Thursday, December 23, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
I recently read how Corrie once said, "I wish -" but then she stopped. She looked upward, raised a hand to heaven and said, "Father, you do all things well. Thank you!" A friend of hers had never forgotten.
When I read this, I immediately loved it! I read it again. I memorized it. I bookmarked it. Throughout the day, I tested myself to see if my lame long-term memory could actually remember it along with "stop and grab bread, pick up Meredith at 7 and start laundry."
I did! :)
Only a few days later, I was driving to South Bend, Indiana to meet my sisters (all 5 of them) and my mom and dad, to celebrate my dad's 75th birthday.
I was elated. Just the girls and mom and dad together...how fun! I really couldn't remember the last time we'd done something like this. I mean, I knew there were times it happened without me...a ten hour drive to Ohio is a little hard to make for a supper.
But this time, I got to go!
On the way, as I was making my 5 hour trek, the thought occurred to me, here I was drinking McDonald's sweet tea and pounding down Aldi's mixed nuts (the cashews and almonds, first) to stay awake and they were all together in one van telling funny stories and laughing...without me!
The funnest part of our whole time together could be the way there...and I wasn't with them!
A deep sadness settled
like sugar in unsweetened tea.
Then I thought it...
I wish I were in their van-
The Holy Spirit kicked in "You wish?"
Involuntarily, I raised my hand upwards to my precious Father, who knows everything, and said, "Father, you do all things well. Thank you!"
And I even meant it.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
"Winning is fun!" That's Michaela's quote. I agree 100%.
That's why on a Thursday night in Dubuque, Iowa we were left feeling anything but...Matt's Greenville College soccer team had made it to 'the big dance.' They were in the NCAA tournament...an accomplishment only 32 teams in each division in the country can boast of.
At halftime we were leading 1 to 0. Within 4 minutes of the last half, Loras College scored. Within 8 minutes they scored again. They added a 3rd goal in the last ten minutes of the game.
I felt sick to my stomach watching the last ten minutes of the game.
Matt played with a whole heart the entire game. My mama's heart was 100% proud.
As the final seconds ticked away and the deep chanting voices of the Loras fans filled the stadium "Season's Over" clap-clap-clap-clap-clap, "Season's Over" clap-clap-clap-clap...my eyes remained glued to #17...my son.
His face hung. He whipped off his headband letting his long hair fall over his face. I searched to see him, his eyes...his slumping shoulders said it all.
Bobby then realized we left the bags of trailmix for Matt in the Durango. He left to go get them.
Inwardly I panicked as I watched Matt and other players slowly cross the field. Oh no, he's going to get here before his dad. What am I going to say? What can I say? His dad is so darn good at knowing how to do these things...what do I-
Matt had reached our side of the field. He swung a leg over the bleacher rail and pulled himself up. He flicked his hair back..then quickly looked down again.
I was speechless. I reached out and pulled him close. Tears filled my eyes.
"I love you, Matt. I'm proud of you," I whispered.
He pulled away, looked up and after a few seconds of silence said quietly, "It just stinks. For Terrance and the rest of the Seniors, it's over. Soccers over. I feel bad for them."
I swallowed hard, to hold back more tears.
I watched him, with relief. I mentally focussed all of my pitiful listening skills on my man. What would he say? How could I learn from his gift of knowing just what to say?
He smiled sympathically at his son. Then he shrugged and said, "You got here. Most teams never do."
"You do have trail mix," his dad said with a grin.
"Trail mix will make it better?" Matt said with a twinkle in his eye.
I stood quietly. That's all? Is there no more we can say...to make him feel better? To give clarity? To make it make sense?
Yes, Michaela. Winning is fun...and yes, Matt, losing does stink.
As your mom I feel inept to know what to say, how to help, how to encourage you in your faith during the poopy times of life.
I do want to be there. I'm not sure exactly how it makes a difference, but it must. I'm sorry I can't give you more. It stinks that I can't give you more.
Maybe 'the more' can only come from another place, another source...and praise His name if it isn't Jesus.
The only One who can take an L and make it a W.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
My mother...that's who.
I am majorly tearing up. My mom totally embodies the spirit of thanksgiving. So many of my memories are of my mother happily whistling around the house. She actually whistled hymns. She told me once that her dad whistled tunes and that's something she picked up from him. But she didn't just whistle any tune, her favorite was "How Great Thou Art."
My mom is not a woman who has had it easy. She had 6 children in 8 years. She definitely worked in the home and out. The air hockey and pool table downstairs always looked they they were regurgitating the junior miss section of J.C. Penneys. Did I mention the ever wet basement...running girls around to basketball games and working full time as my father's dispatcher for his trucking company of 100 plus trucks?
If any woman ever had a right to complain or grumble or be overwhelmed it would be my mother...Eunice Hackenberger.
She rarely did. She worked hard. She still does. She chose to look at the blessings in her life...her man, (like that mom?...notice I didn't say your boss :)), her daughters, her God.
My mom is truly amazing. For her thanksgiving is not a holiday, but an attitude, a way of life. Thanks mom!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
It separates my bangs like warm gravy from the fat.
I sat in my hairdresser's chair several weeks ago.
"What do you want?" Chris asked.
After a busy day of teaching children, I felt brain dead. I couldn't think.
"Do you want a highlight or more brown pulled through your hair?"
Once again I stared at Chris with the stare of my daughters when I ask them if they've gotten their chores done.
I began, "I don't feel like deciding. You're the professional. Do what you think."
After saying that, I immediately felt relief which quickly turned to fear.
Chris looked intently at my big forehead, "I say let's do some heavy bangs and trim the rest."
"Bangs? I can't have bangs. I have a collic, remember?" I asked.
"You can't do wispy bangs. You can do heavy bangs," Chris said.
"Wow...I thought I couldn't have bangs."
Chris began adding color through my hair. She rinsed it. Then asked me to go back to my styling seat. As I sat down, I glanced in the mirror.
Fear! Fear! Fear...pulsated through my being.
What if she cuts my bangs and I don't like them? What if I don't know what to do with them? What if they look horrible? I glanced in the mirror at my ever-present, growing larger by the second, forehead. I hate my big forehead! What if I hate my bangs more?
Chris nonchalantly picked up her scissors and brought them to my hair. She looked calm and knowledgeable. Could she not tell I was starting to sweat like I did in Freshman Speech?
She pulled up a small segment of hair. Her scissors opened. It was like the slow motion in a movie before something dramatic happens.
"I'm scared!" I shouted, clutching her hand with the scissors.
Embarrassment spread like icing on a warm cake.
I looked around. Everyone was looking at me. Chris looked intently and questioningly at me.
Chris smiled, holding back what surely must be a full-belly laugh. "It's just hair," she replied calmly.
"No," I countered back. "To you it's just hair. You are good at hair. You know what to do with new hair. I don't. I'm not a hair person."
She smiled reassuringly and with one snip, I had bangs.
She finished cutting my hair. Thirty minutes later, while climbing out of the chair and glancing quickly in the mirror, I still wasn't sure.
When I first met up with my husband that night, it was during prayer meeting. He said nothing. He must not like it, I thought. Well, I'm not sure I like it either, I thought, while continuing my thought conversation with the man, who was either oblivious to my new hair or decidely against it, but unable to tell me.
After church, when he got home, he stared at me. I did not like it! My least favorite thing to talk about is hair. "Your hair looks good," he said casually as he hung up his coat.
Then he walked into the living room and started channel surfing.
That's it! All I got was that? Did he mean it? Was he sensing my insecurity and trying to make me feel better?
I glanced into the living room. He was already engrossed in a cop show.
The next morning I got up a little early. I needed to be sure that on my debut hair day it looked as good as I could do. I didn't wash it for fear it would look better a day-old but done by Chris, rather than fresh, but in the hands of an amateur.
I went to school.
No one noticed! (O.K. nobody except Linda, who was in the beautyshop, too.)
What could I make of it?
Two weeks later I met my beautiful 5 sisters, with (you guessed it) great hair, along with my mom and dad for my dad's 75th birthday. I checked to be sure my hair was as good as I could get. It was fine.
As we exchanged hugs....nobody noticed!
How could these sisters of mine not notice? Growing up they noticed if I had black socks instead of blue with my jeans. They noticed if a new pimple was starting to pop out along my hairline and handed me the consealer. They noticed if I said the word 'mirra' instead of 'mirror.' How could they not notice?
The next day, Carla said, "I noticed your hair looked really cute last night." Several other sisters chimed in agreement.
I smiled. "Oh it's just hair."
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
I gotta love that!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Today was different, though.
She began by talking about what she had written. Her teacher, Mrs. Hochgraber, had asked them to think about a story they could write which had lots of emotion.
Meredith smiled demurely and continued..."So I wrote about the time I was helping in the 2's/3's class for church. We helped the rambunctious little kids line up and go into the big gym to play on the bounces. Then we had to help them take off their shoes."
Meredith continued on, "I felt this little tugging on my black gouchos. I looked down and there was little blonde haired, blue eyed Aiden."
He very quietly said, "I don't have anybody to play with."
Meredith bent down and looking into Aiden's gorgeous eyes said, "You can play with me?"
Aiden nodded, grabbing Meredith's hand. She kicked off her flip flops and the two of them jumped into the Noah's Ark Bounce. The whole time, they talked and talked and laughed and fell over.
After a little while, it was time to line up to go back to their classroom. Meredith quickly set out napkins while the teacher scooped out the cheese whales. She sat down between the little ones. She looked up as Aiden squeezed in between her and little Gabriella. She smiled at her new found friend. He beamed back.
After snack it was Movie Time! Everyone lay down on the rug to watch Veggie Tales. Aiden found his way to Meredith. Then it happened!
Before Meredith even had a clue, Aiden cupped his chubby, dimpled hand around her neck and gave her a kiss!
"So," Meredith said smiling, "I've decided to title my writing..."My First Kiss!"
Sunday, September 26, 2010
I was excited for this trip. Excited that Madison would have a great bonding time with her dad, just as Matt had when he was 14. Excited that Bobby would have a break from everyday life and get to enjoy a change of pace. Excited that they would get the time to create a memory that would last forever.
O.K. and I must admit I was a little excited for me. Excited for me because we could have pigs-in-a-blanket and breakfast suppers...all of which could be made in 5 minutes or less. Excited for me because I could actually sleep all night with no one on my side of the bed. Excited for me because I could selfishly indulge in going to bed at 9:30 without feeling guilty. Excited for me because of the pure independence I would have.
I slept about as good as I did when I first brought the twins home from the hospital. Only instead of being awakened by two darling baby girls, I was awakened by one one-hundred pound black lab. Every night, throughout the night, mind you, I listened to the jingle of his metal tag against his collar.
Why was he in my room? Great question! The girls love sleeping with me when dad is gone. Wittle, bitty Hercules can't be by himself at night! He gets lonely.
After three nights of jingling, wise Michaela said, "Mom why don't you take his collar off?"
See why she is so wise?
I did...but then I began to notice his other sounds. Do dogs regurgitate and re-swallow only at night? I have never noticed it before. It was like trying to sleep with someone vomitting in the bathroom next door. IMPOSSIBLE!
Here was my chance for extra sleep...I had planned on it. I had anticipated it. And IT WASN'T HAPPENING!
Yet, here I was. I was independent! If the girls and I wanted to try Best Buffet, as my ESL students had recommended, I could. We did! If we wanted to go to Walmart late at night for a treat, we could. We did! If we wanted to have a quiet evening with the t.v. off, candles lit and quiet music to read by, we could. We
did! (Yeah, Michaela loved that night. :))
Days 1,2 and 3 flew happily by. By day 4, everything changed. On my way to work I felt ready to cry. I missed my Bobby. I missed his laughter. I missed his spontaneous entrances into my life - his phone calls, texts and "I'm home." I missed his teasing eyes. I missed his amazing hugs. I missed HIM!
I missed my Lily, too. I missed her "Come on mom. We gotta go!" in the mornings. I missed her advice on my "Does this outfit work?" I missed her hugs, her gentle spirit and our trips to school, just the two of us.
I missed it!
I missed them!
I missed my family being all together!
Independence, thinking of myself, doing what I feel like, having no one to answer to...
You can have it!
I'll take supervising the kids chores, making decent meals, keeping his laundry done, checking the house for cleanliness before he comes home each night and being there to love on...
Why does it have to take being apart to realize how good it is to be together?!!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
In order to target the most needy children I gave about 15 'at risk' children a battery of tests in order to assess who struggled most.
In the course of his testing, I asked little toe-headed Ozzy, "Can you find a capital letter on this page?"
Ozzy's forehead wrinkled as he studied the page before him. His lips were pursed as he carefully thought.
Then with the most honest, angelic and innocent look on his face, he looked up and said, "I haven't learned that yet."
Instead of saying, "I don't know," "Beats me," or "I could care less." He chose to say "I haven't learned that yet."
I thought about that phrase all day. I loved it. Why? I think because it showed no sense of guilt or embarrassment, but rather hope...that someday he would learn it. It showed that not knowing today was o.k.
Little did I know how useful that phrase would be. As I came home from work and pulled into our driveway, I immediately thought 'Wow, our new roof's looking fabulous. The men of our church got alot done in just one day!'
As I walked into the kitchen, my husband immediately asked, "Where did you park?"
Confused by his obvious concern, I flippantly said, "In the driveway, where else?"
I could tell that didn't go over so great.
"You parked where? Did you not realize the men are still roofing?" (I'm sure my look wasn't nearly as innocent as Ozzy's at this point.)
"Lisa, you're going to get a flat tire. There's nails all around the house. Why didn't you park at the church?"
"Nails all around? I didn't know roofs are put on with nails."
Bobby looked at me like I had just crawled out of the movie "Dumb and Dumber."
"Lisa! You've got to be kidding me!"
Then I said it. I said Ozzy's line.
"I haven't learned that yet. I've never roofed or been on a roof with a roofer."
A hush fell over the room. Bobby just shook his head and walked away. Not another word was said.
Now, I'm not advocating that every arguement be solved with Ozzy's little phrase. But wouldn't that be wonderful? Even better than Jack's 5 magic beans...and the treasures they brought.
I'm just saying it's o.k. if you haven't learned that yet.
Isn't that what life's about?
Monday, September 6, 2010
The worse case scenario happened on our potty-walk. Just up ahead was a lady speed walking with her mini-dog. 'Shoot' I mumbled under my breath. 'Time to turn around.' I started pulling Hercules and noticed 'Oh great! He's doing his business. No pulling allowed.' He finally finished, as the speed walker, kept coming. Frantically I began pulling him back towards home.
I was too late!
He spotted the new dog to sniff and lunged forward. I was not letting go. He literally yanked me off my feet as the speed walker and mini-dog sailed right by us cutting through a neighbor's yard to avoid our chaos. As I struggled to pull my body up off of the sidewalk, while still holding onto the leash and the demon dog, I could only hope I'd never met that neighbor before...and never would.
Later, I challenged the family to a Labor Day bike ride. Madison quickly reminded me that Meredith was not there and her long-legged friend could never ride Meredith's bike from two years ago. Without thinking (surprise, surprise) I said, "I'll ride Meredith's bike if we all go."
Bob grinned, "We're going for a bike ride girls!"
Every person in Quincy, plus all of their out-of-town relatives was at Moorman Park as we rode by...a long line of girls led by dad and caboosed by the clown mother.
It ended when my dear man at 9:00pm said, "Hey, doesn't a Starbucks sound good?"
Yes, I had already showered...no make up on, stringy hair air drying and pajamas on. Of course, Marissa waited on me. No, it couldn't have been someone I didn't know. Not today!
On my car ride home I was hangin' with God and asking the obvious, "What was the deal?"
He whispered one word...'humility.'
"Ugh" I groaned. "Humility is so...embarrassing, so demeaning, so 'please tell me no one saw that'...so opposite of-
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
I'm there today...yah, it's been one of those days. It's dreary and rainy outside, work is overwhelming, I'm 'filling in' at my old/new job until they find a replacement and starting a new teaching job in two different elementary schools that I've never taught in, which means being the newbe once again and being the one who has to ask a thousand questions because I don't know, besides I have to make snacks for Madison's first day of school tomorrow, and go meet Meredith and Michaela's teachers at Baldwin tonight, which did I mention I applied at Baldwin and did not get hired, which makes even entering the building akward...and did I mention I feel like a loser?
Oh and did I forget to mention that I just received an email from the Reading Recovery director asking if I was "ready" for the new school year.
Ready?! (This is not a typo. When you feel like a loser normal thinking is even slow.)
I am certainly not ready! If there's one thing a loser is not....that is ready!
I'm not ready for my "substitute for myself" assignment at my old/new job. I am not ready to teach in two new buildings where I am forced to be the newbe once again. I am not ready to teach reading recovery. It's been 3 years and I need to go over my books and notes. I am not ready for Madison's snack. I am not ready to meet the Baldwin teachers. I look a mess today. I am not ready!
I am blogging.
I don't remember how old I was, but I was old enough to carry my books from class to class. I'm guessing around 5th grade. Those were the dark ages, when we didn't even get class lists. We simply bought the same basics every year, from kindergarten through fifth grade. Except, of course, in 4th grade the crayons were replaced by markers.
Anyhow, the night before school my mother handed me this extra large, blue box of Puffs "for school."
I pulled the insert out of the middle, threw it away and that box of Puffs rested on my school books. We didn't even have backpacks, come to think of it. We carried our books in front, with our arms wrapped around them. Except for me. I carried my books, plus my large box of blue Puffs on top, with my arms wrapped around them.
They traveled with me from science to social studies to math to reading, the entire school year. I remember the occasional curious classmate asking, "Why do you have that?" while pointing to my large, blue box of Puffs.
Such a question didn't even deserve an answer, I thought as I gave a look like "duh...why do you think?"
Can you believe I'm even sharing this story?!!
If you thought I was one short of a full deck before, now you know I am!
Yet, I didn't question my mother. She said, "Take this to school." I did! I took it to school exactly as I took my folders, binders and pencil pouch filled with pencils, scissors and markers. The occasional comments of classmates had no effect on me. I simply thought, "What's their issue?"
It never donned on me that not everyone was carrying a box of Puffs around. In fact, not one single soul was carrying a box of Puffs around...only Lisa Hackenberger.
I want my faith to be like that...
causing others to notice and
out in front with my arms wrapped around it!
Friday, August 6, 2010
The problem? He humps people. There I said it. Is that too gross or too graphic for a blog?
He does. If Matt's friends are over and we're playing the game Guesstures, where you have to act out a word or phrase...Hercules is beside himself. He rushes the person giving the clues and...you guessed it.
Embarrassing? Yes! Totally! There's something that seems unBiblical about going to your pastor's home and being attacked by a dog that...well, you know.
When my sweet little nephew Levi comes over...he's 6 and loves to run. One guess who comes running over to greet him first?
What should we do? (He's already been neutered...but thanks for the suggestion.)
Yes, I agree. The Bible is a great place to look for solutions, but to my knowledge it doesn't address this sort of thing. (I'll have to ask my husband, just to be sure, though.)
What can we do, really? (Besides be on the look-out, try to prevent it and grabbing Hercules off, if we're a bit late. Ugh!)
The solutions are minimal...my whole family (minus Bobby and I, on some days) totally love this dog.
That's it! I've figured it out...
"Love covers a multitude of sins."
So it was in the Bible afterall. :) You're good, God! You got it all covered, even _____ing dogs!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
See the problem? (No, not the problem that the best thing about me is my feet...the other one.)
So being the good wife (I like to surprise him occasionally) I went to the podiatrist. He confirmed it. It was a fungus. He recommended pills for 6 months. Six months of pills for a big toe fungus?
Not only that, I had my blood drawn, because in very rare situations this particular pill could cause liver damage...for a big toe fungus?
Yet, I reassured myself. My husband is a foot-man (among other things). This matters.
I drove to Walmart to pick up my prescription. $4 - now that seems to fit for a big toe fungus, I thought smiling.
I must take it daily. Naturally, I put it by the only other medicine I take daily, my birth control pills. That night I popped out my birth control pill, laid it on the counter, opened my toe fungus medicine bottle and slid out a large white pill.
It was David and Goliath.
I popped David in my mouth and he slid down with a tiny swallow. I reached for Goliath, with my water glass in hand and swallowed. He got stuck! I grabbed another swig and forcefully swallowed. He stayed put! Inwardly, I panicked. I reached for the refrigerator door...No soda? What do I do? I cleared my throat, grabbed another gulp of water and he moved.
I thought...all this for a big toe fungus.
How do the the smallest of things become a big toe fungus?
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Reality smacked like the bug guts on our windshield after our overnight trip to Lake Rathbun. Yes, I still get the texts...every day at about 5:45. Those ones that every mother dreams of, 'What's for supper? I'm starving. Can it be ready in 5 minutes? I have a softball game at 6:00.'
The other day was different. It was Sunday night and he had just taught the youth group a lesson. After asking what we had to eat and complaining that our only junk food is Casa Mamita brand, he said, "God gave me a compliment."
Chills ran down my spine. Goosebumps spread up my arms. Inwardly, I cautioned myself, "Don't ask a bunch of questions, Lis. Listen. Listen." I smiled that cheesy smile that says, "continue on."
Matt continued, "I asked the kids who remembered what the big idea was from last week. The first person I called on remembered it." He smiled his adorable, Matt Cowman smile and walked out of the room.
I wanted to call out, "Come back here. Let's talk more. Who was it that knew the answer? How did you decide to call on that person? Did your sisters remember the big idea? Has God ever given you a compliment before? What was the big idea? What Bible verses did you use to teach it?"
He was gone.
Left behind was the mother, sitting on the couch, hoping he'd follow my lead and actually sit while he shared his story...small though it was...a 22 word story, to be exact.
O.k., maybe 22 words is too short to even be called a story, more like a comment. Yet, it was, let's see, 3 times longer than his usual college texts.
God gave me a compliment. I scribbled it down in my daytimer so I wouldn't forget it. I loved it immediately, because:
a) Matt said it.
b) It was Matt connecting with God.
c) It was God connecting with Matt.
and perhaps d) It was Matt connecting with Mom.
O.k., so maybe Matt will only rarely talk about something other than food. God is a good other choice. It may be a small overall percentage, somewhat like the whole corn vs. the citric acid on the back of a package of Doritoes, or er the package of Casa Mamita Tortillas, cheese flavored.
Yet it's there.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
"Parker went to the nursery for the first time today at church. I forgot to mention to them (the nursery workers) that when he is tired you have to smash his face into your armpit, keep putting his pacifier in, between his screams and fighting of sleep, put the blanket against his cheek, (then) rock him and practically beat him on the butt before he will give in and (eventually) go to sleep."
Stephanie, I hope you don't mind my parenthesis. :) (I didn't think you would.) Thanks for letting me share this.
I smiled for many reasons. The first one being, I remember that first baby, and all the instructions that had to accompany him before I would leave. I remember worrying about him after we finally did leave...with my husband dragging me out of the friend's house like our dog, Hercules, dragging me out for a potty break.
The second one being, I know what it's like for the nursery worker. You smile politely, all the while thinking 'I do have four children, who at last check are all living. You may go." Trust me, I'm thinking that in a nice way, of course...yet, still thinking it.
The third one being, I smile because what this mother is thinking and what is in the realm of reality are two different things. I'll explain. The mother envisions me holding her firstborn the entire time, even if he does indeed fall asleep. She pictures me rocking him gently, while repositioning the pacificier if it happens to slip out.
I'm thinking the second I get him to sleep, he's going into the crib so I can get the fussy little baby who's in the swing.
Now we have a wonderful nursery staff at church, but the last time I checked we weren't quite at the 1 to 1 child to adult ratio that a firstborn baby has. Stephanie...I do promise to do my best, though. Parker will be well taken care of. (He is the cutest newborn, ever. :))
Yes, Parker has long directions, in which his mother ensures that we meet his needs and meet them promptly. Those long directions, which are simply the 'putting him to sleep directions' not the 'how he likes to drink his bottle directions' or the 'how he likes to be held directions' are as lengthy as the choice of names in my baby name book. Yet they reveal something very important, not about Parker, but about his mother.
She loves him.
I'm feeling a major "OUCH" coming on..are you? My mind is replaying 'a discussion' I've had with my husband. O.k., who am I kiddin...it was the prequel-arguement. The one we've played so many times, it wore out.
"What?" I ask in my self-controlled, superior, yet slightly snotty, voice. "You're upset because I forgot that one little load of laundry? It's only one load! Did you notice the clean kitchen, the vacuumed livingroom or the nice supper? What's the big deal?"
My actions, my 'doing the lists,' my 'taking care of each detail' reveal what? About who?
How much do I love?
How come being attentive to our husbands is so much harder than being attentive to our newborns?
"Because newborns are helpless," you're shouting. Yes, they are. But someday that precious little newborn, your precious little newborn, is going to be somebodies mate. How did you treat him, nurture him, respond to him and love him down to the tiniest of details?
How will you want his mate to respond to him?
How have I responded to my mother-in-law's newborn?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
If that weren't disturbing enough...how come after using the eye makeup remover again (after I showered, mind you) and reapplying my waterproof mascara and eyeliner for another day, I go to church, get emotional, with one tear forming in my right eye...and I look like a black river is running down my face?
I want some answers here! You may think I'm exaggerating. Those of you who are my friends and family are shaking your heads no. You know exactly what I mean! If that weren't bad enough, on the last week of school my precious 3rd graders made "Memories of 3rd Grade" books. One of the pages said, "This is my teacher." Then there was a blank page for them to draw what I looked like...you guessed it!
One student, who shall remain nameless, came up to me and said, "Mrs. Cowman, what do you think of your picture?" I smiled sweetly, thinking of the other pictures my students had shown me...some drew large sunny smiles on my face, some drew rainbows over me, others drew me in gardens with flowers-not Jared. Oops!
The smirk on his face should have warned me. I looked down and yes, there I was with not one but two rivers of black running down each side of my face.
See? I wasn't exaggerating!
Many of you are asking an obvious question. Why don't you try different eye makeup? Yes...that is a point I've considered. The problem is this, I'm thinking the black river is largely due to my eyeliner. I discovered it three years ago when I was sick and tired of looking like I had just climbed out of bed when it was noon. So I discovered Loreal liquid eyeliner. For a person with eyes as small as peas and lashes the length of an atom, I needed it! People really did comment on me looking great after I started using it.
The problem again...my black rivers. Unfortunately, I am a fairly emotional person, I will tear up daily. The question is then, 'Is the cost of being a black river faced woman occasionally worth it to look better most of the day?'
The answer, 'It depends if my friends will regularly tell me and rub it off.'
Now, I did have a great little friend in that 3rd grade class. Yes, my adorable little Kendall would tell me. I loved that about her. I told her she had the makings of a good friend. :) I gave her that job. Yes, while others organized our classroom library or wiped off transparencies, Kendall told me when my make up smeared. You don't find that on many teachers job charts. Just mine.
So I guess my problem does have a solution...and it may be that I don't have to find a new eyeliner, afterall.
It just comes down to friends.
My make up can work if I have good ones. How about you? After you think carefully about how few friends will tell you about your black rivers, think about this...how are you at being a friend? Are you a Kendall? To who? Who will you love enough to tell the tough stuff? The stuff that will actually help them? The black rivers in their lives?