My children actually think that Halloween is the last Sunday in October. We live in a town that always trick-or-treats on the Sunday before Halloween...it's probably a law or something brilliant like that. Now that I've been in the big world of politics for 6 whole months (school board, if you don't know) I figure somebody proposed this years ago to benefit their own child, nobody has ever looked at the 'why' since, and it just stays this way and nobody can tell you why...but I digress.
Here are my top ten reasons for loving trick-or-treating:
1) Digging through the costume bin. This provides hours and hours of entertainment. Every year when we dig it (or them) out, we find something that got shoved in it while the kids were 'cleaning up' the year before. Our best one was a library book that was wrapped in a Ninja costume. They even refunded my lost book fee!
2) The great equalizer...I love anything that just puts us all at the same level. Every kid has a blast, and gets the same treats.
3) My niece, Lou, gets this one. One year she came to t-o-t with us, and screamed her head off the whole hour before-hand. None of us could figure it out. She was the cutest looking little Tinkerbell ever, the sound...notsomuch. After looking around, I had a brief inspired moment, and asked if she wanted to be Spiderman instead. (We had both the black version and blue and red versions available, thank you very much.) I nailed it!...no wimpy fairy costume for her...she was going out with 4 male cousins and her brother, and she did NOT want to be a fairy...she wanted to be a superhero.
4) The family that works for Mars. We have received the greatest candy from that house.
5) The great candy trade afterwards. What can I say? If I could still be in there trading a Kit Kat for a Reeses...I would be all over it! (Now I just take it, but the thrill is gone)
6) The moment when all the little kids realize what's going on. It's fantastic when it dawns on them if they ring people's doorbells and say blah-blah-blah, they get candy. Suddenly they are sprinting up driveways, and all bad attitudes vanish.
7) Cool people who like decorating their houses. I am not one, but I appreciate the art form.
8) Teenage mooses who will not let go of trick-or-treating. This used to annoy me, but now that I have some (ok, SIX) it cracks me up. It's one of the last little kid things they cling to. My 17 year old spend hours sewing bunny ears last night.
9) Smarties. Nuff said.
10) Last, and absolutely not least, is that fact that there are mountains of chocolate in my house for at least a week. Absolutely limitless!
11) Wait. I have another one. Half price candy the next day...I definitely do the retail rounds. So what if your Christmas stocking is full of black and orange skittle packs? They taste the same!
12) Hang on...one more...the left over candy at your own house. Fantastic!
Enjoy! I have to go and dye Grandpa Ninja's hair!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Crawling Out From Under the Rock
I've been getting pounded with sad news lately. Yesterday, yet another friend told me she is very ill, there is no cure, and it's going to get ugly. (that's a paraphrase!) She also said 'I guess I just haven't done enough things right in my life'.
I didn't give her a 'Jesus will fix it' line, and I'm not going to give you one. I'll tell you what it has taken me 7 1/2 years to learn. God isn't going to fix it. He can, but He doesn't owe you diddly crap, and He doesn't owe me diddly crap. It's not how it works.
He didn't cause it, either. Could He have intervened? Yep. Can He still? Yep. Does it have anything to do with how hard you pray, how good you are, or how much you give? Nope. He's God; we're not; that's it.
I spent a few years absolutely livid over this. God just patiently sat with me in my hissy fit, silent as can be. He wasn't mad at me, either. I believe He was angry...with all the horrible things that had happened...but not with me. But He promised not to break a bruised reed, and He didn't. (Isaiah 42:3) Have you ever tried to break a reed off? Not a dried up one that snaps, but a really healthy one? They're awful. You just twist them and turn them and strip off a few layers and yank and cuss them out and then twist again, until all the juice is running out the sides but the darn thing just stays attached. It's maddening! But that's the reed that God's not going to break, or allow anyone else to. It's not something that's been neatly knocked over by a strong wind. It's a mauled up mess that would, frankly, be better off mowed or cut off or something. But it just hangs on.
I would say during that long period of my life, God would dump water on me now and then so I couldn't die. Sometimes He'd send someone else to do it, but years later I think I just see Him sitting there with a misting bottle, squirting me the tiny amounts I could take. Sometimes I screamed and shook it all off, but sometimes there was no fight, and I'd just let it soak in because I couldn't do anything else.
At some point I think my friends and family took a stick and propped me up. Stupid stick. I didn't want to get up. A better plan was that I turned into some type of creeping vine that grew up the side of a rock. I could throw out a tendril here and there, but mostly stay under the rock. If someone steps on me, it rubs off all my leaves, but it doesn't hurt the rock, so I can creep up again when I feel safe. Which isn't as often as you might think.
So, without insulting your intelligence, let me tell you that God's the rock. He's staying, He's protecting, but we do have to crawl out from under Him from time to time. Just remember He doesn't have the same kind of timeline people do. He sees the heart, He knows the pain, and He's very patient and protective. I personally hope He hurls Himself at a few people's windshields...or skulls, but I suspect it's not the plan.
If you have experienced this life-altering type of pain... and you're waiting to feel normal again...Um, goodluckwiththat. Sorry. I'll never be the person I was before. I'm still me...I can still 'present as normal' but truly truly, I don't miss that person. She was ignorant and arrogant...fearless, yes, but probably to the point of stupidity.
When I learned how to see in the dark after being under the rock for so long, I realized there is a huge community of people down there. Some I'd never seen before. Some I saw every day, I just didn't get it that they were only on the top side for a visit. We kind of wink at each other now...and promise to meet under the rock later.
If you're under the rock; Hey. How's it going?
If you never have been, consider shutting up. Work at not bruising more reeds.
I didn't give her a 'Jesus will fix it' line, and I'm not going to give you one. I'll tell you what it has taken me 7 1/2 years to learn. God isn't going to fix it. He can, but He doesn't owe you diddly crap, and He doesn't owe me diddly crap. It's not how it works.
He didn't cause it, either. Could He have intervened? Yep. Can He still? Yep. Does it have anything to do with how hard you pray, how good you are, or how much you give? Nope. He's God; we're not; that's it.
I spent a few years absolutely livid over this. God just patiently sat with me in my hissy fit, silent as can be. He wasn't mad at me, either. I believe He was angry...with all the horrible things that had happened...but not with me. But He promised not to break a bruised reed, and He didn't. (Isaiah 42:3) Have you ever tried to break a reed off? Not a dried up one that snaps, but a really healthy one? They're awful. You just twist them and turn them and strip off a few layers and yank and cuss them out and then twist again, until all the juice is running out the sides but the darn thing just stays attached. It's maddening! But that's the reed that God's not going to break, or allow anyone else to. It's not something that's been neatly knocked over by a strong wind. It's a mauled up mess that would, frankly, be better off mowed or cut off or something. But it just hangs on.
I would say during that long period of my life, God would dump water on me now and then so I couldn't die. Sometimes He'd send someone else to do it, but years later I think I just see Him sitting there with a misting bottle, squirting me the tiny amounts I could take. Sometimes I screamed and shook it all off, but sometimes there was no fight, and I'd just let it soak in because I couldn't do anything else.
At some point I think my friends and family took a stick and propped me up. Stupid stick. I didn't want to get up. A better plan was that I turned into some type of creeping vine that grew up the side of a rock. I could throw out a tendril here and there, but mostly stay under the rock. If someone steps on me, it rubs off all my leaves, but it doesn't hurt the rock, so I can creep up again when I feel safe. Which isn't as often as you might think.
So, without insulting your intelligence, let me tell you that God's the rock. He's staying, He's protecting, but we do have to crawl out from under Him from time to time. Just remember He doesn't have the same kind of timeline people do. He sees the heart, He knows the pain, and He's very patient and protective. I personally hope He hurls Himself at a few people's windshields...or skulls, but I suspect it's not the plan.
If you have experienced this life-altering type of pain... and you're waiting to feel normal again...Um, goodluckwiththat. Sorry. I'll never be the person I was before. I'm still me...I can still 'present as normal' but truly truly, I don't miss that person. She was ignorant and arrogant...fearless, yes, but probably to the point of stupidity.
When I learned how to see in the dark after being under the rock for so long, I realized there is a huge community of people down there. Some I'd never seen before. Some I saw every day, I just didn't get it that they were only on the top side for a visit. We kind of wink at each other now...and promise to meet under the rock later.
If you're under the rock; Hey. How's it going?
If you never have been, consider shutting up. Work at not bruising more reeds.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Being Nice in a Coma
I did a garage sale with a good friend last weekend. It was Purgeville x 2, and she lives in the greatest location ever to attract people. As always with such events, people of all genres floated in and out - some chatty, some silent. One woman in particular seemed familiar to me, but I didn't say the standard 'do I know you from somewhere?' because people say it to me all the time, and I rarely actually know them. Apparently, I have the universal face. (I wonder if the rest of my clones are growing these funky age spots on their cheeks, and if they know how to get rid of them). Anyway, she left with no comment from me except usual pleasantries.
The next day, at the very end of the sale, she returned. I concluded she must be a neighbor of my friend, and that's why I'd seen her before. I have brilliant deduction skills. She milled around a little bit, talked to my friend about her scrap-booking stuff and then turned and looked at me.
"I know you", she said. "You were at a different garage sale a couple of years ago- with kittens." Crap. Was she going to give one back? I may have had a cat over-population issue for a while.
"Oh yeah?, that was my house." I said. "Did you take a kitten?" pleasenopleasenopleaseno.
"No. I was there with my son who had an ankle bracelet." Interesting. "You were really nice to us. I was in a really bad place in my life, and you told me my son was a 'real gem'." She was getting teary now, but kept going. "He wasn't a really bad kid, but he'd made some really bad choices, and I was at my wits end with him. Nobody ever had anything nice to say about him. Over the past two years I kept telling myself 'he's a gem, he's a gem that lady said he's a gem'. It got me through the past two years."
Oh my. I did remember her. And he was a nice kid. He was very kind to my sons...who can be a pain in anyone's hiney, and he was also gentle with the kittens. She and I had talked about homeschooling, because she'd just pulled him out of school. Of course, I had no idea why, but that wasn't important.
I had not been in a very good place myself. I've gone in and out of depths of pain and anxiety over the years, and I know I wasn't really doing more than functioning at that point. But, I do remember her eyes. They were wounded. Once you've had a hole blown right through the middle of you, you can spot others who are there...or have been. It's like a little secret club. It's called the 'please don't shatter me, I've had everything I can handle' club. The initiation process is brutal, and as far as I can tell, nobody wants in. But there are lots of us. Nobody's tragedy trumps anyone else's, and it really doesn't matter why you're in. You just are.
I'm really glad I came out of my coma to talk to her. It wasn't me...it's looking back at things like this incident is when I realize where God was in the pain. I couldn't see Him myself, but I know He lifted my head enough to see this woman and say something nice about her son. It carried her for two years, and it really had nothing to do with me. Now I know in hindsight that He did the same for me through others. Not the ride on His shoulders I kept looking for, but sustinance for the moment. I think He was carrying me more like a momma cat carries her kittens. Kinda dragging me around by the nape of my neck.
Be nice. Even if you're hurting. Hold open a door, smile, buy lemonade from some kid for a quarter. You could be the reason they keep going that day...or even that year.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
My husband thought I should write a blog. I'm not sure if it's because he thinks I'll babble at him less, or if he really thinks I have something to say. He claims it's the latter. I'm not convinced, but ultimately, it doesn't really matter. It was a nice thing to say.
Does everyone start out their blog by introducing themselves? I'm Eva; I'm forty-something, and I've got eight children. First four girls, then four boys. Five of them are biological, and three are adopted. I thought that raising eight kids within 8 years of one another was the biggest challenge I'd ever face, and it was for a few years.
Two of our girls have been sexually assaulted. While that does not define me or them, it is a huge piece of our lives, as God continues to bring wounded people to us - mostly because we just don't judge. All of the Judgey McJudgerpants (thank you Maureen) has been kicked right out of us. We just have no room to talk. Personally, I spend way too much of my life thinking about where I'd hide the bodies if given the chance. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as worse than what most people struggle with.
Since the statistics are now that 1:2 girls and 1:3 boys will be sexually assaulted by their 18th birthday, I suspect this is a pretty relevant issue. Yet, people don't talk about it. Many still view the victims as the ones who brought it on themselves. Some think if you ignore it, it goes away. Others feel like people just need to get over it and move on...and of course there are those who think Jesus will fix it in a day. I kind of hate them all. Sexual assault is so complex, so intimate, so all-encompassing and the effects are just on and on and on. Memories lurk in every smell, sound, taste. My girls can be completely fine for months, and then something, somewhere completely sends them back into fetal position. Often, they don't even know what it was.
Their siblings have also had their share of pain from it all. They've been moved, been told they can't talk to certain people ever again, and had to deal with tears and rage of their sisters, often having no idea what was wrong. It isn't fair. It really isn't. All of it. Nobody asked for it, and yet it gets to be in our house every freaking day. It doesn't defeat us, but it lurks.
You don't want to be a 13 year old boy in this house. I have two, and they get eaten alive if they even think of letting their hormones out. You forget to put deodorant on in this house, three people tell you how bad you smell before breakfast, and a couple more will catch you on your way downstairs to put it on. You grow a hair anywhere other than your head, you better not let anyone find out, or it is totally dinner conversation. My oldest son called a girl 'hot' when he was about 9, and he had four sisters down his throat declaring him a male chauvenist pig within a nano-second. Poor guy had no idea what he had even done. But women aren't objects in this house. From very early on, our girls (and boys) were clearly told not to settle, ever. They are worth more than that.
At this point, we are a household of extremely imperfect survivors who try, screw up, fall, get up, and we desperately want to honor God with our lives. Some days we do( I hope) and others He is doing the world's most profound eye roll at us.
If you are hurting, I hope you can find some rest here. You can know that as least in this house, we aren't in a hurry for you to get your act together. Don't be whiny or annoying, but you can ache here. We all do. But we laugh a lot, too.
Does everyone start out their blog by introducing themselves? I'm Eva; I'm forty-something, and I've got eight children. First four girls, then four boys. Five of them are biological, and three are adopted. I thought that raising eight kids within 8 years of one another was the biggest challenge I'd ever face, and it was for a few years.
Two of our girls have been sexually assaulted. While that does not define me or them, it is a huge piece of our lives, as God continues to bring wounded people to us - mostly because we just don't judge. All of the Judgey McJudgerpants (thank you Maureen) has been kicked right out of us. We just have no room to talk. Personally, I spend way too much of my life thinking about where I'd hide the bodies if given the chance. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as worse than what most people struggle with.
Since the statistics are now that 1:2 girls and 1:3 boys will be sexually assaulted by their 18th birthday, I suspect this is a pretty relevant issue. Yet, people don't talk about it. Many still view the victims as the ones who brought it on themselves. Some think if you ignore it, it goes away. Others feel like people just need to get over it and move on...and of course there are those who think Jesus will fix it in a day. I kind of hate them all. Sexual assault is so complex, so intimate, so all-encompassing and the effects are just on and on and on. Memories lurk in every smell, sound, taste. My girls can be completely fine for months, and then something, somewhere completely sends them back into fetal position. Often, they don't even know what it was.
Their siblings have also had their share of pain from it all. They've been moved, been told they can't talk to certain people ever again, and had to deal with tears and rage of their sisters, often having no idea what was wrong. It isn't fair. It really isn't. All of it. Nobody asked for it, and yet it gets to be in our house every freaking day. It doesn't defeat us, but it lurks.
You don't want to be a 13 year old boy in this house. I have two, and they get eaten alive if they even think of letting their hormones out. You forget to put deodorant on in this house, three people tell you how bad you smell before breakfast, and a couple more will catch you on your way downstairs to put it on. You grow a hair anywhere other than your head, you better not let anyone find out, or it is totally dinner conversation. My oldest son called a girl 'hot' when he was about 9, and he had four sisters down his throat declaring him a male chauvenist pig within a nano-second. Poor guy had no idea what he had even done. But women aren't objects in this house. From very early on, our girls (and boys) were clearly told not to settle, ever. They are worth more than that.
At this point, we are a household of extremely imperfect survivors who try, screw up, fall, get up, and we desperately want to honor God with our lives. Some days we do( I hope) and others He is doing the world's most profound eye roll at us.
If you are hurting, I hope you can find some rest here. You can know that as least in this house, we aren't in a hurry for you to get your act together. Don't be whiny or annoying, but you can ache here. We all do. But we laugh a lot, too.
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