thank You!!!

You have no idea the impact you are making

not only on your daughter's life today,

but on all of the lives she will touch as she grows

and also the lives of your grandchildren as well.

Every gentle word,

every prayer you utter on her behalf,

everytime you decide to spend time with her

instead of on something trivial and temporary,

everytime you take a moment to encourage her

you are building a better future for

her and the woman she will become.

You cannot begin to imagine how your efforts today

will pay dividends in the future!

As a mom of two teenage boys,

I pray that the girls they chose to date

have strong, loving Fathers in their lives

to teach them what precious young ladies

they are and to build into them

the ability to confidently know who they are

and what they are worth.




For all of the girls out there who may not have

this kind of Father or none at all,

there is hope!

The same God who created you
is the one who put that need for love inside of you.

He longs to be that Father for you!



Psalm 68:5 says that He is the Father to the Fatherless

and a hero for all times!

Isn't that what we all want girls?

A hero for all times!





God calls us his children

dearly loved,

accepted,

united with the Lord

and one with him in spirit,

bought with a price,

set apart,

adopted as His child,

redeemed and forgiven,

His workmanship,

free from condemnation

and unable to be separated from His love!

Just ask Him and He will be there

never leaving or forsaking you!

He will fill that nagging need inside of you

that the enemy would wish you to fill

with temporary and distructive things.



For all of you girls with awesome Dads...

don't let another day go by without

letting them know how

thankful you are for their

positive influence in your lives!

An excellent father is a rare and beautiful thing!

Those doing it well

need to be honored.



For all of you Dads who haven't been so awesome lately,

it's not too late.

Plan a date night,

write a note,

give a hug

hold a conversation

say something positive and affirming

to your little lady

(or not so little one)
I bet you will see the spark of forgiveness

and delight begin to shine in her eyes!

Don't give up...

after all, you are

our hero
and heros fight for the love of their ladies!



*

(Thanks Chick-Fil-A for creating an enviornment

of affirmation for daughters and daddies everywhere

with your daddy daughter date nights!)



*

A hero on the pool deck....

I met Brian and Rachael a few weeks ago

on a Caribbean cruise I took with my mom.

Before I even noticed Brian's leg,

I was struck by the obvious adoration between this couple.

Rachael just glowed in Brian’s presence

and seemed to have a protective nature about her.

Brian definitely looked like a man in love,

but there was also a certain sadness and hesitation about him.

They were both settled into sun chairs on the pool deck

when I first saw them.

A few minutes later when he moved his beach towel

I saw Brian’s leg.

It was a curious contraption of metal and sockets

with a brown sandal fixed to a plastic bare foot.

Mom and I happened to be sitting pool side

a few chairs from Brian’s when the cruise director announced

a "Mr. Sexy Legs" competition.

I had no sooner turned to my mom to tell her that I hoped Brian would enter

when I saw Rachael encouraging him to put his name on the list.

He kept shaking it off,

but mom and I supported Rachel with a “thumbs up”

and vigorous motioning for him to get up.

Reluctantly, Brian put his name on the list and got in line.

We watched several men strut their stuff down the deck.

Some were funny,

some were embarrassing,

but none of them had the impact that Brian did when he his walk began.

At well over six feet tall

I imagine that Brian probably wasn’t very graceful on two legs,

but as he made his way down the deck

with his newly learned gait,

he became more beautiful with each stride.

Almost everyone on the pool deck stood and cheered for him

and people were lined up against the upper deck railing

most of them with their hands in the air clapping for Brian!

At that moment

Brian was our friend,

our son,

our brother,

our husband.

He was every soldier who didn’t come home

and every soldier who was still there fighting.

We all wiped away tears

as he made his way over to where Rachael was sitting

and gave her a big kiss before getting back in line

to await the judge’s decision.

I spoke with Rachael as we were waiting

and she told me that Brian had lost his leg only seven months ago

and that he was still insecure about learning how to move around

in his prosthetic leg

which he got for Christmas.

This cruise was her way of celebrating how far he'd come

and to lift his spirits.

What we originally thought would be good for Brian,

turned out to be an amazing lesson for all of us watching.

We saw a hero whose bravery had remained strong

through the physical battlefield of Iraq

and through the emotional battlefield

of recovery.

His heroism inspired in us

a new appreciation for the price of freedom.

We shed tears as this American hero

took several steps toward healing himself,

but what we didn’t count on

was that with each step he took,

something in all of our hearts began to heal as well.

Many of us were brought face to face

with the silliness of our own insecurities

as we watched this soldier face his in a big way.

After what we saw on that day

how could any of us ever again say

that we can’t do something out of fear

or because of the risk of embarrassment?

Courage inspires courage.

Many men in the audience were veterans of past wars.

Their bodies bore the scars that told the stories

of the price of freedom in their own lives.

Grey headed wives stood beside these men,

their scars of worry were better concealed

but still as painful.

Like so many intangibles

the bond between people who have gone through similar tragedies

is as evident when they talk to each other

as it would be if they were tied together by a big unbreakable rope.

When you witness people with this kind of bond,

it is undeniable.

It is also essential to our emotional well- being

to relate to other people on the deep level of shared experiences.

Hearing “I’ve been there son”

from war veterans must have soothed a part of Brian

like nothing else could.

Brian received a metal that day for winning the "Mr. Sexy Leg" contest,

but his biggest gift was being embraced by an audience

whose appreciation was evident in their glistening eyes,

their standing ovations,

their hugs and handshakes.

In the middle of the Caribbean Sea

amidst steel drum bands

and umbrella drinks,

I watched a broken man be put back together

one "thank you" at a time

and I watched a hero

make better Americans of us all.

The change in Brian was immediately noticeable.

Over the next few days I rarely saw him alone.

He was always greeted with handshakes

and engaged in conversation.

That hesitancy that I had seen in him before

was replaced by a broad smile,

a head held high

and what looked like pride to me.

Later that week

on the very same pool deck that he had introduced himself

to a ship full of strangers,

Brian got down on one knee

and proposed to Rachael.

She said yes!

both sides of the coin....

The first stop on our Caribbean cruise was San Juan, Puerto Rico.

I was so excited to visit my first island.

We found a great spot to watch us dock.

My first impression of San Juan

was that it was very congested and

kind of dirty. I could not believe how many cars

were packed onto one narrow street!

I did really like the colorful buildings though.

The balconys on many of them

reminded me alot of New Orleans.

It was dreadfully hot on the day we were there, even at 5:00 pm.

Mom and I walked the streets for a bit

and visited some local shops.

Because we docked on Mother's Day

which is a big day in Puerto Rico,

alot of the attractions were closed.

So after getting our fill of

what was accessible by foot,

we went back to the ship before dark

and enjoyed a party under the stars on the pool deck

that evening.

Stop #2 was a beach day!

We docked in St. Thomas which I thought was

stunningly beautiful!

The water was a gorgeous turquoise and

the beaches were almost as sugar white

as Pensacola's beaches are.

I would love to spend more time on this island.

I was surprised at the prices of the homes
there. Even the ones with fabulous views

were listed at around $600,000!

We took a tour with a guide who dropped us off at

a local beach. But first she drove like a maniac to the top of a mountain!

In St. Thomas they drive on the other side of the street

but they have American cars so their steering wheels

are in the same place as ours.

It would take some serious getting used to

if I had to drive there!

After the gorgeous views on the mountain,

we descended into a slummy looking neighborhood.

It definitely didn't look like a place tourists would go.

Our guide told us that the best beaches to visit were the local ones and

Coki beach was definitely local!

As soon as we rounded a corner,

we were relieved to see that

it was indeed a beautiful beach

and there were other cruisers there as well.

Mom and I ordered fruity rum drinks and

a fish dish that is common on the island.

I'm not sure wha thte fish was called,

but it was soooo good!

We snorkled and enjoyed the water at Coki beach.

They gave us a dog biscuit to break up under water

as we snorkled

so that we could see the fish close up.

On the surface, I didn't think we'd see much

because even though the water was pretty clear,

there didn't seem to be much fish action.

As soon as I went underwater though,

I was greeted by dozens of yellow and blue fish

who apparently loved dog biscuits!

Our third stop was Samana, Dominican Republic.

We were given a tour through typical neighborhoods

in Samana. Our guide kept telling us that we would see other people

from our boat on the tour.

The deeper we got into the back roads

the more he told us that.

We were beginning to think that he was

just telling us that to keep us calm

so they could eat us!

I was even starting to size the guide and driver up

to determine whether I or another tour mate could take them,

but alas, we saw lots of other cruisers

and our fears subsided.

Tourism is the only industry in Samana

and the people struggle for everything they get.

I saw the skinniest dogs I have ever seen there

and lots of children eating fruit off of the trees in their yards.

There were children everywhere

and all of them wanted gum or lolli pops

from us.

Mom brought a bag full to give away.

Local helpers assisted us across creeks

as we walked through the "jungle" to

see a waterfall.

The locals walk beside you the whole way

ready to assist you if you need help navigating the rocky part of the path.

They had hopes of getting a tip for their guidance.

I think my helper was in training

because I had a 13 year old boy hold my hand the entire way.

At the beginning a woman said something to him in spanish

and he grabbed my hand and didn't let go.

Mom and her helper Naomi walked in front of us

and Naomi often looked back and laughed at

my helper who was holding my hand even on long stretches

of flat ground.

I'm sure that woman told him, "Grab her hand and stay with her

so you can get a tip" or something like that!

I did tip my funny escort.

The shacks that the people of Samana live in

are in stark contrast to the beauty around them.

They live with so little which is such an eye-opener

to us Americans who have been blessed with so much.

I would love for my kids to experience something like this

and see first hand how other cultures live with so much less

than we do.

In St. Thomas, I felt like I was in shopping heaven

and I found so many things that I wanted to buy.

In Samana all I could think of was what I wanted to give.

Samana was my favorite port.

It was so meaningful to me to see both sides of the coin.