NOT Sleeping with the Enemy!

When my husband and I have a “heated discussion”, we always try to fight with the utmost of maturity.

Just the other day, it was getting hot and heavy in the vehicle (and NOT because the heat was on...and definitely NOT because we were getting it on!) and things just happened to come to a climax during a red light at an intersection.

After obviously having enough “discussion” time, in a very mature and calm manner, my husband grabbed his things and hopped out of the truck.

It also just so happened that we were traveling out of town which posed a bit of a dilemma for me.  You see, I was feeling “the love” at that moment too (please note the high levels of sarcasm here) and didn’t really mind that I would be traveling alone from that moment on.  So, the light turned green and I did what any wife who was equally crazy for and driven crazy by their husband would do: I left.  I’m not completely heartless, of course, I did glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure the love-of-my-life made it out of traffic and safety on his way...whatever way that would be!  The truth was, at that moment, I didn’t really care if we were traveling in Europe and he would have to hitchhike his way home on an ocean-liner.  

Needless to say, the fresh air for him and the empty passenger seat for me were both welcome breaks from our, uh-hum, “heated discussion”.

Perfect we are NOT.

My husband did hitch a ride back home that night.  And I made it home that night too.  

Of course, I brought along a weather-front that would rival the arctic chill of the Bering Sea.  The heated discussion had progressed (or REgressed may be more accurate!) to a chilly stand-off and the good Lord knows, I would NOT be the first to break.  If it meant I had to take a vow of silence or duct-tape my mouth shut, there was NO way on God’s green earth that I would say two words to that..that...MAN.  That man I married, the father of my children, my most-of-the-time bestest friend...and sometimes my worst-est enemy!

The battle lines were drawn: he may be bigger and stronger than me but everyone has to sleep sometime.

Speaking of sleeping, the couch was not as comfortable as I had envisioned when I dragged the comforter and pillows off our bed that night (with MUCH loud huffing that was accompanied by icy looks of death). So, at 4 am, once I heard the enemy sleeping, I snuck back into MY bed and slept in comfort once again (I accidentally brushed his leg during this risky encounter and immediately built a enormous pillow-wall to prevent further deadly encounters with the enemy).

Much to my shock, I awoke at 7 am the next morning to discover my husband SNUGGLING with me.  What was this?  A truce?!  A white flag of surrender!?  A hand of peace?!  This act of valor on his part was definitely scoring some brownie points but I was still operating under a vow of silence and, difficult as it was becoming with every (secret) glance at those deep brown, twinkling eyes of his, I had to go on!  I could not give in, not yet!  Not with so much to...so much to...gain!?

What was I thinking?!

I had been a fool and was wasting precious time.  Me and my man are on a mission, a mission to further God’s kingdom, a mission to raise godly children (who were currently learning from such wonderful role-models!!) and I was being distracted by a war that was battling over...nothing.  A civil war that was fighting against itself.  Silly me.

Perfect we are NOT!!

That night, after watching my man play baseball with my boys (in his cute baseball cap with that crooked smile!), I felt myself caving!  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I had to wave the white flag as well!

When my husband and I fight, we always do so with the utmost of maturity.  Okay, the truth is, we can be pretty silly and immature when we fight.  But, the good Lord knows that it’s only a matter of time (and usually never more than one uncomfortable night spent on the couch) when I’m NOT sleeping with the enemy...

but rather sleeping with my bestest friend.

Swivel-Sweeper Persecution!?

Contrary to what I have been telling my husband for the last few months, as of tonight, I no longer want a new swivel sweeper.

I have always been completely devoted to my one and only man until the day I met my swivel sweeper, since then, my devotion has been torn between them!  I never knew such a simple man-made machine could make life with kids so completely divine!  With a quick press of the button, I can twist, turn and slide my way over cheerios, Legos (snooze you lose, boys!) and Doritos and watch them miraculously disappear and a sparkling clean floor reappear!  I love my swivel sweeper!

Alas, all good things come to an end...or in the case of my current sweeper, a broken handle.  Although it still functions relatively well, if I bump a wall too hard or twist too quickly, the handle snaps off and send my sweeper a flyin’!  Since it still technically “works”, this item has moved from the “Need List” to the “Want List” on our family budget and thus, I’m looking at 2050 for a possible swivel-sweeper replacement time-frame.

Don’t laugh (too hard), but every time that darn handle pops off, I used to grit my teeth and think, 


“Arg!  The things I must suffer to __________ (fill-in-the-blank: live on a budget, have a large family, do life with one income, and so on)!!”  


Yes, in other words: a semi-broken sweeper was my (pathetic, lame, think of any other adjetive here that equates with pitiful!) version of persicution.

Until tonight.

It was a picture I saw of someone else’s precious child, a picture something like this...

I’ve seen photos like this before...we all have.  But tonight, it grabbed my attention while I was trying to get that handle back on my sweeper with a less-than-stellar-attitude (think: Oscar the Grouch) and I felt like my heart stopped.

No, THAT is persecution.  THAT is suffering.

I felt a wave of great sorrow at what my watered-down, Americanized Christianity has become.  How small and out of focus has my world become that I think making do with a somewhat broken swivel-sweeper is suffering?

...that not getting my hair dyed professionally every few months is “sacrificing”?
...that living in a small home with a big family is “difficult”?
...that three kids in a bunk-bed is “depriving” them?

No.

THIS is a man sacrificing: a father who risk beatings and even imprisonment to attend the underground church with his family.

THIS is a woman whose life is difficult: the mother who builds a home for her family out of boxes and trash in the garbage slums.

THIS is child who is deprived: a child that hasn’t eaten in days and longs for a DROP of water.

The truth is, I’m not sure what my next step is.  How can I use my (VERY blessed) life in a greater way to reach those who are (TRULY) suffering?  That’s a question I’m going to be wrestling through with God...everyday...

...everytime my handle comes off my swivel-sweeper.

THAT is going to be my reminder.

A reminder that I’m blessed.

A reminder to pray.

A reminder to give...

...to the poor, needy, lonely, and to those suffering.

And that is why (take note, dear husband!) I don’t want a new swivel sweeper.  Thanks to a broken handle, I’m going to have plenty of daily reminders to pray and give to those who are truly in need.

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. 

James 1:26-27

Maytag Miracle

I always wondered what it would feel like to be the person who opened the door for Publisher Clearing House.

“What?!  I won!?!  This is...wonderful!!”  I would grab that giant, paper check and give a huge kiss to the person handing it to me (granted, this was my pre-married fantasy, I better run that one past my hubby now!).  

I always wondered...until today.

This morning, when I opened my front door, I was greeted with an announcement that transformed me into one of those crazy, jumping, ecstatic people from Publisher's Clearing House!

I had been playing on the front porch with my crew and was confused when I noticed a delivery truck backing into our driveway.  My confusion level upgraded from mild to wild though when a delivery man hopped out and hollered, "I have a brand-new washer and dryer for you!"

I laughed, "This is a joke, right?!"  Not that I thought it was hilarious that our current washer and dryer belonged at a museum next to dinosaurs of similar prehistoric age but having spied the contents (or lack thereof....) in my husband’s wallet lately, I was pretty sure he wasn’t the one replacing our old dinosaurs with BRAND-spankin’-new models!

And who else had I complained to about our oldie-goldies except my man?  Granted, the only reason I had told him the washer and dryer were dying a miserable death was because he had smelled the smoke coming from the basement and thought it was dinner (again).  I assured him the dryer was working just fine (minus the plume of smoke) so long as I planned ahead a year or two for any special clothes I needed since it was taking an average of six to seven hours to dry one load.

I couldn’t stop grinning as I showed the delivery man to our basement laundry area.  I could tell from the look he gave me he thought I was certifiably nuts.  It was either because he didn’t know why I kept laughing...or because of my answer when he asked how many kids I had.  Come to think of it, it was probably more likely option B.

But all that aside, I hadn’t been too worried...

Okay, who am I kidding!?  I had been worried about how our budget was going to stretch without snapping to accommodate for a fancy, new-fangled washer and dryer (translation for fancy: working!!).

In fact, my battle with worry was the very reason that my attention was snagged last night when I was listening to a pod-cast and the speaker threw out this challenge,

“What if you didn’t worry anymore (citing Luke 12:22-26)?  What would life look like for you if you stopped worrying...if you trusted God?”

What if?  I thought.  I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of all the things I had been worrying about: “Will our house sell?  Will I ever get to all my projects?  Am I prioritizing my time the way God wants me to?”, and last but not least, “What to do about our smokin’ hot dryer?!”  

...and THIS is another story!

I decided right then and there (there being while standing on a pile of toys I was attempting to organize, but that’s another story...) to get more active about trusting and more lazy about worrying!  What good did all that worrying do anyway?

God can and will take care of us.

Do I really believe that?  

I must.

After my conversation with God the night before, when that delivery truck backed into our driveway with a new washer and dryer, I half expected the Man himself to hop out of the back and unload the set!  If he had, I imagine he might have whistled a little tune and whispered as he walked past me (with my mouth hanging open, of course!), “Told...you...so...Don’t worry...Trust Me.”

So easy to do...and yet so very hard!

It was 100% confirmed that God had indeed used an anonymous person to bless us after my husband got home and I showed him the new bling in our basement.

I never knew a brand-new washer and dryer could make a grown man cry.

“You deserve it, baby...” He smiled, “And God is faithful!”

Yes, He is.

THAT reminder is worth more to me than a ginormous Publisher’s Clearing House check any day of the week.  And thanks to a VERY generous person that God has used, I also have a visual reminder of God’s provision that I can see everyday.  Actually, three times a day...

Speaking of, I gotta go.  I’ve got laundry to do, baby!!

Thank you to whoever blessed our (dirty) socks off!!!

The Dirty Karate Kids

Only a fool would hand two boys wielding toy-swords a dirty diaper with the mission to run it to a garbage can and expect them to actually accomplish this mission...without any violence.

I am a fool.

Of course, if I hadn’t been so busy cleaning up my baby’s diaper explosion, then I would have personally escorted the offending package directly to the proper receptacle but that wasn’t the case.  So, in a frenzied moment of muddled thinking, I stuck my head out the screen door, hollered for my boys to come and tossed them the diaper with these famous last words,

“Please throw this into a trash bin in the garage.  Do this quickly and you can have a star on your chore chart.”  I added that last incentive because even I, though sometimes a great fool, understand boys and their tendencies to get a bit...shall we say: DISTRACTED!

Three baths and fifteen minutes later, I stuck my head out the screen door once again to let them know everyone was done with their baths and now it was their turn.  The site that greeted me made me wonder where I went wrong as a mother.

There they stood, on a hill in our back-yard, swords drawn and laughter filling the air as the dirty diaper (well, what was left of it) sailed between them, on it’s way to get ambushed yet again.

These are the times words aren’t necessary, just The Look.

Of course, after The Look (which had an amazing effect of causing the dirty diaper to quickly land in it’s rightful home AND causing my boys to hurry into our home!), I had PLENTY of words, nonetheless.

“Both of you boys, in the time-out area.  NOW.”  My four-year-old and five-year-old exchanged the “we-got-it-coming-bad” look with each other before they hurried by me, avoiding ALL eye-contact with me in case I was still smoldering with The Look.

The most incredulous moment of that whole incident occurred as Judah hurried by me and paused just long enough to ask,

“Do I still get a star for my chore chart?”

Needless to say, he didn’t.

I let enough time elapse for me to cool off (a year or two) before I sat down across from my nervous looking boys that would one day be men (now THERE’S a thought!).  

I was more than ready to begin my “ten-minute-torture” (a great idea I got from a friend where the mom gets ten uninterrupted minutes to say anything that’s on her blessed heart and NO ONE interrupts).

“Boys.  What are you supposed to do when Momma give you a dirty diaper and ask you to throw it in the trash?”

Gideon caught my eye, still being cautious to avoid The Look, “Well...throw it in the trash right away...and don’t throw it in the air or chop it up with a sword.”  The way his big, dark eyes twinkled when he said the last sentence stopped me cold and I melted.  I tried to hold back the laughter but I could feel it wanting to burst out of my mouth.

Gideon broke into a grin that he’d been working to hold back, “You got the giggles too, Momma?”

Yes, I sure did.

Suddenly, the somber mood was magically dispersed by three people who all “got the giggles”.  

The boys didn’t get in trouble that day (though they didn’t get a star for their chore charts either!) even though maybe they should have.  Yet I’m pretty sure they won’t be karate chopping anymore diapers anytime soon.  

Even a fool knows that sometimes you got to hold ‘em and sometimes you got to fold ‘em.  There are times to lay down the law and times when a little grace is just what is needed.

And I’m pretty sure a case of the giggles cures just about everything.

I Get Knocked Down...

A shouting neighbor, blood, pudding and a crying baby.  These things may seem totally unrelated unless you just lived with me through my last five minutes, then, it would all make perfect sense.

I’m always amazed how things in the our household can go from calm to chaos in under 60 seconds.  Sometimes, it only takes a small thing to begin the domino-effect that knocks down one after another, after another...and eventually: I get knocked down too.

The calm began with a peaceful dinner (okay, as peaceful as a dinner where almost half the people eating it can’t feed themselves or eat solid foods yet can be!) that was interrupted by a little knock at the door.  I welcomed in our sweet and slightly (well, that’s pretty euphemistic) hard-of-hearing neighbor, Mrs. Smith (but at 91, who can blame her!?).  We chatted in the entryway for a bit as she couldn’t easily get up our stairs to come into the house.

“I would just love to see your baby!”  She exclaimed so I brought over our new baby and smiled as I watched the special way that babies and the elderly interact.  Daniel’s little coos were interrupted by a loud wailing from the kitchen: my four-year-old had performed “the chin bust” on the edge of the table (I’m sure it had NOTHING to do with him being silly!) and was writhing on the floor with enough drama for me to consider calling 9-1-1.

I excused myself from Miss Smith and hurried to his aid, setting down a baby that magically went from happy to MAD in under thirty seconds.

Somehow, when Jude had gone flying, his pudding went airborne as well so to reach my distraught boy, I had to navigate a minefield of pudding puddles.  I squeezed all 30-plus pounds of my son into my chest when I suddenly felt something wet dripping down my arm.  A quick glance revealed blood was streaming from Jude’s mouth and running down my arm.  He must have managed to fling his pudding AND bite his tongue at the same time: that boy’s got talent.  I never liked that shirt anyway.

To add to the whole “calm to chaos in 60 seconds” phenomenon, my one-year-old in the highchair decided pudding would make a better shampoo/weapon than dessert and was alternating between massaging it into her hair and flinging it onto the walls.  

Meanwhile, my two-year-old, who had been awaiting “Nurse Mama” on the couch with a thermometer stuck under her armpit was now waving the wand by my face, saying, “Me sick, Mama??”.  Of course, my oldest would not be a mere watcher in this exciting event called “Our Life” and was asking me, “What chores can I do to fill my chore chart so we can go buy that toy I’ve been wanting, Mom?”  “Mom....are you even listening?”

So, that was how the blood, pudding and crying baby (babies, really...) were all related.  Then, the best part: the shouting neighbor.  Maybe it’s because her hearing ain't what it used to be, but Miss Smith picked that moment to continue our chat.  Just to recap: blood dripping down my arm, Judah wailing, Daniel screaming, EvaLee worrying, Gideon shouting, Gabby shampooing/flinging pudding.  

“So, anyway,” Mrs. Smith shouted from our entryway, “My niece, you know-the one that had a baby last year.  Well, it was a baby boy and he is sure cute.  So, she is having a garage sale, do you want to go to it?”

Sure.  That was the only thing I was thinking of at that moment: I wonder if there are any garage sales coming up soon that I could mark onto my calendar RIGHT NOW!

“Do you want to know the day, Tara?? Are you listening?  I can’t even hear you over there!  I am telling you about a garage sale...”

I think it was that moment...or maybe it was a minute or two before that (it's all a chaotic blur in retrospect now!) when I thought: “I CAN’T do this.”

The domino-affect of craziness hadn’t just knocked my life out of whack, it had knocked me down too.  The moment felt sureal and the noise faded away as I looked around my dining room at the mess and the kids and the neighbor.  


How will I ever survive?  Will my children always shampoo their hair with pudding?  Will they always wipe out because they won’t sit on their butts at the dinner table?  And is Miss Helen (bless her heart!!) still shouting?!

I got knocked down.

But, as I carried a very messy little girl for a bath in one arm and a (once again) happy baby in my other, I just somehow knew I would survive.

I’d survive pudding, messes, bloody falls, crying babies and even shouting neighbors.  Thank God it doesn’t really matter that we get knocked down (it’s gonna happen, Lord knows!) but it’s that we get up again....

...and again...

and again.


Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, I will be going to Mrs. Smith’s niece’s garage sale.  

What I'm NOT Getting for Mother's Day...

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I already know what I’m not getting.

I’m not getting expensive jewelry.
I’m not getting a bouquet of flowers.
I’m not getting a box of chocolates.

I know this because I told my husband to skip it all this year; shocking, but true!  I really meant it.  I meant it because I know what I AM getting, something that my husband has been giving me all year.

It’s worth more to me than the most costly jewels (and this means a lot because I am of the belief that diamonds can indeed be a girl’s best friend.)
It’s more stunning than the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.  The fragrance of this gift lasts and lasts.
It’s more delicious to the soul than the yummiest box of chocolates (not that I would ever turn down a box of ANY kind of dark chocolates, but, nonetheless, my hips won’t miss it!).
It can’t be wrapped in a box, but it can be held in my heart, and that’s exactly where I treasure this priceless gift.

The reason I don’t need to unwrap a special gift tomorrow is because the other 364 days of the year I receive a gift from my man: something he fights for and presents to me through blood, sweat and prayer.  He gives me the gift of purity.

He allows himself to be accountable to mentors.
He denies worldly but empty “pleasures”.
He makes a choice to bounce his eyes.
He pursues me and no other.

He grabs hold of love, the most effective weapon against lust that God gave us.  He tirelessly fights to control his thoughts in the battlefield of the mind.

I can’t honestly say I understand what he must think, choose and deny in the battle for purity because I’m not a man and don’t struggle at that level.  What I do understand is that purity is never something to be taken for granted.  It’s a gift that one must sacrifice to give.

Tomorrow, I don’t need a tangible gift for Mother’s Day from my man.

The joy I feel EVERY day to know he strives to present me with the gift of purity, a gift he achieves at great cost, can not compare to a bouquet of flowers or any other present. My man is a warrior.  He’s not a perfect man, but he is a good and godly one and I am proud of him...on Mother’s Day and the other 364 days of the year.

My Mother’s Day wish is that my sons will also become warriors that will present this gift to their future wives too.  Thank you, Bob Cole, for fighting to uphold my honor as your wife and presenting me with the priceless gift of purity.  

(.Okay, okay, I admit: I did find out he’s getting me a new coat for Mother’s Day too...yeah!)

Fun Organization for the Pool & Beach!!

"Necessity is the mother of all invention."  -Albert Einstein

This quote has become even MORE true since having five children.  I was already a self-proclaimed "geek" when it comes to organizing but now, I love it (and NEED it) even more!

Summer is just around the corner and that means SUN and SWIMMING!  My kids love going to the beach and to the pool and I love everything about it too EXCEPT the chaos proceeding piling my crew into the car.  It usually goes something like this,

"Where's my swim suit, Mom!?!"

"Did you pack my goggles?"

"I can't find my sun-glasses!"

"Can you bring me a water bottle?"

"Don't forget everyone's towels, honey...are they still hanging on the line?"

My word! I am NOT super-swim-mom and this summer, I am going on strike!  Instead of ME trying to remember everything and cramming it into my big beach-bag, I am empowering my children to be responsible for their own things with their own beach bag.

Thus, I had to get creative to come up with something that would work on a set budget.  Here's what I threw together:

What I bought: 

*Straw totes (Target, $2.50 each)

*Felt letters (Hancock Fabric, $5.99/pkg.-only needed one for five names, flowers were .75 cents)

*Kid shades (Children's Place, $3/each but I saw Target has some for $1/each)

*Matching Beach Towels (Walmart, $5.97/each)

*Suits in the same colors (Old Navy, $10-$15/each)

*Goggles (Dollar Tree, $1/each)

*Goggles & Shades Holders (Dollar Tree, $1/each)

*Flip-flops (Old Navy, 2 pair for $5)

*Buckets & shovels (Dollar Tree, $1/bucket & $1/2 shovels or watering cans)

*Stainless steel water-bottles for kids (pictured below)

(Old Navy, $7/each...these are GREAT and we use them all the time, everywhere! Love the spill-proof tops and that it's not plastic!)

 What I did: The felt letters already had sticky-backings but I made sure they would last through a hot and sticky summer with little people by hot-gluing their names on as well.  Way cheaper than customized bags from Pottery Barn Kids!

I was planning on sewing some kind of little holder to attach to their bags to hold their sunglasses and goggles (which always get lost or crushed in the bottom of a big bag) until I spotted these beverage cooler holders at our local dollar store.  They are perfect for holding BOTH and attach nicely to the handle, voila!  No more lost eye-wear (and if they do, it's not mom's fault!).  

I also scored colors matching their beach towels which were in their fave colors as well!

One of the best tips I ever got for having lots of little children in busy areas was from a friend who had already raised her own crew and learned what to do!  She said, "Put them in a matching and BRIGHT color.  This is really nice at the pool when you do a quick scan, you can spot them easily!"  I loved it so I went with red for the kids.  I figure if it's what lifeguards wear for safety, I couldn't go wrong!

(Side-note of cuteness: my hubby actually picked up a red pair of swim shorts too (upper left) and said, "I just thought I should match the boys too!"  Love that man!)

Lastly, I bought everyone their own bucket and shovel set so they aren't fighting over it when it's time to make a sand-castle!  If it doesn't have their name on it and they forgot theirs, they are making a sand castle with their bare hands, ha!

So there you have it, easy summer organization on the go!  Of course, for older kids, this project can be modified since I'm sure pre-teens and teens don't need little buckets and shovels anymore...have fun making something creative that is perfect for your own crew!  And happy swimming, dear friends!

Oh, don't forget the sunscreen and sun hats too!