Daniel's New Shades (Pics)

A week ago Daniel and I were at Old Navy, and I had him try on some sunglasses. He thought they were pretty cool, but I didn't buy them and have regretted it with the nice weather recently. This morning I asked him if he wanted to go to the store and get some sunglasses, and he was all about it. He ran around Old Navy in his new sunglasses and it was pretty obvious he wasn't struggling with insecurity. He owned those shades.

Small Attempts to Organize

I easily get overwhelmed by clutter. I know the best way to battle clutter is for everything to have its place in the house, but it's when the puzzles start sharing a place with the books, hotwheels, and balls that micro-clutter happens. In the past year we've added some new storage features to the living room to battle the stacks of clutter, but those places themselves are no longer serving their purpose. If you were to walk into my living room, you might not immediately declare it a disaster, but the space has the potential to be much more functional and relaxing.

Here's a short list of how I plan on tackling the living room in the next couple days.

1. Simplify. One place that exemplifies my need to reduce is the mantle over the fireplace. I don't believe that a lamp, wedding portrait, set of pillar candles,stack of mail, two 5-year old mostly burned down mismatched candles, cat brush, ceramic baby handprints, Christmas snow globe, tube of tall matches, random vase of rocks and fake berry branches, and a pack of batteries count as home decor. Right now I am thinking that just the portrait and lamp would be enough.

2. Cycle the toys. My friend Danielle only gives her daughter access to several toys at a time and cycles them in and out regularly. A couple days ago, the floor was covered with letter magnets, puzzles, tracks and trains, hotwheels, and every piece of riding equipment in the house. It was simply too much for me to handle, and judging by his frenzied jumping from one activity to the next, it was too much for Daniel to handle as well. I have the same reaction when I walk into a Kirklands.

3. Create efficiency. Part of creating efficiency in the home is quick and simple access. I work from home, and this is my work cabinet. It is supposed to have the text books I need for quick reference to address my students' questions. It has been hijacked by spare computer parts and cords, stacks of music and data cds, broken cameras and scrapbooking rejects (I don't scrapbook, but somehow I have acquired a few supplies), which makes simple access problematic. Also, we have moved the printer into the living room from the dining room (it's that efficiency thing), so now I must make room for printing and school supplies.

4. Gather, not scatter. This is a half-completed project. Yesterday, I found these $4 baskets at Walmart and began the process of deciding how to use them. Daniel's toys used to take up two cubes on the shelf, but would scatter over the edges, onto the floor and get stuffed in various corners and on top of other surfaces. He now has two baskets: one for puzzles and the other for cars and some other random things I need to cycle back out. The next step is to put away for later those things that don't fit in the baskets.
The top basket currently has stationary and some office supplies. I still need to find the stamps, which I believe are in the bedside table in the guest room (see the problem of scattering I am battling?) The business envelopes just might be in there too. I never do write letters, so I may end up junking the whole thing.

I am hoping to have a picture of a nice, organized living room to share by the end of the week. Hopefully I'll snap it before the place totally blows up again!

Thursday is Planting Day

After Thursday, Raleigh's evening temperatures are predicted to stay above 50 on the ten day forecast, which is perfect for tomatoes. April 1 is also our area's last killing frost date. I still don't have enough spots ready for all seven breeds I've started indoors. To avoid cross-pollination there should be about 20 feet between breeds, or netting should be used to block access for bees that travel back and forth between closely planted tomatoes. I may isolate a couple flowers on each plant with some netting for seed harvesting, because I'd rather not completely shut out the bees. And I'm cheap - I don't want to buy netting for potentially 14 - 20 plants.

Not all of my seedlings survived. The strongest varieties (based on how vigorous their growth seems post-germination) are Mortgage Lifter, Paige's Green (aka a potentially cross-pollinated Aunt Ruby's German Green), and some of the pinks and reds. The Brandywine sprouts refuse to stand upright and show more sensitivity to sunburn when moved outdoors, which led to the relocation of the hotbox to a shady spot under the Carolina Jasmine. Omar's Lebanese is somewhere middle of the road. This assessment if just of their sprout conditions. Last year, I planted many of the sprouts very young and nearly half drooped over after planting before rooting and growing into giant monsters within a couple weeks.

Plants will be ready for pickup this weekend, and after Thursday I will post how many of each are available. If you are coming downtown for Raleigh Easter and requested a tomato plant or two, we'll be back at the house around 1pm for lunch and nap. We're about a mile east from Moore Square. Just email me for directions and come around to the back door. I may also have some squash plants and watermelon for sale, which should be tended to indoors for a couple more weeks. Suggested donation is $1 a plant. It's a pretty good deal. While my tomato plants are smaller than those sold at stores, they are heirloom varieties (which are hard to find) and are in peat pots which can be planted straight into the ground.

A Duck and a Horse (Video)

Giving Birth to Chubby Checker

I woke up at 2:38 this morning. Around 4:00 am I realize I am still awake. At 4:30, my baby says,

You woke me up
Cause you couldn't sleep
You wouldn't stop flopping around.
And now I'm up to let you know
I can really shake it down now.

And then in a screeching little singing voice with full splay of the dance moves, he starts in with,

Do you love me? I can really move...
Do you love me? I'm in the groove...
Do you love me? Do you love me?
Now that I can dance
Watch me now!

To which I respond:

Hey, work it, oh work it out baby.
Work it, work it, well you're driving me crazy
Work it, work it, just a little bit of sleep now.

And he says,

I can mash potato, I can mash potato
I can do the twist, I can do the twist
Now tell me mommy, tell me mommy.
Do ya like it like this? (do ya like it like this?)
Tell me, tell me, tell me...

Do you love me, do you love me
Do you love me, do you love me
do you love me, do you love me
Now that I can dance, dance, dance
Watch me now!

And of course the song went on with him shimmying down right in between my hipbones, twistin' on my bladder, mash potatoin' on my spleen, and drivin' me crazy. Oh, how I love that child and oh, how I could have used a cheese omelet at 5:30 am, and oh, how I just guzzled that coffee loaded with sugar and Hershey's. Aaaaaaand guess who's asleep? That's right, Chubby himself.

Jesus and Politics

I grew up in a conservative Christian home. Rush Limbaugh may or may not have frequented the radio on trips home from school. I may or may not have family members that join Facebook groups such as "10,000,000 strong against (whatever is the Republican hot topic of the month)". Sometimes I receive fiery email forwards and have been criticized for getting my news from CNN rather than Fox. These same family members do weekly ministry with men who were once incarcerated for various crimes. They take yearly trips to love children and villages in Nicaragua. They sacrifice time and finances to care for hurting people locally and internationally. It's not their politics that drives this. Personally, I can't deny that my upbringing shapes my political leanings, and I also can't deny that at times my political and religious upbringings have felt somewhat intertwined, but I'd like to think that despite all that, the gospel would grow into something in my life to where it alone dictates my actions.

Does the gospel have a political party? Definitively not. To support that by saying there are strong followers of Jesus in both parties is simply flawed. The faces of the followers do not define the image of the gospel, rather the gospel gives us our face - our identity. The gospel does not preach on one issue or another, but instead is the message of reconciliation of God and His people through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. To add anything to that, to give it a color or a gender, an income, a level of education, to attach a litany of moral stances, would be to subtract from it. While this is a message of relationship rather than religion, James writes, "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world."

Was Jesus an activist? I've heard pastors preach that he was a radical feminist for his time because he validated women by speaking to them (Samaritan women, Mary (xs 2), Martha, and others) , having them amongst his disciples, teaching them. I've heard people refer to him as a socialist because of his teachings in Matthew 5. However, I don't believe it was Jesus's passion for issues that defined his ministry - rather his passion was his deep love for the Father and his desire to reconcile all individuals to Him. Jesus didn't join the local government, he didn't write letters to Caesar (that we know of), he didn't lead protest marches (though some people of his time considered his ride into Jerusalem on a donkey as such), but he first loved people. He reconciled them to God. He fed them. He touched them. He healed them. He freed them of their hearts' enslavement. He sent them out. He restored the relationship and he practiced undefiled religion: caring for the oppressed and obeying God's commands.

As American Christians, I believe we find it easier to practice religious and political activism rather than living in relationship with God and practicing true religion. I will not deny there is a time for activism, especially when it is a means of caring for the oppressed, but the gospel is to define our lives, give us our faces, compel us to live a life worthy of Jesus.

Together

Joe and I hungrily ate our Wendy's dinner. I had a nice low-fat baked potato (loaded with sour cream, butter, and cheese), and he had about three different dollar menu sandwiches of various foil-wrapped processed meats. Daniel bounced around on the opposite bench yelling "HEEEYYYY!" at the father and his two kids a couple tables away. Other than the workers behind the counter, an older gentleman, and a young woman who was done having kids (self-proclamation inspired by my own child?), the place was relatively slow.

Daniel nibbled bites of french fries and took slurps of watered-down sweet tea between bounces, and we marveled at how undoubtedly he'd be hungry as soon as we got home. Joe finally scooped him up into his lap and together we managed to convince him to eat one of his four chicken nuggets before he discovered that mommy's drink was in-fact chocolate shake, "CHOCOLATE SHAKE! PLEASE, MOMMY!"

After that, we drove down the road to Super Walmart for some late night grocery shopping for the upcoming visit of my mom and sister.

"Didn't we just come this a couple days ago for groceries?" I ask.

Joe says, "Yeah, but we just got milk, yogurt and cat litter."

"Oh, right."

And a Red Box movie, which I got about forty-five minutes into before retiring to the tub and bed admits noises of the entire earth and New York City crumbling (because that's the way end of the world movies do it). At least this evening I didn't feel like I was about to drop a baby on the floor.

As we left the store and headed to the car, Joe decided we should walk between a parked police officer and a sketchy large van where there were about seven people standing around as the officer searched under the seats.

"You never cut between the officer and his suspects."

"Yes, but it was the shortest path to the car."

"No the shortest path between us and the car would have been a diagonal in front of the van."

"You never cross on the diagonal."

"..."

And this is date night. Together. All three (technically four) of us. If this is date night, we go on a lot of dates. When Joe isn't at work, most of what we do is together. Daniel's personal favorite is when we pile into the bench seat of Joe's 1984 Ford Truck and take a ride either to Lowes or Cookout. We get bonus points for any trip that involves Bojangles. My personal favorite is Lowes, until the check-out counter when undoubtedly the extra herbs I have picked up and the extra bottles of chemicals and metal objects that Joe has picked up ring up way higher than the $20 we had planned on spending on soil supplements and a hose attachment.

Last night as we snuggled into the bed sheets, we reflected on all our married friends whose husbands' work sends them on the road so often and we voiced that we feel blessed to be able to be together each evening. Joe feels bad about even taking a night once a week for a poker game with his coworkers, and I'd personally feel lost in the evenings if he didn't come in the front door. I remember being really angry at a friend who had all her bridesmaids sleep in bunkhouses so soon after Joe and I got married. I didn't want to have to spend the night away from him - even if he was just in the next bunk house over.

When I know Joe is running late, Daniel usually stays up late with me. On weekends when I could take an hour to myself here and there, most of the time I will wait around for Daniel's naps to end so we can all go out together. I don't think we fear being alone, we just really like being together. Sometimes it does make me a little batty and I have to get out, but by the time I get to where I'm going, I'm wishing they were with me.

How to Get a Little Stinker to Eat Eggs

French toast, of course! Daniel refers to them as "cake cakes" because that's what I told him they were. This is usually how I introduce new foods to him - I tell him it's something similar that he likes and he takes a bite and decides whether or not it is in fact what I said it was, and if not, he then decides if he'll eat it anyway. The first bite of french toast was too hot, so for a split second I thought I'd be eating them by myself, but the maple syrup side down and a little blowing on the next bite won him over.

The only time this method flat out crashed and burned was the time I told him that the black bean soup was chocolate. No, I am not cruel. It was his idea. He asked, "Chocolate?" as I took a bite, and I replied (no doubt donning a smirk), "Sure, Daniel... it's chocolate soup... want a bite?" You can guess the rest.

White Deer Park (Pics)

Two weeks ago my friend Emily recommended White Deer Park in Garner. Today Daniel and I drove down to check it out. From the looks of her pictures, Daniel and I landed in an entirely different playground in the park (there are two) because there was no sand it didn't have natural shade or gyms made of wood. However, playground equipment was all new and very innovative. The new version of a see-saw was a pair of disks balanced and suspended by a network of bungees. There were all sorts of spinning chairs, towers with slides, and bars and nets to climb on. Remember the old school merry-go-round that everyone would push until they were running fast and then jump onto? There was a rubber version of that without the metal poles, and it was tilted so that kids flew up and round and not just around. Several of the play centers even had permanent shade tents to help out kids' sensitive eyes. We only stayed an hour because it was a last minute trip and we both were ready for lunch, but we will be sure to return with some friends and snacks next time.

Balancing Act

Having arrived safely into the third trimester, I realize that my giddy glow is rapidly transforming into a grimace. Coming off of two miscarriages, I'm reluctant to delve into the general "waaah" that many pregnant women feel is their right as the weeks count down, but I also realize that I shouldn't manufacture a cheery disposition for the sake of proving my gratitude. I'm also learning there is a fine balance between being real and being rude. For instance, merging over into a lane when I clearly saw a car (plenty far behind me) flashing her brights at me to tell me she didn't think my merge was timely, could be interpreted as rude. Fussing at the wait staff for wanting to squeeze a booster seat between Joe and I, where we sat on a booth bench built for one-and-a-half adults (after they had said a highchair would be okay), might have been rude. I've been known to occasionally "teach lessons" to exceedingly impatient drivers on the road, but usually I am very gracious to wait staff and strangers in general, even if I do sprinkle my kindness with a little raw humor.

I was recently sharing with Joe how since we have Alzheimer's on both sides of the family, most likely we will wake up in bed together at the age of 82 and yell, "Who are you!?!" Then we will flick on our i-Geriatrics which will tell us our names and that we've been married since 23, and that we really should have bought that King-size bed back in 2004, since no doubt insomnia from a crowded combination of twelve feet of height has been pushing us over the edge of insanity.

My grandmother was always the kindest lady and it wasn't until her Dementia and Alzheimer's kicked in that I saw how clever and funny she was, which no doubt was cultivated over the years by the dry wit of my grandpa. In her final years, sometimes she could be a little mean, but inside, I knew Momsy was the sweetheart she had always been and was only confused and angry at her declining mental state and the general feeling of lostness after Popsy passed and she moved to assisted living. I don't think I'll ever be as kind as my grandma was. Joe will tell you I can be downright mean, and only God himself knows the depth of my cynicism and insecurity-fed pride. I figure my crotchety pregnancy persona is probably only a glimpse of what is to transpire as I age from fertile to senile. If Momsy could send out a flame here and there, undoubtedly I'll be fighting forest fires.

So I am walking a balance trying to reign in my nature. I may be uncomfortably large, but I am greatly blessed. Though my love handles may be spilling over my sides, I'd rather my jerkish tendencies not spill out on those who cross my path. The pregnancy card may be used to purchase things such as the large pizza I am about to go pick up, but it can't be used to buy back my words and actions. Moments like the one I had today with Daniel, sitting on the deck drinking chocolate chocolate milk with our backs to the warm sun, remind me just how sweet life really is and what little right I have to complain.

Birds, Buds and Blossoms (Pics)

Hot Box

We never did put hinges on the hot box (or is it a cold frame?), but I put it out yesterday and left the tomatoes in them for the afternoon and overnight. Not knowing how well the box retains heat, I was worried that the temperature had dropped too much for them overnight, but today they were still perky and even looked better than they did the day before. I brought them in this afternoon and will continue to take them in and out for the next several days until the night time temps are consistently in the mid forties or higher.

Asparagus For The Rest Of Us

After two or so years of asparagus curiosity, Joe and I have planted a row of Purple Passion Asparagus. Asparagus should be planted in this region from mid-February to early-March, so we were about a week late. After reading about optimum planting methods, we tried to stick to those but budged on the dimensions of the trench and had not prepared the soil a year in advance.

1. Joe dug a 25' long trench that was about 8" deep (give or take a few in places) and about 8" wide. Ideal width is closer to 12", but one man (recovering from a sulfa drug reaction) with a shovel a pregnant lady with a tape measure and a bossy pointer finger can only handle so much digging.

2. We covered the bottom of the trench with some of my soil mix from the veggie bed. Mix included soil, Black Kow, Black Hen, and a lot of peat.

3. I spread out the roots of each pre-soaked crown with the buds facing up along the trench floor at a 12" on-center spacing.

4. Joe topped with another inch or two of the soil mixture until the crowns and buds were fully covered.

5. I sprinkled some "Shake and Feed" down the trench length according to the package directions and then gently soaked the trench with water.

6. As the crowns sprout, we will continue to cover with the soil mixture until the trench is level with the ground and then top with mulch.

Purple asparagus spears are slightly larger than their green brothers and sister, are the most tender and have been claimed to be slightly sweeter. When cooked, the purple turns to green. Spacing plants closer yields smaller spears (personally, I like the skinny ones better than the thick ones). Asparagus plants shouldn't be harvested for three years. My two year crowns won't be harvested next year, but the following year. Allowing them to flower next year will help develop strong plants. While this will take some patience for me, these plants could give me yields for 15 - 25 years.

Unless You Want a Piece of This, Keep on Driving

There are several things in life that I carefully guard: my marriage to Joe, bottled beverages (it's a backwash thing), and my relationship with my best friend of nearly ten years. It isn't that I try and keep Jessica from having other friendships. It's quite the opposite. Apart from attending the same church, we each have our own circles of friends without much cross-over, and apart from our ongoing g-chat conversations, the daily happenings of our lives are mostly independent, and look very different. Regardless of our differences, we enjoy our rich history, traveling and eating together, laughing, talking about boys, and processing life's struggles together. There aren't many secrets we keep from each other, and if we make it to 85 and are living as old maids, we'll likely get houses side-by-side because we've done the roommate thing before and would probably both agree separate living quarters would be healthier. However, given genetics, I'm likely currently training Joe for his replacement bride at ripe age of 75.

For most of our friendship Jessica and I have been fairly intentional about celebrating birthdays with a lunch or dinner. Over the past couple years, that tradition has been thrown a wrench here and there, but yesterday we made up for it with a day trip to Wilmington for lunch at The Riverboat Landing, formerly known as Ron's Riverboat Landing or just "Captain Ron's" in my book. We've been to Wilmington several times over the decade, and hadn't visited it together in four years. We'd somehow managed to make it through our mid-twenties without realizing that so much life was passing and we were struggling to recount our travels over the years - what year we did San Fran and what year we did DC.

The entire trip was just humorous to me even from the drive down. There is something about I40 on the way to the beach that breeds funny conversation and inevitably awkward drive-byes. At one point, the car in front of us began to merge into another car in the right lane. The right driver veered towards the edge before the left driver noticed it and then over corrected the vehicle. As we passed the car on the right, I gave the driver a sympathetic shoulder shrug as if to say, "I have no idea what she was doing," which greatly flattered the driver and his three other passengers who all appeared to be young high school males with shaggy hair. We passed the other careless driver, who had finally safely merged over to the right lane, and saw she was a young brunette overly engaged in a phone conversation. We then got in the right lane as well, having cleared all the crazies.

Then it happened - the dreaded leapfrog check-out drive-by, where we were passed by a car full of high schoolers wanting to give us a second look. Jessica was oblivious to the whole thing as I sassily said, "Okay you are 17 going 18 and I am 29 going on 30. Unless you want a piece of THIS (waving my hand dramatically around my pregnant belly), then I suggest you keep on driving!" Jessica paused in shock thinking I was sassing her about her driving and simultaneously insulting her for not having children and a spouse before erupting in laughter upon realizing I was talking to the other car.

After a time of shrimp and grits and shopping, we were walking back to the car and this 22ish male came huffing up the sidewalk behind us. I instinctively clutched my bag and turned on my stone-cold face and whipped around to look at him while keeping up my original pace. He slurrily stammered, "Uhhh, my little brother and I were, uhhhhh, wondering if you two ladies would care to join us at the whiskey bar." Jessica kindly rejected the offer to which he replied, "Awwwwww man, you're breaking my heart!" Once out of ear shot we once again busted out laughing. Whiskey bar? Seriously? You must understand - my belly is large. We were doing absolutely nothing to attract attention. Most likely we were both waddling from bellies full of shrimp and grits. Additionally, all afternoon I'd been commenting on how much older we seemed than the green-clad kids who were there to celebrate St. Patty's weekend.

But looking back on the trip, this was just par for the course for my times with Jessica. She's quite good looking and I can always count on random propositions while with her, no matter how uninvited they may be. In the end, it's all fodder for conversation and laughter on our next trip.

Garden Pics

The Pirate Song

Giving Birth to Dustin Hoffman

At some point late in pregnancy, many women begin to dream about the birth of their child. Sometimes these dreams get a little creepy. I've had friends dream of faceless babies, which probably signifies fears of the unknown or eagerness to find out what the baby will look like. My strange dream of Daniel involved a waiting room with a giant hammock where women in labor all piled on to wait their turn to deliver.

Last night, I had my first official baby dream for this pregnancy - or at least it's the first I could recount. A little back story is that the same day I announced my pregnancy and middle of June due date, my brother announced his middle of June potential wedding date - the two dates are no more than six days apart. My reaction was excitement for him, but I also responded something to the effect of, "Well maybe I can do a scripture reading via skype from the delivery room".

In my dream, I had just given birth and rushed off to the wedding or a camping trip or something lasting a week, and I had left my baby with my friend Cindy Asta. It was a week later and I returned to Cindy's house to meet my baby. Her house had been converted a women's hostel with bunk beds for rent. Because I had a baby to meet, my bunk was free of charge... lucky me.

Well Cindy brings out my baby who despite being only a week old, was huge, hairy and a girl. Someone exclaimed, "Oh, she totally has Paige's nose!" which was beak-like and to me seemed to resemble an elongated version of Dustin Hoffman's nose. As I prepared to breastfeed, she opened her mouth to reveal eight teeth on the bottom and six teeth on the top. Not surprisingly, she had no interest in milk but instead requested chunky potatoes in a tomato-veggie broth.

Please, say it ain't so.

Risking Rain

On the way to the airport this morning, it started raining. There were just light sprinkles, but all the mamas started calling each other discussing rain plans and whether we'd brave the trip anyhow. Each of us had somehow managed to break what we know is an important rule if you don't want to inadvertently disappoint your kid - we had told our two-year-olds we were going to watch the airplanes. However, breaking that rule of not telling where you are going ahead of time is so much fun, especially when the kid's face lights up and they clap their hands and say, "Yeah! Airplanes!" So we went for it and as the rain began to pour, I smiled for a good ten minutes at how each of us was willing to potentially endure what could be a miserable experience for the chance that we just might have fun.

Sadly, one of the four of us didn't make it due to car troubles. Yet another got lost and passed the observation park and had to make a second loop around the terminals. But despite the downpour on the way there, the rain had stopped when we arrived, and the wind even began to let up. At one point we put the three kids up a spider looking jungle gym and serenaded them with "The Itsy Bitsy Spider". They thought it was great fun to have three goofy mamas singing and doing the hand motions. Tav joined in on the hand motions and Daniel then clapped his hands so vigorously I though he'd knock the other two off the jungle gym. Gibson had a look on her face that said she thought Daniel was a little crazy but the singing was swell. They demanded an encore (Daniel tried to special request a solo later from Regan) and Tav then sang us "Bob the Builder".

It's fun seeing the kids connect with each other and cheer when they see one another. I look at their friendships and see elements that I want to be sure to recapture or not let go of in my own friendships - fun, celebration, lack of pretense. Recently, I had a girlfriend paint my toe nails. I was nervous at first and made sure to let my feet air out a good half hour before she started, but I realized that friends don't mind sweaty feet. They celebrate each other. They might even hold hands now and then.

26 Weeks and Diggin' It

I promised a gardening update after a weekend of work - so here it is with the latest belly shot. Joe is almost finished with the cold frame, but we still need to purchase hinges for the window. I sent him on a trip for mulch Saturday morning and he came back with his 1984 Ford truck bed overflowing. We pulled up the bricks from around the garden boxes and used them as edger for a nice mulch perimeter for the back gardens and front island of trees and shrubs. It looks great. It has smelled better. This morning Daniel and I went outside to a playground with friends before stopping at Ace Hardware for a bale of peat moss. Don't worry, I did no lifting. A kind employee loaded the bale in the Jeep, and I drove right up to that garden box and pushed it out. Now, I'm off to spread the peat in my old lady hat.

Yes, These Thoughts are too Deep for the Potty

More unsettling than me sharing what I think about as I sit on the potty at 3am are the thoughts themselves. Just about every evening I wake up sometime between 1:30 and 3 am and get up to use the bathroom. I fumble through the door hoping not to step on any plastic play cups or pointy plugs from the space heater, and as I sit down, I can't help but ponder at the illusions I/we are living in.

It's weird, but I consider the prevalence of names like Krispy Kreme, PBS kids, Gap and Target and how they can elicit such familial emotions during the day - how I can visit them more in one month than my own sister, how they are simply names that have somehow amounted to great value in my life but will soon vanish into dust in the span of eternity.

I think about the house I live in, the work Joe and I put into the gardens and yard, the energy spent on finding the right wall colors, the attention paid to where things are stored - items that have equal value to me yet so little purpose. I think about the freedom I might feel were I to move everything out onto the street and post a sign saying, "Take what you want!"

I think about Carnation Instant Breakfast and how I drink nearly two glasses a day and how not long ago there was no such thing as CIB and eventually it will probably be something my great great grandchildren will have never heard of. I think of how I am enslaved to the temporal pursuit of that which cannot be held onto and I wonder at how much of my soul drips out with every extruded and glazed doughnut that is carted along the Krispy Kreme cooling rack.

Honestly, I don't condemn it all, I just wonder at the condition of my heart and the level of surrounding distractions. There are so many things to worship and adore, so many endeavors to throw myself into. I fear falling beneath the waves of illusion and failing to completely surrender to the transforming love of Jesus. I fear allowing the winds of materialism, opportunity, and moralism to blow stronger than the winds of the spirit.

From one of my favorite songs by a little known group called Clear:

In my mind, dreams grow wild.
I catch the breeze it sends my feet to fly.
And on I go, in my own world of glory.
Just like I'm living in a fairy story.

But in the end, I'm only chasing after, the wind

What could I acquire to make my heart
delight in what it finds?
Nohing I desire can bring me joy,
like You.

The wind leads on dancing through the trees
Tripping over meadow brooks, rustling the leaves.
And so I follow, intent to taste the bliss.
To relish in the feast or awaken to a lover's kiss

But in the end, I'm only chasing after, the wind.

Dining Room Pod Invasion

Our dining room currently has no room for eating, but please answer me, who actually uses their dining room for eating? Not this family. Tiny little sprouts in half-dollar pods are all over my table, the window sills and the plant shelf. Some have been fortunate enough to be transplanted to peat pots, but the rest will just have to wait. The California Orange Bells have finally sprouted. I am still waiting on the Canary Yellow Bells, the Green Bells, the Anaheims, and a couple herbs. There are still several tomatoes that are stubbornly refusing to sprout, so they have been reseeded.

This weekend, Joe and I will build our first cold frame (read: Joe will build while I look on with a critical eye). Our friends gave us a storm window which will be mounted on and hinged to a slanted wood frame recessed into the ground. With the window closed, the box should stay warm enough for the young plants to grow until they are planted in the ground. Pictures and updates are to come!

Please Do Not Knock

So it finally happened. Enough knocking on the front door during Daniel's naptime pushed me to post the dreaded I'm-an-uptight-desperate-mama sign on the front door (written in large black letters and wrapped in packing tape). I didn't want to be unwelcoming - the curly g's and fancy a's make the sign look a little more friendly, don't you think?

However, mail delivery usually comes in the middle of naps, and when there's a package, it is usually accompanied by a loud knock. There is also a neighbor who is on sits on the HOA board with Joe, and she tends to make her rounds in the afternoon and has woken Daniel up on several occasions. I love mail delivery and I am trying to love neighbors, so I decided to employ the sign to prevent them from casually ambling into the firestorm that is my inner growing resentment towards every interrupted precious hour of daytime sleep.

Yesterday afternoon around 4pm I heard a light rapping on the door. I was absolutely flabbergasted. Clearly someone saw the sign, and being that their own need to speak to an owner of the Puckett's household outweighed the Puckett's offspring's need for sleep, he or she thought the light rapping would capture my attention without waking the toddler.

As I tiptoed to the door avoiding falling into the visual line of the side windows draped in sheers, I debated whether or not to open the door and whether or not show my consternation at their disobedience of my friendly yet firmly stated sign. I craned my head to one side and then to another but couldn't see anyone. I walked around to the bay window where I could get a clear but unprotected view of the front stoop and driveway - not a person in site.

Then I spotted the culprit. His undulating flight path towards the empty lot across the street and the red patch on his head were obvious clues that my house had just been visited by a woodpecker. There isn't much I know about woodpeckers, but this I do know - woodpeckers cannot read. And because they can't read, they are going to knock, be it the front door, the trees in the front yard, or the gutters adjoining the roof above Daniel's room.

I wish I knew exactly what order of pecker it was, but this one looks fairly similar:
Red-bellied Woodpecker, Identification, All About Birds - Cornell Lab of Ornithology

Planting Trees

Last weekend Joe and I purchased a peach tree from Lowes and planted it along the property line next to the one we planted last spring. We planted the initial tree after my first miscarriage in March of last year. As we broke the ground with my parents, we laughed about how I always pick spots with huge rocks (these looked like cobble stones) and we dodged Daniel's wild bamboo-pole-ninja-chopping. Though it was left unspoken between us, I feel like this new tree was planted for the baby we lost this past June.

For awhile now I've reflected on the ability of planting trees to commemorate life in the wake of something else passing or the onset of blessings or a changing life season. When I ended my first dating relationship and was waffling in my decision due to the grief and insecurity of my overwhelming new-found singleness, a campus minister encouraged me to do something physical - get a haircut or pierce my ears - to mark that change in my life or pay it homage of sorts. I can't say at the time I understood the value in or heeded her advice; however, I have come to see how finding a physical expression of inner change can help define the experience and allow us to move through grief without fearing the loss of memories or the dissipation of our love and hopes.

As those trees mature, they will grow stronger, bear fruit, and provide shade. In choosing peach trees, I've decided that my grief will not bear bitterness in my life, but be a source of encouragement to others. I hope when I pause and reflect on them, I'll remember a season of pain and take great comfort in how God has brought new life - both in a new child and in strength that only comes from the tenderness of a broken heart.

Eventually I hope to have my two boys plant their own trees. I will share with them how while they are now like young trees - tall and lanky with shallow roots and fragile branches - one day they will be like the massive oak trees in our neighborhood. Their roots will be firmly planted and drink deep waters unseen by the eyes. Their branches will be strong to shoulder great weights and withstand furious storms, and their reach will be wide and shady to provide shelter and safety to the ones they love. And while they may still run around chopping like ninjas and laughing as we dig the holes, I hope the love in which is it done will take root in their young hearts.

Boy and Bucket - Pics

I will never again complain of struggling to come up with activities for Daniel. Like his daddy, he's a hard worker and loves being helpful! After wasting the better part of the morning, we went outside to enjoy the sunshine. When I saw he was itching for something to do with his bucket, I had him help me pick up pine cones and dump them out under the trees. After he watched me do it once, he caught on. The dumping was his favorite part, but he let me pick up the prickly pine cones.

Waking Thoughts on Sacrifice

This morning as Joe and I were getting out of bed we were discussing whether or not I could use the Rational Method to estimate the runoff from a largish watershed just to get a ballpark figure to compare the flow that I calculated from Manning's Equation given the physical parameters stated in the problem, which to me and another student seemed to be a little off. The upcoming homework problem in my Ecohydraulics class, which I inherited from another professor, was set up to be very loosely designed to given students maximum room for creativity, but the problem is so loose that some of the unchecked definitions made the circumstances fairly unlikely to occur in real life. This led to Joe and I talking about Pathagorean's Theorem and how I was completely blown away when engineering graduate students were unfamiliar with a high school trigonometry concept. We then discussed how Joe wanted me to fix his turkey sandwich for lunch - turkey, cheese, tiny bit of lettuce, pepperoncinis, salt and pepper, and chips in a separate bag, please.

After Joe was out the door, I sat down to read Mark 14 from the Bible, since that was what I was emailed to read this morning. I find it interesting that Easter is around the corner, last week in community group we discussed sacrifice, and here I was reading the passage about the time leading up to Jesus's arrest and the lady who poured expensive perfume all over Jesus's feet. Jesus says something that makes me pause. The disciples are all worked up about the lady's waste of extravagance arguing that she should have used the wealth to help the poor. Jesus says, ""Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her."

And I wonder that this idea of sacrifice laid out in the New Testament isn't so loosely defined as that homework problem that had my head spinning a little. I wonder if it is left open to allow creativity? To allow the movement of the Spirit? There are fairly rigid definitions of pleasing and acceptable sacrifices in the Old Testament, which Jesus through the sacrifice of his own life nullifies the need for in being reconciled to God once and for all. However, Jesus's sacrifice does not eliminate the occurrence or appropriateness of sacrifice in our lives. Sacrifice begets sacrifice. Love compels love. Friendship inspires friendship. In Mark 14, this women throws extravagance before Jesus. It was something he didn't need. The old widow who tithes her last penny at the temple, gives extravagantly to God, although God and certainly those running the temple did not need her penny.

Sometimes I view sacrifice as filling a need in a manner that will preferably cause me some discomfort in my lifestyle, whether it be taking up just a little more time, money, or emotional stamina that I am comfortable with. It's like I have a formula of sacrifice in my mind, and if my actions don't fit that formula - if my contributions don't put a sizable (noticeable) dent in a need, then I should stop where I am and come up with something else to do. However, looking at the actions of these two ladies in scripture, and numerous others (Joseph who donated his tomb for the burial of Jesus, the guy who let them use the upper room, the owner of the colt that Jesus rode, the mystery man who gave Jesus his linens after the guards arrested Jesus and then ran away naked), I see two things: extravagance and creativity. Extravagance is in the generosity of the offerings, and creativity is in that the actions did not appeal to the social norms

And as I hear Daniel waking, I have to close out my morning thoughts (relinquish them over to diapers and oatmeal and Hotwheels cars) with a final thought - it's about the heart. Sacrifice is about being compelled by the heart of Jesus. Sacrifice seems to be different than obedience - both should be driven by love: sacrifice by the sacrifice and ongoing workings of Jesus and obedience in our hope in the present and future grace of God. I think both need to be markers of faith - they should be clearly present in the life of a person whose heart has been captured and redeemed by Jesus.