The Lost Art of Tying Shoes

pickmevelcroshoessm — strap-on-and-go velcro

Visiting with one of my professor friends last week when she asked if my six-year-old could tie his shoes yet.

“No,” I said. “And it’s because of that blasted velcro.”

She heartily agreed. Her child, the same age as my son, can’t tie his shoes either. They haven’t had to learn. All their shoes are strap-on-and-go velcro or pull-on-without-socks Crocs.

We reminisced like a couple of centenarians.

“We didn’t have the luxury of velcro.

“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to tie my shoes.”

“These kids nowadays have it so easy.”

We laughed at ourselves and decided the boys will learn before adulthood to tie their shoes. Probably before year’s end. Pulling the bunny ear through the hole seemed to come so naturally to us. It won’t mystify our children forever.

Four days later, I entered the Apple store with my husband and our helpless child who can’t tie his shoes.

It was time for a system update. Our PC was gasping its final cyber breaths. You PC people are cringing as you read this. Don’t blame me. It was the intuitive, irresistible brilliance of the iPhone that lured me back to Mac.

Our state was having a tax-free weekend so the store was packed. When our turn came, I proceeded to ask elementary questions of the young, hip salesperson like, “Well, how do I make my email come up when I click the button that looks like the postage stamp?” and “Can’t you download all that stuff for me?”

Then I remembered my child. He was no longer standing with us. Momma Bear panic kicked in. My head turned frantically in search of him. Where was my cub?

Within two seconds I had a visual. My cub had hooked himself up at an iPhone display where he was doing major damage on Angry Birds.

Happy as a clam. Oblivious to things like time and space and parents. Adeptly navigating the technology alone.

So he can’t tie his shoes. He’ll learn. Today there are bigger fish to fry.

“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:18 NIV

Ever feel like the technology’s taking over? So did I. Back in 1983. Hang on to your time machine. We’re going old school. Very old school. Presenting the rock opera (my son loved watching this by the way) Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.

Posted on August 10, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 16

Put Your Own Mask On First

pickmeroostercrpsm — this is not my rooster. we met this rooster in Historic Jamestown, VA.

It’s 6:00 a.m., Sunday morning. The little rooster has awakened with the sun. Blame it on his grandfather’s dominant dairy farmer genes summoning him to get up and milk the cows.

There are no milking cows at our house, but this Sunday we are due at the early 8:30 a.m. service for my husband to sing. Two and a half hours is plenty of time for three people to get ready for church.

My son wakes us, crawls into our bed, squirms, crawls out then disappears to play. His father is immovable, somehow skipped by the early-to-rise dairyman genetics. The time is now 6:30 a.m. I get up and begin the routine.

Shower. Try to wake my husband. Prepare breakfast for my child who is starving. Feed the dog. Try to wake my husband. Read a book to my child who is lonely and bored. Try to wake my husband.

The time is now 7:30 a.m. My husband gets out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. My child is on his second breakfast. We giggle at the table as we hear his dad warming up his voice in the shower.

“Ah, ah, ahhhhh!” he sings. We giggle some more.

I let the dog out. Try to convince my child to get dressed. Check to see if the dog has done her business. Check to see if my child is anywhere near his clothes. Clean up from second breakfast. Let the dog in. Praise the dog. Hunt for my child who has disappeared again to play.

Get third breakfast out as my husband still needs to eat. Ask said husband to please help our child get dressed and ready. Clean up from third breakfast.

The time is now 8:00 a.m. The final stretch. Departure in 15 minutes. I run upstairs to get dressed and put on some makeup.

“But, Daaad!” says child. “I’m trying to read this book!”

“You have to get dressed NOW,” says husband. “We’re going to be late!”

I’m tempted to leave my mirror with a half painted face to intervene. But the wise words of the trusty flight attendant ring in my ears: Put your own mask on first, then assist those traveling with you to put on theirs.

pickmeslowchildrenatplaysm — slow children at play

If I don’t get ready, none of us is going to make it. I reach for the hair dryer to complete the blowout.

“Daaad!” says child. “I want my book! You are so mean, Dad!”

That’s it. Exit bathroom. Break up squabble. Comfort and dress child.

The time is now 8:15 a.m. My child and my husband are clean, polished, dressed and sitting in the truck waiting for me. I’m standing in the bathroom with unstyled hair and no shoes, wildly slapping on mascara.

Next week, come hell or high water, before anyone else eats, bathes, dresses, reads, or requires me in any other way imaginable, I’m getting ready first. One must get into the lifeboat before one has any hope of helping the others.

Indeed, the “right time” is now. Today is the day of salvation. from 2 Corinthians 6:2 NLT

Someone Saved My Life Tonight, sugar bear.

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Posted on August 8, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 15

Family Business

losttooth7.30.11sm — look, ma. no tooth!

This is a rare and unplanned Saturday post. It’s quick so don’t blink.

First, THE major development: the child lost his first tooth today. It’s been noticeably loose for almost two weeks and finally popped out this morning at breakfast. The toothless look becomes him. So do the freckles.

The other development: while playing on WordPress this afternoon, I discovered another widget. It’s that Facebook page link over there to the left. Click like to declare your like of everyday epistle.

That’s assuming you do like everyday epistle. If not, what are you doing here? Get off my blog!

Just kidding. Stay as long as you like and enjoy your weekend, folks.

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin… from Zechariah 4:10 NLT

Posted on July 30, 2011July 10, 2012 by Aimee 4

An Ebenezer in July

What’s your Ebenezer? Not the Scrooge kind with Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, “Bah! Humbug!” and all that. Surely you mistake this for the Christmas in July blog. Perhaps I should sign up for Pay Pal.

The first Ebenezer was a place of upheaval, distress and defeat. But God transformed it into a place of victory, remembering and thanksgiving. You can read the full saga in 1 Samuel 4-7.

It ends with Samuel setting up a stone memorial, calling it Ebenezer, and saying, “This marks the place where God helped us” (1 Samuel 7:12 The Message).

My friends Nicole, Katie and others have reposted significant blog entries to remember the places God helped them and their families. Fabulous idea. One I need to employ as it’s too easy for me to forget.

So here’s an Ebenezer in July. It comes not from this blog which is only five months old, but from a July 2007 email. Some of you received the original email or read the story in our 2007 Christmas letter.

A little background. Our only child Theo was born with an ASD or atrial septal heart defect. This condition usually heals on its own. Theo’s did not. He had open heart surgery four years ago when he was only two years old…

A Sigh of Relief, July 16, 2007

Hello, everyone. I am home to get some sleep after this long and truly amazing day. Theo’s surgery went very well and very quickly—only about two hours. He was away from us for a little more than four excruciating hours. Being separated from him was the hardest part for us—like holding your breath, stepping off the high dive, and waiting, waiting for the water to break your fall.

Theo has been resting with us at his bedside in the cardiac intensive care unit since lunchtime. Our incredibly compassionate and capable surgeon kept Theo’s incision small…“neat and square” comes to mind, like one of Mike Mulligan and Mary Anne’s corners. Theo is being kept sedated because when he wakes up, he immediately requests to “go bye-bye, please,” and then tries to sit up and pull out his IVs. What a relief to see his spunk has not faded one bit, nor have his manners.

I will relieve Jeff early tomorrow morning. Jeff insisted on staying the night, saying he is used to being up to all hours working and sleeping in strange places like airplanes and hotel rooms. He made me, the morning bird, come home to rest while he, the night owl, keeps watch by night. What a good daddy and husband he is!

Thank you for your prayers, calls, emails, visits, gifts and concern for us. It is not a coincidence that Theo was born in a time when this surgery is accessible to us and the technology exists to support its success. Nor is it a coincidence that he lives in a house 15 minutes away from a top 10 children’s hospital. That is the tip of this iceberg. How humbling to realize we cannot begin to understand all the connections and repercussions of God’s purpose.

Breathe then a sigh of relief with us that the first and highest hurdle of this race is past. Tomorrow will be a challenging day as Theo is weaned off the sedatives and strongest pain medications. His doctors hope to move him to a step-down unit, which in layman’s terms means a step-closer-to-going-home unit. Please pray that God will quiet Theo and help him to remain as calm as a two-year-old boy can remain in such a situation, and that He will give Jeff and I an extra measure of strength and wisdom to comfort Theo. Pray God protects him from infection or other complications, so he can come home soon. Please.

I leave you with one of Paul’s doxologies from Romans 11:33-36. It sums up our elation, amazement, and gratefulness. I see this short update is getting lengthier as I my mind spins and treads around the events of the day. Humor me as I cannot resist also including a verse from Charles Wesley. I read it early this morning in the near dark before we left our house, and it still seems appropriate as the sun sets on this evening. Good night, and sweet dreams.

Love,

Aimee

our heart breaker made a quick and full recovery. he was released from his cardiologist's care last year.

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable His judgments,
and His paths beyond tracing out!
“Who has known the mind of the Lord?
Or who has been His counselor?”
“Who has ever given to God,
that God should repay them?”
For from Him and through Him and for Him are all things.
To Him be the glory forever! Amen. Romans 11:33-36 NIV

Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;

Leave, ah! Leave me not alone,

Still support and comfort me.

All my trust on Thee is stayed,

All my help from Thee I bring;

Cover my defenseless head

With the shadow of Thy wing.

Charles Wesley, from Jesus, Lover of My Soul

Don’t miss this link to Fernando Ortega’s version of Charles Wesley’s Jesus, Lover of My Soul. Ortega is one of my all-time favorite artists. I was surprised and grateful to find this recording on YouTube!

Posted on July 19, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 4

Ahab and the Unfairness Doctrine

Waltons005sml — The Waltons, image used with permission from sitcomsonline.com

Much as I hate to admit it, we don’t have daily family devotions. We don’t live on Walton Mountain either. Great if you do. I confess we don’t.

But we do love God and the Bible at our house. We’ve shared Bible stories with our son since he was itty-bitty.

Noah’s ark was his favorite for a long time. I told him how God brought two of every animal to the ark, a mommy and a daddy. He wasn’t satisfied.

“And the babies,” he said in his tiny three-year-old voice. “The mommies and the daddies and the babies.”

“Well, the Bible says a mommy and a daddy of each animal,” I said.

“And the babies,” he said. I dropped it, granting him liberty. No sense arguing with a three-year-old. Certainly there were babies when they departed the ark.

He’s six now. The Bible stories he likes are the bloody, gory, fighting ones.

We were running early one morning, so at breakfast I said, “I’ll read you a Bible story. You pick!”

“Read about when Queen Jezebel died,” he said.

I turned to 1 Kings 21, the story of Naboth’s vineyard. How King Ahab wanted it for a vegetable garden, but Naboth wouldn’t sell it to him. How King Ahab pouted and refused to eat.

My son’s favorite phrase these days is It’s not fair! No matter what it is, if he doesn’t like it, we hear the refrain It’s not fair! My husband and I are about to pull our hair out over It’s not fair! No sense arguing with a six-year-old.

So that morning I read the story my son had picked: His wife Jezebel came in and asked him, “Why are you so sullen? Why won’t you eat?”

As my child listened and munched cereal, I smelled a teachable moment.

In the whiniest Ahab voice I could muster, I said: “Because I said to Naboth the Jezreelite, ‘Sell me your vineyard: or if you prefer, I will give you another vineyard in its place.’ But he said, ‘I will not give you my vineyard.'”

Then—God, forgive me and grant me liberty, I said: “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see my son’s head pop up from his bowl.

I continued reading: Jezebel his wife said, “Is this how you act as king over Israel? Get up and eat! Cheer up. I’ll get you the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite.”

As it goes, Jezebel had Naboth killed, Ahab took his vineyard, and Elijah caught the king and queen red-handed. Elijah spelled out God’s judgment against them saying dogs would eat Jezebel’s body. Told you it was gory.

We turned to 2 Kings 9 where the prophesy came true: But when they went out to bury her, they found nothing except her skull, her feet and her hands.

My son was quiet.

“It came true,” I said, “because God does everything He says He will do.”

Then I dropped it. No sense arguing with that either.

As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is My Word that goes out from My mouth:
It will not return to Me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. Isaiah 55:10-11 NIV

Proudly presenting The Waltons Theme Song by Jerry Goldsmith. Loved that show. What a week and what a way to end it!

Posted on June 24, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee

Perfectionist? Your Secret’s Safe with Me

My man is a bit of a messy. Not filthy, rather blissfully cluttered and unaware.

I asked his parents prenuptually, as we searched for an empty spot to sit in his living room, if he’d always been like this.

“Yeah, pretty much,” said my future father-in-law. Then he looked at me, a glint in his eye, and said, “You know he’s not going to change.”

Without hesitation I said, “Neither am I.”

Smug in my neatness, I relayed this story to my husband all these years later.

“Oh, really?” he said. “That’s funny, because around that same time your brother pulled me aside and told me you’re a perfectionist.”

What? My brother knows I’m a perfectionist?

“Yeah, he said, ‘You know she’s going to want everything to be perfect.’ I think he wanted to prepare me and protect you,” said my husband.

A perfectionist? My brother told my fiancé I’m a perfectionist? How did he know? Who told him?

Perfectionism is akin to chicken pox. And messiness. Can’t be hidden really. That’s its main imperfection.

I like to think my perfectionistic tendancies have mellowed with the years. Same way my husband likes to think his messiness has. I like to imagine my Myers-Briggs Super Feeler personality has no qualms with my Super Thinker husband. My J and his P can live together peacefully.

Seems truer though, our greatest strengths and weaknesses are two sides of the same coin.

The optimism that so attracts me to him drives me to the brink when it runs up against my realism. My emotion that so touches his heart often leaves him flailing alone in his logic.

How do we survive? Somehow we work it out. Temper one another. Genuinely like one another. Struggle and fight to love. Pick up day after day and maintain a disciplined loop, a quiet repeat of what works, a layering of commitment and time as circumstances spiral up and down.

Where I bring organization, he brings spontenaeity. Where I bring order, he brings fullness. Where I am prone to panic, he is even-keeled. Where he is tempted to inaction, I hold ground and press on.

Not sure how it works, messy and imperfect though it may be, but thank God by His grace it does.

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:8 NIV

You Take Me the Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson is one of the sweetest songs ever. Some people don’t like the video. Must be the clowns. Normally I don’t like clowns, but I do like this video. Reminds me of a certain married couple I know.

I’m also including a link to You Take Me the Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson with a little Vanilla Ice on the front end. What a hoot! Keep watching until Michaelson sings. Her voice is très bien. And you know we’re rather fond of Ice Ice Baby around here.

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Posted on June 10, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 12

Goodbye, Kindergarten

Today is my son’s last day of kindergarten. Momma Bear has mixed emotions.

On Tuesday you read he’d outgrown his shoes. Always been able to see him grow by his feet first. That sounds strange, but even as a baby, his feet grew first then the rest of him followed.

“Mom, my feet are as big as your hands!” he said as the salesperson measured.

Yes, those precious feet I once closed my palm around are now too big for me to grasp. Perhaps I can hold on to a toe a little while longer.

As if the end of kindergarten weren’t enough, yesterday we celebrated the retirement of my son’s junior kindergarten teacher. Helen taught for 29 years, the past 24 at our little school. Wow. She will be missed.

Today is also sixth grade graduation. A and C have been big brothers to my only child for the past three years. Now they move on to different schools.

“We can still see them,” said my son.

“Yes,” I said, “only not every day like we do now.”

Before we all burst into uncontrollable sobbing, let me share with you how I’ve kept my composure. The meltdown moments come, but they’d be much worse if it hadn’t been for one terrific party.

My son has many wonderful friends in his class, including three sets of twins. One set has an older brother graduating from high school this year. My husband and I attended his graduation celebration at The Sheldon last week.

The Sheldon is a concert venue, right? What an odd place for a graduation party. This was no ordinary party.

Alex is a phenomenally talented performer. In the fall, he will enter the country’s premier musical theatre program at the University of Michigan. Naturally, the stage played a starring role in this celebration.

He and 19 of his closest, most gifted friends performed Broadway hits for an audience of more than 200 people. Attendees were asked to make a donation of $10 or more for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS to help improve the living conditions of folks diagnosed with AIDS.

These high school kids exhibited a maturity and stage presence that blew us away. And they raised $5,000.

Then at the after show party, Alex took the stage and sang Daughtry’s What About Now. Flawlessly. For his mother. Can you say American Idol?

Oh, yeah. Speaking of American Idol, Nikko Smith was the entertainment for the party. Old fogey that I am, had to whip out the iPhone and Google who he was.

As my husband and I walked to our truck to go home, I realized Alex is an adult. Much as we’re celebrating his accomplishments, we’re also celebrating his parents’ accomplishments. Our friends Robin and Joel have raised a responsible adult who has his own talents, interests, friends and future.

Sure, he still needs his parents and it’s obvious he loves them dearly. But they can send him out into the world, confident in his ability to pursue life.

I’m raising an adult too. I pray in the years ahead God reveals this one’s talents, interests, friends and future. It’s a big job, growing a person. Momma Bear’s up for the task. Feet first. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future…” Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

In 10 years we'll be DRIVING this car.

Oodles of thanks to our son’s teachers, Michael and Mary, for such an amazing kindergarten year and for instilling this sweet song in our memories: Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole.

Posted on June 2, 2011July 9, 2012 by Aimee 4

DWM: Driving While Married

A smartphone catapults the navigational differences between men and women to a new level.

“Should we use our current location?” I ask my husband as we drive in a strange city on our way to visit friends at their new home for the first time. “Maybe I should use the city we just left as our starting location.”

“We’re on Ronald Reagan Highway,” he says. “Use that.

“That won’t work,” I say. “I’ll use the city we left. I-N-D-I-A-N-A-P-O-”

“Do I take this exit?” he says.

“Just a minute,” I say. “-L-I-S.”

“It’s exit 10 for 75 North,” he says.

“Wait a sec. It’s thinking,” I say.

“I’ll just take the next exit north,” he says. We zoom by exit 10 at 70 mph.

“Stay on this road until we get to the fork,” I say, “then veer left.”

“We’re taking the next exit.”

“At the fork?”

“No, the next exit north,” he says.

“It says, Continue on Ronald Reagan until the fork. Veer left.”

“Does it say north or south?”

“It says, Veer left.”

“North or south?”

“IS THE VEER LEFT AT THE FORK NORTH OR SOUTH?” I say to the iPhone.

My husband grew up on an 850 acre farm where every parcel of land, every watering hole, every homestead, every wayward blade of grass is due east, west, north or south as the crow flies. I grew up in the suburbs where every destination is triangulated in relation to the mall.

“Just pull up a map!” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

“Well?”

“Wait a sec. It’s thinking.” We zoom by exit 11 clocking 80 mph.

“The map’s not coming up,” I say. “Maybe we should stop and ask for directions.”

Exits 12 through 14 disappear in a blur.

“Give me the phone,” he says.

“Not while you’re driving!”

“We’re taking the next exit north,” he says.

Suddenly the speed limit slows to a 45 mph crawl. We enter a residential area.

“Hey, I think that’s the fork!” I say. We veer left-north at about 50 mph.

Soon, by the grace of God, we come to our friends’ subdivision. “What’s their address again?” he says.

“Um, I think it’s 7911 or something,” I say. “Wait a sec and I’ll pull it up. Oh, look, there’s a house for sale! Cheryl didn’t tell me they have a house waiting for us next door to theirs. It’s beautiful. It’s 7909, so I’m sure the one next door must be theirs. Pull in here.”

We pull in the driveway. We smile at each other. Love fills the cab where tension once stifled our patience. We’ve arrived. My husband unlocks the doors with a sweet click. A woman steps out from behind the house.

“That’s not Cheryl!”

My husband revs the engine and engages reverse thrusters. We escape by the hair of our chinny-chin-chins to our friends’ house across the street.

“How could 7911 be on this side of the street?” I say.

“Their address is 7912,” he says.

A minor detail. This time, we really have arrived. Next time, I’m driving.

Love is patient, love is kind… 1 Corinthians 13:4 NIV

What to say here? What else, but I Drove All Night by the unimitable Cyndi Lauper? While researching this song, I discovered this music video was the first to be closed captioned for the hearing impaired. Warning: it’s a little risqué and Lauper’s sporting Cruella de Vil hair, but oh, that voice…

Posted on May 24, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 8

Homegirls and BFFs

So I’m in the J Crew dressing room one Saturday, trying on their latest confection. Outside I hear, “Kalie, you in here? It’s Christy, your BFF.”

Kalie and her BFF Christy were promptly reunited. How sweet. Meanwhile in my little stall, I was coming undone.

“Where is my BFF? Why can’t I have a BFF?” I said to myself. “I need a BFF to find me another size and bring me more cute stuff to try on and tell me how good it looks. All I have is…is…is Keno the salesperson!…(whimper)…”

Now I love me some Keno. And I love me some Desiree, Mary, Michael, and the rest of the très chic staff at my local J Crew store. I only learned what BFF means a few months ago when I joined Facebook. Didn’t realize it was the need of the moment until then.

Truth is I have plenty of BFFs, thank you very much, Kalie and Christy. I don’t limit myself either. There’s enough love to go around.

That particular Saturday, one of my BFFs was at a first grade basketball game, another at a Girl Scout cookie meeting, another busy at work in her home office. Beautiful and responsible, those girls.

Half a dozen or so of my BFFs from high school still live 750 miles away in the place we grew up. Like to think of them as the Homegirls. They make me laugh like no one else on earth can.

My college BFFs are dotted along I-40 in exotic locales like Raleigh, Winston-Salem and Asheville. Two more live on polar opposite coasts with me smack-dab in the middle of the heartland. These women knew me before I knew me.

There’s my Chicago BFF who now lives in Milwaukee. And my sassy St. Louis BFF who moved to Cincinnati last year. Miss them terribly.

Then there are my BFFs who are married to my husband’s best friends–each the epitomy of grace. The guys are swell, too.

Add to that my old church and work BFFs, my BSF BFFs (try saying that fast three times), my new BFFs I’m cultivating offline and online, and my fabulous lifelong BFFs who also happen to be related to me by blood or marriage.

Any of these women would have gone shopping with me that Saturday if it were possible. But life happens.

Husbands and significant others happen. Divorces happen. Jobs. Kids. Moves and miles. Before you know it, seeing each other becomes a special occasion.

Kalie and Christy, if you’re listening, enjoy your free Saturdays together. They won’t last forever. But your BFFs? They get sweeter with time.

Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together in all kinds of trouble. Proverbs 17:17 The Message

A little something for all the friends in the house. Go ahead, let your hair down…

Posted on May 12, 2011July 9, 2012 by Aimee 16

Happy Meals with Office Graduates

happymealheadsml — McDonald's on my mind

Realized one morning in the car I had forgotten to pack a lunch for my son.

We were more than half way to school. Would he go hungry? Would he starve? What would he eat? The answer came like manna from heaven: McDonald’s.

“What if mommy picks up a Happy Meal for you and brings it to school?” I said. “We can eat together. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, never one to turn down a Happy Meal or the fantastic plastic toy that comes with it. “Are the other moms and dads coming too?”

“No,” I said. “Just me.”

“Why aren’t the other moms and dads coming?” he said.

happymealcropsml — happy meal with friends

“Well, some moms and dads go to work in offices and can’t leave to come to school for lunch,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, “and you don’t even have an office.”

Ouch.

“No, mommy works at home,” I said. “I may have an office again one day. I used to have an office before you were born.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but you graduated.”

I love that kid. Here I was thinking how lame I am because I don’t have a real job. Here he was thinking his mom is somehow above it. Oh, that we women could take a cue from the kids.

You have a paying job? Great. You stay at home? Great. You do a little of both? Great. You have a spouse, a nanny, a sitter, a parent, or in-law who helps you? Double blessings of great. You a single parent making it on your own? God bless you. You don’t have children? That’s fine too.

Enough with the potshots already, ladies. No more casually tossing guilt bombs into each other’s backyards. We women do not have to be on opposing sides.

We’re all fighting the same battle for our families. To do our best by them and for them. Understandably that’s going to look different in different families.

The real question is, how’s it going for you and your family?

If everyone has what they need, if you are doing the best you can, if they know you love them and they love you, then I say it’s all good.

I bet they would agree with me over a Happy Meal.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. 1 Thessalonians 5:11 NIV

No matter your situation, if you’re alive—which I know you are or you wouldn’t be reading this—then you’re in The Middle of the ride. Hang on. Everything, everything will be just fine.

Posted on May 10, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 6

Orchids and Stars for Mother’s Day

On Mother’s Day when I was a teenager, my mom insisted the whole family wear corsages. My dad, brother, sister, and I went to church looking like we were going to the prom.

I have no idea why she wanted this. Yes, there is a Mother’s Day tradition to wear a red carnation if your mother is alive and a white carnation if she has died.

But my mom was very much alive when she issued her decree. My grandmothers were both alive in those years too. There were no white carnations within 10 miles of our house.

No red carnations for us either. My mom was a mild nonconformist. She bought us flowers to match our outfits. Usually orchids.

It was the 80s, so we had lovely shades of ivory, mauve and violet orchids. Like I said, we might as well have been going to the prom. A Taiwanese garden prom.

I vaguely remember a wrist coursage one year when there was nowhere to pin a flower on my sundress. Still trying to repress that.

Why not Easter corsages? Why not Christmas? Why not carnations or roses or freesia, for goodness sake? Why, oh, why orchids?

I can only guess what was going through her mind. Maybe to her orchids were an expensive luxury reserved for the royal family. And there was no better occasion to display us than Mother’s Day.

She was beyond my best friend. After she died, I discovered she was my brother’s and sister’s best friend as well. She made each of us feel like we were the single star in her sky. Three stars circling one sun. She loved us each best.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking she can’t be gone. Thinking I’ll just pick up the phone and call her.

So what will I wear this year on Mother’s Day? A blinding white orchid on my head? A flashback wrist corsage?

I’ll wear a sweet little size six seersucker suit with hand-me-down brown bucks.

I’ll don a wide grin of baby teeth that are still hanging on, but will be long gone by this time next year.

And I’ll pin on a bright yellow star he made for me last Mother’s Day in Sunday School.

No orchids for me. One single star in my sky fits just fine.

Children are a gift from the Lord;
they are a reward from him. Psalm 127:3 NLT

Grab the tissues. A New Day Has Come. Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.

Posted on May 6, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 14

King Me

In the market for a bed? If you have or ever expect to have a spouse, children or mammalian pets, I suggest a king.

When I was engaged, my fiancé-now-husband took me to the furniture store and asked me to pick out a bed. Being the princess bride, I knew exactly what I wanted. The queen.

“Are you sure you don’t want a king?” said my fiancé-now-husband.

“Absolutely not!” I said as Close to You swayed through my lovestruck head.

Fast forward fifteen years. Life at the castle looks different than I imagined that day in the furniture store. Bottom line, everyone ends up in my bed.

My baby has always slept in his own bed until this year.

My dog has always slept in her own bed on the floor beside mine until this year.

My husband has always slept in my bed with me until this year. When his snoring became so loud I couldn’t sleep, he was banished to the guest room.

Lonely and in a moment of weakness, I let the dog sleep in my bed once. Guess what happened the next night. She expected to sleep there again. Became a regular fixture.

When work required my husband to be away for a week, my son and I threw a slumber party. What happened next time dad traveled? Yep. Another slumber party.

Seemingly overnight I had gone from sleeping in my bed with my husband to sleeping by myself to sleeping with my dog and my child.

As you read last time in Sleepless in St. Louis, my husband got a sleep machine and his snoring stopped. He returned to my bed, gear in tow. My son wasn’t invited, but he has ways of sneaking in.

“Mom,” he says at 3:30 a.m. as he stands beside my bed. “I had a bad dream.”

“It’s okay, honey,” I say. “Come on in.”

The dog ran from the bed with the advent of the sleep machine. Won’t even stay in the same room now. But in a thunderstorm she instantly appears, whining to be comforted.

“It’s okay, honey,” I say. “Come on in.”

The dog is trembling and pacing acround the mattress. Thunderstorm or not, she abhors the machine.

My son is kicking and stretching his lethal legs diagonally across my space.

And my husband, bless his heart, is fast asleep.

I extricate myself from the entanglement, take my pillow, pick up the dog, and go sleep in the twin bunk.

This Queen needs a good night’s rest.

This Queen needs a king.

I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me. Psalm 3:5 NIV

Lucky Dogs

My friend Lisa is a foster parent for Senior Dogs 4 Seniors. All the dogs featured in this post are available for adoption through the organization, except for Lucy and Jaspar shown here with their new owners.

Senior Dogs 4 Seniors cares for dogs in the homes of volunteers until they can be placed with loving folks and families.

Lisa has housed as many as eight dogs at once, but recently drew the line at six. And yes, they are allowed to sleep in her bed.

Jasper Adoption — M. Stasiak with Jaspar

Help Lisa and her husband Cordel get a good night’s rest. Go to seniordogs4seniors.com for more info on what you can do.

BTW Senior Dogs 4 Seniors sponsors an adoption event most Saturdays, 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., at the Kirkwood Petco on Lindburgh just north of I-44. Their next event is this Saturday, May 7th.

Posted on May 4, 2011July 14, 2012 by Aimee 15

everyday epistle

there's a story at every turn