Waking Up

As the realization that our house is now under agreement began to sink in yesterday, I could feel the pressure I'd been feeling in my chest begin to decrease.

And while we also realize that "it isn't over until it's over", finding a buyer in a mere three months, (which is relatively quick for this current housing market), has definitely helped in chipping away at our hardened tension levels.

And just how else should one respond to such a huge mountain being scaled?

By praising God and making a list of everything that is good about the situation (as in all honesty we do have a slight bone to pick. Not with God. But, we do indeed have a bone to pick. Where did that phrase originate?).

And just how should one respond to the chipping away of the useless rock that surrounds what can one day be transformed into a beautiful piece of art?

By praising God and embarking on yet another fun-filled "Pajama Ride".

Throughout this home selling adventure, George and I have often shared that it has been the kids who have weathered it the best. They have been incredible. Helpful. Encouraging. Excited. Flexible. Eager to help. I could go on. The "storm" that has been this experience for us, the responsible, faith-filled adults, has only been a tiny Spring shower for the children.

Thus, after a great dinner out at The Noodle & Company, (where the checker actually saved us money by suggesting that we just split one large mac-n-cheese for the kids, rather than ordering two smalls . . . I share this because this has never happened to us at any restaurant), we did a little wandering through Border's. Once home, we rushed the kids up to bed.

Shout out to Melody for the gift card to The Noodle & Company. Ordering out has been so very helpful these last few weeks, for I haven't had the energy to meal plan, nor have we wanted the stress of messing up the kitchen in between our frequent showings.

Upon arriving home and hustling the kids up to bed, we waited about 30 minutes. Once we were sure that things had settled down upstairs, we launched into kooky and crazy parent mode, grabbed our saucepans and wooden spoons and began yelling and hooting and hollering and clanging and banging as we ran up the hallway and entered the kid's rooms.

"PAJAMA RIDE! PAJAMA RIDE! Everybody up! Into the car! PAJAMA RIDE!"

Harper was out of her bed in a flash and ready to go. In fact, she disappeared downstairs only to return with her own stainless bowl and spoon in order to join in the drumming parade.

And Zane?

We couldn't wake him.

Three of us in his room clanging on stainless steel cookware.

He didn't budge.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. Snore.

George had to actually pick him up and carry him to the car where we then proceeded to coax him awake with the lure of ice cream.

Yes, he did eventually awaken and enjoyed a bit of his ice-cream before announcing, "Ok. I'm done. Put this in the freezer. I'm going back to bed. Good Night." And he was gone. Up the stairs to his room where he climbed back into bed.

Gotta love that.

Well, I'm NOT going back to bed. I've been in a walking coma for a few months now and I've needed the shocking sound of those pots and pans to jar me back to the land of the living.

I know we still have a bit of a hurdle in front of us to complete our sale, and yet, I feel as if I just woke up from a great slumber.

And perhaps, just perhaps, my son will forget that last night ever happened, thus leaving his ice cream for me!

Ok, that's just mean.

No, instead of lifting my son's ice cream, I think I'll head out for a walk/run this afternoon.

Doesn't that sound great?

Lamentations 3: 22-24

Lamentations 3: 22-24 (New Living Bible)

²² The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
²³ Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
²⁴ I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”

I was pleasantly awaken this morning by, nope, not George, but Harper with a hot cup of morning joe in her hand (interestingly enough in my "No Whining" mug). It was early. Earlier than usual for her to even be up. She was dressed.

I heard Zane up as well. He was still in pj's, but had apparently discarded his nighttime pull-up, having changed into clean underwear on his own, and had already eaten breakfast.

Zane entered with a cheerful, "Good morning, Mommy. I am the Captain of Coffee and Harper is my helper. She made it."

It was true.

As George recounts it, the kids woke very early. George was already up when Harper came downstairs dressed and eagerly offering to make breakfast for everyone.

"Dad, I got breakfast. You can go walk the dog."

She heated up Zane's pancakes (we make a huge stack at the beginning of the week and freeze them), and popped some bagels in the toaster while George walked the dog down to 7-11 to pick up some coffee. He returned home to see Harper serving Zane his breakfast.

She then got the coffee going, properly doctored the morning elixir, and delivered it to me.

It wasn't even 7:30.

George said he was so overwhelmed by the actions and countenance of Harper and Zane this morning that he walked the dog in tears. We are blessed beyond measure. We know this.

We. Absolutely. Know. This.

The remainder of the morning included:

• Secretly watching Zane attempt to make his bed
• Harper telling me to step away from her dirty clothes as SHE would bring them to the hamper
• A snuggle-fest with George and Zane on the bed during which Zane used all his "love talk" to woo me
• Harper helping me make the bed
• And many other "blinks" of God's goodness that I am unable to even recount, as there seemed to be such a multitude of "mercy moments" buzzing and whizzing through the climate of our home at such a high rate of speed that I couldn't possibly get them all recorded
  

It is Friday. Better know as "Joline has the entire morning to herself" day. It is 9:30. I am relishing the mercies God poured out this morning, am looking forward to a salon visit for a new sassy, snappy do, am surrounded by an incredibly clean and easily kept home (after weeks of doing so, it becomes a habit), and am breathing a bit more freely this morning.

God can use anyone to minister.

Thanks, Lord, for using my children.

Additional thought . . . after experiencing this incredible morning, I thought it would be interesting to go back in time. Here is my post from April 3, 2008. Quite a different morning this year.

The Time When I Just About Fell Off Harper's Loft

Harper's physical affection towards me was downright dangerous last night.

We have noticed an incredible hike in her confidence this year. George and I have been in tears several times over the past few months as we watch her blossom and flourish. As I reread my posts from last year, I celebrate her "rebirth", if you will.

She is hilarious: her comedic timing is right on. Polite: she is conscious of her manners around the house. Helpful: her ability to play with and include Zane is so comforting. Focused: watching her sit and read to herself sends a surge of "ahhh" through my spirit. Self-assured: "Mom, I like myself", is what I hear her say (and not in a haughty way) compared to last year when we heard self-deprecating talk to the tune of, "I am so stupid", and "I am a jerk". Words that broke our hearts. So, these current traits, as well as a few others, were MIA last year.

She's also physically affectionate. Our baby, who has never been one to cuddle and snuggle and hug and kiss (she is quite different from her brother) is all about sitting on our laps and giving spontaneous hugs and the rare kiss on the cheek. And last night? Last night?

Last night, right before bed, she gave me complete surprise in the form of a hug and smooch right on my lips. A gesture so unexpected that I just about fell off the ladder attached to her loft. Seriously, I was so taken off guard that I slipped and had to grab the top rail to steady myself.

"Mom, are you going to cry now?"

"Um, I think I just might."

She went in for another hug.

"Well, don't. Because I might cry, too."

And then I fell off the loft.

No, I'm kidding.

She, and Zane, I must add, are both experiencing transformational growth spurts right now. Right now, oddly enough, during one of the most stressful times in our lives. Here, George and I are consumed with selling a house and preparing to move, car issues, and then there's the issue of the oven breaking today, and it is the children who are creating a beautiful stability in our home. They are actually alleviating stress for us. I know, that sounds completely reversed.

Zane is ALL about being a big boy. He will remind us that while he is "young", he is actually a "big boy." I could listen to his voice all day. I can't keep my hands off his adorable little head.

And Harper?

Well, if she keeps it up I may just end up in a cast.

Photo by pomegranates

Thank you, kind Sir!

I'm currently in a really good place.

Sure, the purge is helping. No doubt.

I'm more active.

My mind is clear.

Clarity is a great substitute for fuzziness.

I feel good. Like James Brown good.

And on Tuesday, I was just blessed. Simply put. Blessed. By random acts of kindness. Yeah, yeah, the kind that Oprah has probably gone on and on about because of some book.

I don't think we're wired for kindness.

We're wired to receive it.

But, I'll go out on a limb and say that we're not quite wired to give it. We do, of course. But more often than not, at least in my case, I tend to think about myself before I think about others. It's hard to look that truth in the face. I challenge you to stare it down.

Anyway, back to Tuesday. It's as if it was, "Show Joline a little kindness day".

On the way out of Great Harvest, which is just chock full of kindness by way of free bread slices, I ran into the father of a former student who is now, gasp, a senior at Northwestern. How can my students be graduating from college? That's another story.

Anyway, we spoke and caught up as we walked to Starbucks so I could grab some tea, and Zane some chocolate milk.

Well, this gentleman just wouldn't dream of my picking up the tab for my drinks. He purchased my tea and Zane's drink and then we walked back to our cars. It was such a "chance" meeting, as he doesn't live in Evanston, but was just down for the day visiting his daughter.

Very sweet.

I visit a great market on Dempster every week, as I just can't stand the enormity that is the Jewel or Dominicks - although I do shop there, I tend to prefer the smaller market. So Tuesday, as I was putting Zane in the car, a lovely older couple came over to the car, saw me loading all the bags and Zane into the car, and said,

"You've got your hands full. Is this your cart? Let us return it for you. You do so much."

It's the little things.

But wait! The blessings continued. Even if the next one is sure to kill me.

Out of the blue while I was making lunch, I hear the most glorious little voice, and turn to look into the most glorious blue eyes,

"Mommy, you are beautiful."

Pause.

"Are you going to cry now?"

Um, yep.

21 Days

This used to be me.

Ok, maybe I'm stretching the "used to be". It's only been 3 days.

I'm not convinced that I'll be completely giving up my literal cuppa joe after my 21 day dietary detox comes to an end, but I may have to adjust the amount I drink every day.

So, for the next 18 days just refer to me as Cuppa Tea.

How is it going?

Glad you asked.

Day One: I was plagued by a day long headache which felt as if an anvil had been dropped on my head and someone was proceeding to pound on the anvil with a jackhammer. Yeah. It was bad. Dizzy. Light headed. Foggy. The feelings you would expect to experience while on a starvation diet. Funny thing was, I was eating every 3 hours. The program allows me GREAT food. Whole foods. No processed junk. Plus, no gluten, no dairy, no sugar, and no coffee. So, just imagine this bagel buying, cheese chewing, sugar salivating, coffee craver going cold turkey (I can eat cold turkey). Not even delicious fresh fruit smoothies, steel cut oatmeal (yummy), amazing salads with tons of veggies and chicken, plus snacks, helped. This was an immediate clue to the fact that my dietary habits have been affecting me more than I have realized. Afterall, shouldn't healthy whole foods make one feel good? Well, yes. But, for me, on Day One, they didn't. Popped the Advil and thought to myself, "I can't do this."

I am also using some supplements grown on an organic farm up in Wisconsin that uses their vegetables to make supplements. I use their shake powder (who knew that brussel sprouts and collard greens could end up in a smoothie powder), extra fiber tablets, and next week, will begin taking a whole food supplement.

Day Two: Woke up feeling FULL of energy. Got up at 6:15 to make my very large breakfast which consisted of a shake, with the supplement powder as the base, and a banana, blueberries, strawberries, and flax seed oil. Also had a hard-boiled egg and steel cut oatmeal. Seriously, breakfast prior to Friday's start had always been a cup of coffee and some bacon. Got through the day just fine. No headaches. I really do enjoy making "garbage" salads for lunch: salads with every chunky veggie one can find, plus lean protein. I'm also making my own dressing. Olive oil, balsamic, spices. Can't wait to experiment with grapeseed oil, lemon, or apple cider vinegar. I have ideas. And making my own dressing is so much cheaper! Dinner? George made a chicken in our clay pot (we LOVE our clay pot) and I made sure to eat just the white meat with some broccoli and red bell pepper on the side.

As a result, guess who are also eating more vegetables? Hint, one uses Nutella.

Day Three: This was the day that would really show whether I was truly feeling better or just feeling a placebo effect. I led worship this morning and had to be at church by 8:00, ready to rehearse and sing for two services. I was up early and feeling fantastic. I had a huge breakfast and found that I wasn't even hungry until around 1:00 when we arrived home from the morning. The other interesting development is that I felt less congested when I awoke - which is rare. I almost always have some nasal/vocal issues in the morning, regardless of whether I have a cold. Not today. I just feel better. And I'm waking more easily - no hungover feeling.

Lunch was my "garbage" salad again (threw in avocado and hard-boiled egg this time) and for dinner I made turkey burgers and veggies. Which reminds me that I need some good recipes for artichokes.

I have also been enjoying a variety of green tea's (the only caffeine I can have) and decaf herbal tea's. That, combined with a little over 64 oz of water day, has me leaping to the rest room more often than normal, but hey, that's all part of detoxing the body, right? Flush it out baby.

My energy level is HIGH. I have been able to handle general household stressers (messy kitchen, the laundry monster, potty training - not myself - I make it to the bathroom just fine) with more ease. George is wondering who has invaded my body to motivate me to actually fill and empty the dishwasher.

Fuzzy brain? Not so much right now. I'm just handling things better.

It's only Day Three, so I don't see any external changes, but I do, without a doubt feel a difference inside. But I do need to incorporate exercise. George has been great about exercising every morning, so maybe I'll try and join him tomorrow - if I have time - I have alot to eat for breakfast and that may not leave time for working out . . . :)

Before I began this process, I had my weight and fat % checked. It will be interesting to see how this changes as of November 27th. Thanksgiving Day.

How appropriate that my 21st day will be Thanksgiving Day. Did I plan that well, or what?

Village? A Little Help Here . . .

There's kind of an unspoken rule at the playground.

Or so I thought.

I have always believed that when at the playground, one doesn't only keep a lookout for their own kid, but also the well being of other children.

If a kid trips at your feet, you help them up.

If a child can not find their parent, you assist.

If a little one is about to run into the path of moving swing, you either physically stop the swing, or the child - whichever you can reach more quickly.

I've been attempting to open my circle a bit by getting out to parks with Zane more frequently and striking up conversations with mother's and/or nanny's I've never met. As I have found that way too often I have met a new parent and shared a quick chat without ever really properly introducing myself.

Today, I had the good fortune of bumping into a parent who had taken my toddler tunes class with her daughter. She introduced me to her friend and we began a conversation about music classes in the area. I glanced over to see Zane playing with a broken branch - climbing it, etc. It was big enough for climbing, having been broken from a nearby tree during last Saturday's storm.

I wrote the name of an area music class that I would recommend on the back of my card and handed it to the mom I had just met for the first time, and then looked up to see that Zane was no longer on the branch. I turned. Turned again. Spun in a circle.

I couldn't find him.

I began jogging back and forth, glancing every which way.

I couldn't find him.

My two friends immediately branched out. The park was crawling with children, parents, and Nanny's, so I was certain that he was still in the area and that I just couldn't see him, but the painful fear that struck my core was almost paralyzing. An inner mantra of "Find him. Find him. Find him," ran on a continual loop as I realized that I needed help. So, I stood in the middle of the playground and yelled loudly, "Everyone! I can't find my son. Please start yelling, Zane!"

My two friends continued looking. A Nanny began to look. And the others?

They looked up. And then looked back down. No one else moved.

A dad even chuckled and apathetically "hollered" Zane's name.

I'm running back and forth, in and out of equipment, and up and down ladders, while the world just goes on.

Oh. My. God. Help me. Jesus. Please. I can't find my boy.

Finally, one of my friends said, "There he is! He's in that tree".

And sure enough, my son, dressed in brown's and sage green (brilliant fashion choice for a fall day), was in a tree - not very high - not even out of the playground vicinity, but definitely camouflaged by the brown bark and greenery of the tree. I doubt he could see or even hear the three of us running around and yelling . . . he was having too much fun and there was a lot of other playground noise to drown us out. It wasn't even a situation where I could scold him. He was completely in range. I just couldn't see him.

My friend came over.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. But I feel like my heart was just ripped out of my chest".

Pause.

She continued. Softly.

"Why didn't anyone else stop and help you?"

"I don't know. I just don't know."

I thanked her.

I turned around and very pleasantly, (although I was seething), announced, "Um, thanks everyone! We found him. It's all good!"

But it's not all good.

The playground is where we encourage our children to try new challenges. It's where imaginations turn tunnel-slides into boats, or in Zane's case, into a dog crate at the pet store. It's even the place to climb a tree. It's one of the developmental hot spots for children. It's their scene! It's also a tiny village: a gathering place for parents or caregivers and their children. It's where we teach our children to play nicely, take new risks, share, take turns, and respect others. Collectively. Parents working together.

I think we adults may need a refresher course in the village mentality.

And I'll be dressing Zane in bright primary colors for our next park outing.

Lighten Up, Already!

Okay, apparently, my recent posts have communicated that I am constantly in a pattern of entertaining deep and heavy thoughts.

Lots of rantings about poor customer service. (Do you blame me?)

Introspective musings about failure, fatigue, dreams, goals, career changes, my husband getting hit on at a neighborhood block party . . . oh, wait. I didn't actually write about that incident. Oops. Just walk away and forget you ever read that. Move along. Nothing to see here.

So, to put all of you at ease, let me proclaim in this post that I'm doing fine. I like to write. I like to write honestly about the events in my life that leave an impact on who I am and who I desire to be. All is good. Writing is free life coaching. I simply take comfort in working out my "stuff" via writing.

Lest you wonder whether I've waded too deeply into writing therapy, let me share that I also took comfort last night when Zane reported that our neighborhood is safe from jugglers.

You know. Jugglers. Those bad people who break into homes and steal personal belongings from unsuspecting victims.

Yes, jugglers. Good to know that we're fighting back against them with the help of the Skokie Police Department. (Wiping forehead in relief.)

Zane went on to share that he had seen a flyer depicting a juggler in a circle with a line through it while on a walk with Daddy, Harper, and Scout last evening. These flyers were being distributed throughout the neighborhood.

Our little corner of the world will be a safer one as we rally together keeping a watchful eye out for those evil jugglers who hide behind a ruse of tossing scarves, balls, pins, and flaming objects into the air as part of their plan to take us for all we've got.

Circus freaks.

Welcome Back

Welcome back.

Sorry for the hiccup.

When I don't drink enough coffee I do things like . . .

delete my blog by mistake.

Won't do it again.

Trust me.

So, after a few days of quiet panic, (and I truly did keep my emotions together much more than I expected after the fatal "click"), ample emails to blogger, which were never returned, frantic emails to Julie, who I think is a genius, a joyous reunion of my posts via Google Reader, and 3 days of re-designing (I came up with the coffee theme, George came up with the description about the fully caffeinated life and Harper chose all the colors) and cutting and pasting, I'm back up and running.

Why is this blog so very important to me?

Because writing is both my prayerful and creative outlet.

To understand fully, I direct you to my post titled, "Untitled Novel". Like every other post, it's under May.

No, I didn't write 58 posts this month . . . please. I do have a family to care for, skin care to sell, and children to amuse with catchy little songs.

This is a new start, not only of the blog, but of an exploration of breaking into the Mommy blogging world . . . so, no doubt . . . you will begin to see ad's on my site. There's a wagon I want to hop on and it involves blogging and making money. The opportunity does exist. I'm going to find it.

Thank you to those of you who wondered where oh where my little blog went.

It's back now.

So, pour yourself a cuppa Jo and enjoy.