End of Summer = New School+New Things for Adult Children= Excitement and Trepidation

Anther post from early August that never got posted.  I'll add comments in purple with updates where applicable.

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Where has summer gone ? ! ?

The kids start school on September 1.  The MACCRAY (Maynard, Clara City, Raymond) school district is about 1/2 again as large as Red Lake County Central, but from what contact we've had so far, it still seems like a very personal and caring atmosphere.  Just as we had up north,  there are several school workers among our members.

Sophie and Clara will be in school here in town, just a mile away.  Our younger kids will be in the neighboring city of Maynard, seven miles away.  That seems blessedly close compared to the distance our kids used to have to travel to school.  The junior high/high school in Oklee was 13 miles away, and the elementary school in Plummer was 17 miles from where we lived.

MACCRAY has a four day school week for at least the next year.  I'm excited about that.  When we first put our kids in public school five years ago, one of the neighboring districts had a four day week.  I remember saying to some of the other moms that I would really enjoy that extra day with my kids.  Well, now I get that extra day and I'm tickled pink.

Another change for us this year will be that the high school and part of the elementary is what's considered an iPad school.  My kids have had tablets.  I'm not impressed.  I was assured by the counselor we talked to regarding enrolling our kids, that the iPads they use in the schools are strong and durable.  I hope this is true.  I do not relish the thought of forking over replacement money when my chronically destructive children damage their iPads.  Oy weh.  Some of the kids are excited.  They think the idea of having a gadget/device that they are allowed to use in school is pretty cool.

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So far, no broken iPads.  In the elementary school the kids leave them in cubbies at school when not in use. "That's a mercy anyhow!"

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Louisa has moved to Moorhead into an apartment with some girlfriends.  Whitney is one of Louisa's best friends from up north.  The girls have known each other since they were six.  Sabrina became a good friend of theirs this past year in the MSUM Nelson Hall.  Louisa has just a couple of prerequisites to take before applying for nursing school at M-State, so she has registered to take them on-line this fall and put in as many hours as able working at Eventide Senior Living.  She hopes to start her nursing classes in January.

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Louisa ran into some unexpected snags with her online classes. She was familiar with the website through which she was to submit her work, but for some reason, her instructor was not seeing her assignments come through.  Because of this and other factors, she decided to simply work this semester.  She got a full time job at a day care and she's still on call for her CNA work at Eventide if she wants to pick up shifts.

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Elsie will be returning to Bethany in Mankato this fall for her second full year of college and her final year of high school.  She will continue to live with Lance and Cassie for now.  She has hopes to get an apartment with a girlfriend once she turns 18 in January, but that option is still being, .... bandied around.  I'm in much less of a hurry for her to grow up than is she.  Because of the difference in graduations requirements between Oklee and Clara City, Elsie will graduate from RLCC in Oklee on May 27, 2016.  She is in fact in Oklee this weekend to take care of some school related business and to see her friends from there.  Elsie will move to Mankato next weekend.'

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Elsie seems to be doing well.  She is still working at Hillrest nursing home in Mankato, but has limited the number of shifts she can do in a two week period to five so she has more time for school.  

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Matt is also hoping to go to school at some point.  Because of expenses and missed work due to his car accident, he has decided to postpone his start date once again.  But he is still planning to move to Fargo come fall.  He's been checking out apartments and filling out the necessary paperwork.  I've not heard yet whether he has found anything for sure yet.  As far as jobs go, he's open to just about anything that will give him enough hours to pay his expenses and save some money for school.  With his experience working for Quinten, and other summer workers heading back to school, he could probably find work for a general contractor if that's what he decides to do.  He's also keeping his eyes and ears open for anything else that might sound good.

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Matt has his own place in Fargo now, a studio type apartment.  Last I heard he still had one more load of stuff to bring down from rural Oklee.  He has a job, installing siding, but he doesn't start until Monday, since he had Marine drill this week.

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Jeremy has also moved to a new apartment, with one of his Mankato area acquaintances.  He's working at Hardee's to pay his expenses and is also continuing his various creative pursuits such as writing and electronic game producing.  He's also in line to start with the British Amway affiliate, Britt Worldwide, once he gets his driver's license.  

Except for having been mugged in Mankato over the summer, I think he is mostly happy with his life.  I'm taking him a dresser this weekend.  Then he can stop living out of boxes and be happier still.  

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Threads Across Time

Proud parents with our very lovely Louisa

In all the blogging I'm committed to regarding our vacation, I kind of forget sometimes to include news of the regular sort in my blogging.  And I even forget sometimes to tell about news of the more special kind. 

Blake D and Louisa

Louisa was honored by her classmates this month to be on the homecoming court.  She didn't expect to get the honor of homecoming queen, since that's voted on by the whole student body.  She is not in sports, and was gone for a year, so has not been as socially active and known by the younger kids as most of the other candidates.  But as one of my friends put it, "Wow, gone for a year, and her classmates still think highly enough of her to give her this honor!"  And it is an honor. 

Grandma, Louisa,and Grandpa

She wore the dress her Grandma Bergetta wore to junior prom in ( I think) 1962.  But more fun yet, Louisa's Grandma had gotten it second hand from her Aunt Bobby.  And Bobby's Mom, Bergetta's Grandma Roberts, had made the dress for Bobby.  So if you kept all that straight, the dress was made in the mid to late 1950s by Louisa's Great, Great, Grandma Roberts (Great Grandma Kindler's mother.)


Louisa chose to spruce it up with sequined pink strappy sandals and a sequin belt.  She looked marvelous, if you ask me.  And I'm proud of her decision to a cool retro dress with sentimental value rather than having to wear the latest new style.

Addendum from Grandma, "I forgot to tell Louisa that when I wore this dress for my junior prom, May 3, 1963, I met her grandpa for the first time. I'm so glad she asked to wear it. She is lovely in it. B"

Some thoughts on my recent re-entry into the homeschool world

First thought
Sophie finished two days' worth of lessons yesterday so that she could sew today.  I hauled out the sewing machine (which is sadly only about a once in every two years occurrence).  I got the it threaded and the tensions all set.  Sophie found some fabric someone had given the girls for craft type projects at one time. 

As I write, she's pinning two sides of a pillow together.  We've talked about seam allowances; marking them first or using the gauge on the machine; how and why to pin; and the pros and cons of running over pins vs taking them out. 

After she's done pinning, I'll have her practice on some scrap fabric, sewing straight lines and then progressively harder curves for a little bit, before she works on her pillow.

It makes me kick myself a little bit, "This is so easy and so fun.  Why haven't I done it more often?"  But then I must stop to remind myself, "Most of your years of mothering, Mary, have been spent in pregnancy, nursing babies, and teaching many children at multiple ages.  Now you can relax and enjoy it a little bit more with these girls.  You only have one preschooler, and two to school."

Second thought
As I came into the living room after getting Sophie started, I saw a little pile of school pictures on the counter.  I assume they are some one of the kids brought home from their school friends, since I don't remember seeing them there before. 

Which then made me a little sad because of something that happened the other day.  The day they got their pictures back.

Poor little Donna!  She was so sad.  Traumatized even, when she realized that I hadn't ordered any pictures and she just had and empty envelope with a black and white proof to bring home.  The other kids all had pretty color pictures that they could share with their friends.  She sat on my lap and just cried out of sadness.

This almost broke my heart.  And over such a silly thing, too.  It's just one of her first little lessons in peer pressure and wanting to be like everyone else.  And have what others have. 

But I simply can't get myself to spend money on school pictures.  Firstly, when I think about the cost, it's crazy, ... multiplied by three kids, it could by a weeks worth of groceries for us.  But besides that, I see how they lie around my house.  The kids want to keep them nice, they intend to keep them nice.  But they lie around.  They get shoved here and there; torn and scratched and otherwise beat up.  Sometimes pin holes in eyes and mustaches drawn on.   Until kids are old enough to treat them well, why should I pay my money so my child can give a picture to someone who's going to treat it like I see my kids treating their friends' pictures.  Or are not all kids like that?

Yes, I could get them to send to friends and relatives.  But I know myself well enough to know what would happen to those pictures.  They'd sit here and rot, because even with my best intentions, I know full well I'd never get them in the mail. 

And so my kids don't get pictures.  Is that depriving them too severely?  I don't think so. 

Until we have moments like Donna's the other day. 

Mary's Back to School Store, and her thoughts on having so much stuff

It's that time of year.  It's that time of life.  Well, it's just plain time.  Time to go through all the bins and boxes, bags and piles of stuff.  Stuff that built up over time.  Stuff, stuff, stuff.

There was a time I was organized.  I may not have gotten everything done each year during the "turning over of the wardrobes" seasons.  But I was still mostly, somewhat organized.  But now, ... boy, oh, boy. 

Some readers may remember me having written about the somewhat severe depressive episode I finally sought treatment for over a year ago.  I'm very happy to say it's much better now.  Not all the way gone, but so very much better.  I find myself slowly recapturing the little bits of my life that had gradually descended to chaos during that time.  And because my depression came on quite gradually, I hadn't really realized, until I started going through things, how bad it was, and for how long I'd been sliding.  I didn't know how long it had been since I'd been able to keep up in a somewhat, mostly orderly fashion.  And since that time of former order and organization, my lifestyle and family situation has changed quite a bit.

When I started my family, knowing that we were hoping God would bless us with a larger than average number of children, I shopped second-hand faithfully.  I had a system.  I had tote bins and boxes for each size and season, and I kept things well stocked.  When we needed something, I could simply grab the right bin and pull it out.  As my kids started wearing out their clothes, I found myself somewhat compulsively buying and buying, and accepting every offer of hand-me downs. 

Until eventually, I was almost literally drowning in children's clothing. 

When we homeschooled, it didn't really matter what my kids looked like most days.  As long as they were clothed, I was happy.  I'm such a "use every part of it" kind of person, that I'd find myself passing on the better quality things to others with kids in school.  As a homeschool family, we dind't need nice or trendy school clothes.  We were glad to wear out everything to the last thread, even the old 1980s stuff. 

OK, not really.  At least my kids would strongly disagree with me on that one.  I was glad for them to wear such clothes.  But they were not so glad.  One of my oft-repeated mom sayings is, "You won't go naked with me as your mom.  I will always have a selection of clothes for you to wear.  But if you want to be picky about your clothes, you'll have to save your money and buy them yourself."

As our kids gradually entered the public school system, the pressure to have nicer things increased.  And I'm not talking about just the trendiness, although that was surely part of it.  But there is also the simple fact that when my kids went out into the world, I didn't want them wearing the patched and mended-multiple-times, and sometimes unmatched clothing we could wear around home.

It was actually quite a sore subject for me.  I really, truly acutely believe in using what we have, and not getting new if what we have still has wear left.  I know for a fact that much of what my kids wore was not suitable even for second hand giving.  And it made me mad that society's expectations were such that what I considered, "making good or responsible use of our resources," might be by others considered, ... well, ... trashy, or even "being neglectful of my children."

The other thing that has changed for us since my formerly organized days, is that my youngest children are growing up.  I no longer have to have a constant, regenerating supply of clothing in each size.  I'm getting to the end of it.  My older kids mostly buy their own clothes.  I'm getting rid of the smaller things.  I don't need to keep such a large stockpile of the middle sizes anymore.  There is no longer a conceivably infinite number of kids who will need to use those stocked up clothes. 

As I go through everything these days, finding all the bags and boxes, bins and piles of things that had backed up during the years I was mostly non-functional, I'm weeding out. 

I'm getting rid of most of the worn things.  These go to a neighbor's shop for rags if they are really, really worn.  But the folks at Goodwill and our local Northern Lights thrift stores have assured me that they will take anything.  If it's beyond what will sell second hand in America, they can sent it to other countries where people are less spoiled than we are here.  If they can't use something even for that, the cloth can be recycled.  That I can live with much more easily than simply throwing things out.

I'm also getting rid of the out-dated styles.  I mean, really, Mary!  with as many hand-me-downs as we get on a regular basis, do I really need to hang onto that 1980s era dress for a teenager?  Or how about that 1990s pair of high wasted jeans iwth the biggish legs and small ankles?  None of my more recent kids have worn them.  Even the older kids probably only did so under duress.  Why keep them?  If some little girl in a less prosperous country can enjoy them, then wonderful.  And if not, they can always be turned into insulation or mulch, or whatever it is that is made from recycled cloth.  Or maybe someone here will buy it for an 80s day at school or a Halloween costume.  I don't have to keep it.

Over the past year, I've probably stocked three or four Goodwill stores with my donations alone.  I've likely clothed entire towns in developing countries.  Really.  It was crazy.  Whole vanloads of stuff went out my doors. 

And still I find more.  More stuff.  More things to weed out.  More piles and bins and boxes and bags.

The good side of it is that I don't really have to school shop.  I only have to find the things we have.  Because of all the weeding out I've done in the last year, that part of it was relatively easy this year.  I did Stella's clothes the other day, just by pulling out the right bin.  And today, Donna got to go through the next smaller size.  It's still a big job, helping a little one stay on task, trying on a gazillion things.  Knowing that I might get interrupted and not be able to finish in one sitting.  But at least I don't have to spend money on gas, time on the road to get to the nearest mall, and energy fighting the crowds.  And I certainly am glad to not spend the money on new clothes for the kids each year. 

Today was also shoe day.

Mary's church shoe store

For over a year, I've been unable to get to my packed away shoes.  Too many things were in the way.  And before that, for several years, everything was getting done only very inadequately.  I've ended up buying the cheapest possible new shoes for the kids several times throughout the last several years.  I hate doing that.  It makes me cringe thinking of it.  I know for a fact that I have shoes here for them to wear.  But I just can't get to them.  And everything is in such disarray it would take forever to find what I need.

Mary's athletic shoe store

But I'm getting there.  Today was the day.  The day to get all the shoes in our house gathered together, sorted out, bagged up if we're never going to use them, and divvied out to those who need them.

The bags for Goodwill, all shoes.

Besides what I have pictured, I also threw away one bag of very worn, hardly anything left of them shoes.  (But only after I took the laces out, of course!)  And I bagged up two grocery sized bags of nicer shoes for consignment.  I used to have two dress shoe bins, one boys' and one girls'; and three athletic shoe bins, small, medium, and large.  Now I'm down to one dress shoes bin and one athletic shoes bin.  I also have a sandals and flip-flop bin, and a slipper bin, too.  Oh, and an unmatched shoe box, too.  Where do all those shoes go anyway?  I keep thinking they've got to be here somewhere. 

It feels so good to be down from eight bins to five.  I may still find more as I continue to organize.  Most of our home library is still stacked up in the room that formerly was the organized store room.  Those boxes of books have been knocked around and dug through, too, so are in as much disarray as everything else around here.  It's possible I may yet find a box or two of unsorted shoes when I get time to go through those.  Any mother of many will know what I mean, ... one of those boxes that gets thrown together during a frantic cleaning session, but then never put away right.  Yep, that's exactly the sort of things I've been trying to find my way through for the last year.  All that kind of box.  Everywhere.  Boxes, bins, piles, bags.  Sheesh, where does it all come from?

Mary's dress store, each part of the rack is a different size or season

Here's one final picture.  This is one of the things I did the other week.  I finally unburied most of my girls' dresses that had been lost in the heaps for way too long.  The girls always had a few things.  My kids never went to church naked.  But it made me a bit sad to think of the sometimes torn or shoddy things they've worn, when we have so many cute things downstairs.  But again, it was inaccessible.

I don't even want to tell you how many bags I got rid of that day.  Ready?  I bagged up nine bags for regular thrift store, plus four for consignment.  That was mostly dress clothes for both sexes, and ages infant through 18 years.  It was terrible how much stuff had built up. 

It feels so good to begin to get organized.  It's wonderful and energizing to begin to be efficient and on top of things. 

It feels good to have so many things for consignment, that I can put many very nice things into the Goodwill bags.  We are so very blessed.  God has used our friends and our neighbors to shower us with their extras.  And He has blessed our country with incredible material largess.

May I ever remember to thank and praise Him for such providence!

Landmarks for Matt

Back: Joe and Matt; Middle: Clara, Elsie, Mary; Front: John, Donna, Inge, Stella, Sophie

Matt

There's a stealth video on here that will start as soon as you go to this page.  I do want the video embedded, but I'd prefer if viewing it and starting it on demand.  But I couldn't figure it out, and neither could Techy-Maestro, Joe.  So, well, sorry if it's annoying. 

I haven't been writing much lately.  I'm busy getting my life together after the many years of behindedness.

Like that word? Behindedness.  Say it loudly and proudly.  Behindedness.

I like it.  It's my life in a nutshell.  But it's getting better.  Slowly but surely.

But we have many things happening around here. 

Matt graduated the other day.  Over a week ago already.  We successfully pulled off a Taco Bar open house, but not without help from many.

Connie and Lana spent many hours helping me clean the garage and house; and plan and orchestrate all the arrangements; and collect needed items such as tables, chairs, garbage bins, coolers, etc; they cooked up taco meat and made bars; and they replaced the worn indoor/outdoor carpet on our garage steps with some new-to-us nicer carpet and also extended it all the way to the outside door.

Louisa's friend, Rachel, one of our "adopted" children, came and helped in the house for a day. Among other things, she braved the kids' rooms.

Joe's mom and dad and all our kids helped with all the last minute setting up on Saturday and Sunday between graduation Friday night, and the open house Sunday afternoon.  Joe's dad mowed lawn and other outdoor and garage things.  Joe's mom did indoor cleaning and organizing; and helped set up the garage.  Joe's mom and Clara cut up all the vegies for the toppings.

My friends, Shirley and Marlene, brought bars; and Clara made a big batch of macaroons.  Joe's mom Marlene kept the bars stocked up, and did various other serving tasks, so I could relax and enjoy my day.

And I did enjoy it.  I had a blast.  I never imagined that hosting something big like that would be so much fun.  But it would never have happened without all the help.  I thank everyone from the bottom of my heart.  And I'm sure there were others who helped, too, to my apologies if I've forgotten anyone by name.

And now Matt is off to join the Marines.  He is in Fargo at this minute, awaiting his flight to San Diego.  Or perhaps he's already in the air.  Marine Corps Recruit Training is 13 weeks long.

The first week is orchestrated chaos.   Meaning the plan exists, the chaos is intentional, but from the descriptions I've read, it is chaos to those coming in.  These kids have no contact with the outside world during that week.  No watches.  No set schedule.  Meetings and paper work; strange sleep hours and locations, and not much of it;  drill, or the beginnings of drill, since the recruits start out with very little understanding of and experience with working together.  By the end of the week, they will be assigned to a platoon, working and learning under a collection of Drill Instructors, who each play a role, from father figure to bad guy, and various points in between.

After that the training consists of three phases, the first three weeks being the most grueling and overwhelming.  They have usually settled into the routine jumping when and how high the instructor demands.  They've mastered or at least gained familiarity with the many terms and rules and methods, and the history and traditions of the Marine Corps.  These are memorized with rote drilling and mnemonic aids.  Recruits also have a week of swim training and a couple of weeks of rifle marksmanship training, during both kinds of training there is alleged to be less yelling. 

The Crucible a 54-hour field exercise, takes place the final week. in which the recruit must put to use all the skills he has learned in training.  Upon completion of The Crucible, the recruits receive their the Eagle, Globe and Anchor pin, and are called a Marine for the first time.


And after that, the last Thursday of Recruit Training is family day, when family members are encouraged to come spend the day with their recruit.  Friday is graduation.  We hope to be able to attend, but we're still working out how exactly that will happen.  In the last few months, I've been forced to admit that our van is probably not up to the trip.  But we're praying God will work something out for us in this regard.

When I left Matt in Fargo yesterday he was excited, and of course nervous and apprehensive of the unknown.  And of those moments the recruiters advised would come.  Those moments when the recruit wonders why on earth he ever wanted to become a Marine, and is tempted to throw in the towel.  Keep Matt in your prayers.  He will need them at those moments. 

Matt's Great-Grandpa, Stanley Kindler, was a Marine in the Pacific Theater during World War II. Matt feels honored to follow in his Grandpa's footsteps.  But also, for that reason, he feels a little extra pressure to succeed, in order to make Grandpa proud.

A Small Town Christmas: Many Wonderful Happenings

The Plummer Tree Lighting

I had a wonderful little hometown Christmas season afternoon and evening on Friday.   It was a soothing and joyful balm in the wake of the tragic and frightening news out of Connecticut earlier that day.

School Program

The K-3 school program in the afternoon was fun and cute. Mrs. Bernstein does such a nice job.  The kids all love her.  Her energy, charisma, zeal, and kindness come through from the stage!

Third Grade

John and a small group of other kids did a good job with their harmony part.  John did his speaking part loudly and clearly.

Even Stella had an unexpected speaking part; she was asked to step in for another child who was absent.  But, alas!  Stella had the second line of the program.  I was fashionably late, as usual, and so I came in the door just as she was finishing up.  I think I will have to ask Mrs. Bernstein never to give any of my kids parts near the beginning of the programs.  "Just a general notice for all future programs...no Abrahamsons near the beginning."

Giving Back

After the program, I got to play Santa!

I am so grateful for our little schools here, and for all the wonderful people who work to make them what they are.  Everyone gives 200%, and I know it's not always easy.  I try to do a little something for my kids' teachers each year, as a token of how very much I appreciate them. 

I spent my fall crocheting scarves.  It all started when I got a few things ready for the Nazareth Fancywork sale in mid September.  I had used some nicer yarns that Louisa had given me before she left for Italy, from her left-overs yarn stash.  Since I generally use only the cheapo basic yarns, crocheting with these other, fancier fibers was a new thing.  I discovered a sensory experience I had not imagined.  I found a sort of serenity in seeing all the colors and patterns run through my fingers.  I was soothed by the feel of all the different textures.  The soft yarns and the bumpy, stretchy knots in the crochet; the combination of smooth and rugged.  Plush and firm.  There's also the soothing, repetitive rhythms of the handiwork itself.  And the sense of accomplishment at finishing something.  The pride in creating something lovely.  It was all very healing for me.

Soon I found I was creating scarf after scarf with no particular end in mind.  It wasn't long before I came up with the idea of taking a box of scarves into the school from which the the teachers could each choose.  Well, really it started with a more vague idea of giving scarves as Christmas gifts.  But since I don't know the teachers well enough to have a sense of their style, and don't see how they dress except a couple times a year, I didn't want to choose the scarves for them.  I have four kids in school, so I figured I'd need a dozen or so scarves.  Enough for each homeroom teacher, plus a handful of extras in order to provide selection, so that each could find something he or she likes.

I easily reached a dozen.  But then I kept going.  And going.  I couldn't seem to stop.  I was having too much fun.  Soon I had enough scarves for the homeroom teachers and all the various teachers who have worked with my kids this year.  But that didn't suit the kids.  They kept wanting to add more and more people to the list.  I think that says something powerful about our school.  My children have so many people there that they love, and think of as their "special people."  They listed playground helpers, the "Grandmas" who come in to help, the library and special ed teachers, kitchen workers.  I don't think there was any school worker demographic that was not represented.  (Oh, that reminds me,...I still need to get one to our bus driver...).

I felt happy, but I sure look somber showing off my accomplishments

I would have loved to take a big, big box, filled with a hundred or more scarves, and put up a sign that said,

Everyone, Please choose a scarf!
Choose for yourself, or to use as a gift
Thank-you for all you do for our children.  
You are all a wonderful part of this place!  
Have a Merry Christmas!

But alas, time ran out and I had a mere 30-40 scarves.

I contacted all of my kids teachers, plus any school workers I've gotten to know when I need their help with school related things.  I felt a little bit sad, though, the whole time I was there, as the other teachers and workers came and went to see what all the excitement was.  I really, really would have loved to have enough for everyone!  I can't say enough how much I appreciate the fact that it takes every one of those people to keep a small school running.  And I'm thankful for how personal and caring everyone is.  They are like family, especially for my kids who have no extended family nearby.

But I'm getting ahead of myself a little bit.

After the school program, Sophie and I scuttled out to the van to grab the booty.  I had prepared a box, wrapped in Christmas wrapping, from which the scarves could tumble forth.   I had some homemade hot fudge ice cream topping for each of the homeroom teachers.  I arranged for the teachers to mosey into the teachers' lounge when they had the extra minutes in between their after-school responsibilities. 

It was great fun!  Sophie stayed for part of the time, until she had to go to her Honors Choir obligations.  I got to meet many of the teachers and workers who I previously knew only by name, those teachers who have not worked with my children, but who my children love and talk about.  Yes, those that my children consider special people, but for whom I did not have scarves enough.  (Sad sigh.)

As I was hoping, the female teachers had fun wrapping around themselves many scarves at once to compare, or holding them up for each other, or setting them out to get a better look.  The male teachers were a little more mixed, choosing for their wives or themselves.  Some had definite ideas, and some looked at the box in confusion, wondering what would be a good choice.  Or in one case (I'm not telling who) even trying to remember what color coat his wife wears.  The difference between the men and women tickled me, because it so aptly fit the stereotypes.

At one point, when nobody was in the lounge "shopping" I stepped out into the hallway and, peaking around the corner, I saw a handful of teachers visiting outside their classroom doors, waiting for the buses in front of the school to pull away.  Waiting for that Friday afternoon moment to arrive, when they too could head for home.  They joked that they were worse than the kids.  And I smiled because they all had their scarves wrapped or flung around their necks. 

That's exactly what I wanted!  Not just a Christmas gift, but a bit of fun along with it.

I had the camera along, and had wanted to take pictures, but not once did I think to get it out.  Sadly, I am not much of a photographer.  My plan had been that Joe would be taking photos of all the fun, but Inge ended up spiking a fever just before it was time to leave home.   He stayed home with her and they both had to miss all the fun.  And I missed the opportunities to take photos.

It was great fun.  But the fun didn't stop when scarf giving was finished.

Clara and Sophie, along with the rest of the school Honors Choir, had been asked to sing at the Plummer Tree Lighting celebration, which was scheduled for the evening.  Fun activities had been scheduled throughout the evening, including the arrival of the Canadian Pacific holiday train.  Joe and I went out on a limb, and planned to partake of a rare family activity.   Inge's illness put a damper on the family aspect of it, but the rest of us could still enjoy the fun.  

Visiting Friends

During the school program, Donna and Sohpie and I had sat with our friends, the Roues.  Rachel Roue is Louisa's good friend, and between those two girls the families have become friends.  My John and Rachel's brother, Jonathan, are also classmates and great friends.  I think they perhaps make things a little challenging for their teachers.  They both have very active and curious minds, and a tendency to get distracted by their ideas and dreams of various creations, many of which are of Legos and Star Wars and Superheros.

After the program, Rachel offered to take my little ones to their home, since I was planning to be busy with the scarf thing.  I had not planned to go home in between the program and the evening activities, since Plummer is almost 20 miles away from our home.  But Rachel's family lives nearer Plummer, so it was a handy place for us to spend extra time.  I had no set plans for my family, but I had brought along a bag of snacks to use in lieu of supper.  Of course, in all the excitement, I didn't think to send that bag along with Rachel.

This all worked out very well for me.  I could relax and enjoy the scarf giving, and visiting with the teachers, without any distraction or commotion from my littles.  And Rachel and her mom were kind enough to find some food for my kids while they were there.  I joined them, too, for about an hour.  We got to visit in the comfort of their home.  It's always a treat to visit Rachel's family.  They are wonderful people and we are very blessed to have them in our lives!

Oh, and I got to meet Louisa's and Rachel's friend, Josh B.  Louisa went to prom with Josh, but I had not met him.  He was to spend the evening with Rachel at the Plummer festivities.

And speaking of festivities, ...

Learning to Dress for Winter Weather:  Duh!

I have lived in Minnesota for most of my adult life.  Those years not in Minnesota were spent in Wisconsin and the Chicago area.  Although not all of these years did I spend in as cold an area as that in which I live now, I did experience winter in each locality.  BUT, I still mess up on this winter thing.  And Friday night could have been a really big mess up, if not for the help of Rachel and her mom in winterizing us.

Because of a combination of having homeschooled for many years; trying to keep our family home-centered and not externally focused; and having spent much of the last 20 years either pregnant or with an infant; all these things have combined to equal a mom who is not in the habit of orchestrating outings.  It seems crazy, but I did not even consider that we'd be outside in the cold for much of the evening.  We were all in dress clothes.  John and Stella because they had to dress up for their program; and Donna and I, too, since... well..., that's how I was raised.  You dress up for programs and concerts as a way of showing honor and appreciation for the work the performers and directors put into the occasion. I chuckle when I compare the two ideas.  I may know how to dress for a concert or performance, but don't ask me to dress my kids for weather.  Can you tell I did not grow up in an area where we had winter?

John and Stella were not so badly off, since they had snow pants in their school bags.  They had their winter boots.  John had left his gloves in the classroom, but otherwise they had the capability of being dressed for the weather.   But Donna and I had nothing!  Dresses and tights and church shoes.

As I was hustling the kids together, to get ready to return to Plummer from the Roues, it dawned on me how utterly unprepared we were!

Rachel's mom, Renee, offered some of Jonathan's extras for Donna, and a pair of gloves for John, which Rachel quickly gathered for us.  They offered to find extras for me, too, but I figured I could tough it out.  Mark, Rachel's dad encouraged Rachel to pull on some Carhartts.  She instead opted for several layers of coats and jackets.  Josh also didn't have much for winter wear, but he also opted to tough it out.  Let me just say that there were several times during the course of the evening, when I wished for some Carhartts to pull over my skirt and boots for my frozen toes.  And I'm sure Josh thought some of those same thoughts. The many people walking around town with their Arctic Cat bibs, gloves, boots, and neck gators looked toasty warm. 

I am very thankful, however, for the warm things my kids were able to use.

Next time, I hope I am neither ditzy enough to forget to prepare for winter weather; nor stubborn enough to refuse the kind offerings of friends.

Santa

When we got to Plummer, we found the line for Santa in Centennial Park in front of the gazebo.  My kids don't have much experience with the whole Santa thing.  We try to keep the focus on Jesus at Christmas.  I was never raised to believe in Santa, which at the time I felt was a great injustice.  I felt a little bit robbed at not being able to enjoy the magic of it all.  And although my husband was raised to believe in Santa, he made the decision that we would enjoy that man in a fictional kind of way in our home.  We honor St. Nicholas, by periodially reminding the kids of who he was and the things he did to care for others.  And Santa is not "off limits" in our home.  We simply don't put much focus on or energy into him.

A few of our kids have been to see Santa with other families.  But this was the first time either Joe or I had taken any of our kids to such an event.  John, Stella, and Donna got sit on Santa's lap and tell a little about what they want for Christmas.  John of course wants a DS (whatever that is, some game thing, right?).  I was quick to assure him teasingly that he had not been that good.  He smiled, because he knew that what I meant was, "We don't have that kind of money, my son.  I'm sorry.  But don't ever forget that I love you."

I was glad that Rachel took pictures of my kids.  Again, that dumb camera phobia came to plague me.  I'll try to remember to add them after she posts them.

Throughout this part of the evening, I couldn't help but think of my friend, Deb H. from highschool.  She often amused us classmates with her vocal imitations.  She frequently did her mother, who happened to be adamantly anti-Santa.  Perhaps Deb's best loved and remembered imitation was given one day when we were all joking about going to get our pictures taken with Santa.  Knowing how Deb's mom felt about the whole Santa thing, one of us asked what she would say.  I can still hear Deb's response to this day, and it ran through my head during the time my kids were in line to sit with Santa, "Deb, Deb!" spoken in Deb's funny Mom voice, "Who's that little red man your sitting on, Deb?"

The RLCC Plummer Honors Choir regaling the crowd

Museum

Our little local towns never cease to amaze me!  The city of Plummer has a very cool museum that I never even knew existed.  The Tri-River Pioneer museum was open Firday night from 6:00-9:00.  What a little gem of a place.  It features a hardware store, blacksmith shop, school room, kitchen, harness shop, gas station.  They have a fire truck and a pump wagon, over which Charlie Bishop was presiding, and about which he was teaching the kids.  He let the kids line up on each side to try out the pump mechanism. Up, down, up, down went those little bodies lined up on each side.

The Pump Wagon

It was fun to visit with many friends and neighbors.  It was so interesting to hear the older, long time residents talk about who had donated this piece or that piece, and how they used the various things in the old days.  In the harness shop, along the wall, hung two large leather nettings.  I was curious about these, so Rachel asked one of the older men who she knew.  They are fly nets.  They were laid across the backs of the horses to keep the flies from bothering. 

I didn't make it into the hardware store, but I could see through the window that one of the area ladies was dressed in period costume visiting with and gently teaching all who came in.  We'll definitely have to get over there sometime when Joe's parents are around.  I don't know what the regular hours are, though.  Or if they have regular hours.  But I'm sure I can find out.

The museum was a nice place to come in out of the cold.  They served coffee and hot chocolate, and cookies and goodies.   Just as with Santa, this was free to visitors, with the request for a free will donation of non-perishable food items.

Christmas Train

Until last year, I'd never heard of the Canadian Pacific holiday train, but what a fun concept.  Starting in 1999, in Canada, and being added in the US in 2001, CP has sponsored holiday trains to raise awareness of and food for local community food shelves.  For three weeks each December, the trains run throughout the CP routes, with scheduled stops in the communities along the line.  The communities are encouraged to use the occasion as an opportunity to collect money and food items for their local food shelves.  Plummer did this with the Santa visit and the "little lunch" in the museum.  The local businesses also pitched in with a $1000 donation.

For those of you not along a CP line, what exactly happens when the train comes?  Read along to experience it second hand.

Seemingly the entire community is assembled in Pummer's Tri-River Pioneer Museum.  Some sitting at the tables enjoying their snacks.  Others trying to maintain a tight hold on excited and rambunctious children.  Others are wandering the museum displays.  Many are milling about visiting friends and neighbors.  The honors choir has assembled outside, and is leading visitors in singing Christmas and holiday carols.  A joyful and friendly cacophony.

Then the call goes out!  The train is within two miles of town!

The timbre of the gathering changes markedly.  There is an audible shift in the level of excitement.  Parents gather their children.  There is a rush to get coats and hats and gloves back on.  The crowd starts to flow toward the doors of the museum.  This becomes a bit chaotic, as everyone jostles for position and kids slither through the crowd in ways parents cannot.

But eventually everyone gets outside and parents are reunited with those children who have slithered ahead.  The train crossing is just a block or so from the museum, so the excited mass moves that way.  Nobody will get into town from this direction tonight.  The street is filled with people.  As we near the crossing, the adults make room for the kids near the front.  Everyone is friendly and happy, encouraging parents with small children to make their way forward.  The train, ablaze with lights and color is rumbling nearer.  The crowd squeezes closer.

(This was all quite a bit to take in on a first visit, so readers who shared the occasion will have to forgive any misrepresentation in my description, and please, add your own version in the comments.)

I see the train a-comin'

The train chuffs into town.  There is a feeling of excitement and anticipation.  The lights.  The sounds.  The holiday cheer and excitement.  The train comes to a stop before the surging crowd.  Christmas music pours from the train.  In a moment, Santa issues forth and the little ones press toward him.  He hands out candy canes to each of them.

I notice, as the train pulled to a stop, what appears to be a large silver screen on the boxcar that is situated directly across the roadway, immediately in front of the crowd.  Earlier in the evening, I had learned that this is to be the first time the train has a scheduled stop in Plummer.  A question that I heard repeated often was, "Are they going to perform?"  I did not know what to expect.  Do they project some sort of show onto the silver surface mounted on this strategically placed boxcar?

My kids and I were with Rachel and Josh most of the evening, since Jonathan and John wanted to enjoy the festivities together.  I have to insert here that much of the time Josh and I, being both of more reserved natures, were left together.  The younger ones ran around enjoying the fun and playing with all their school friends.  Rachel did her Rachel thing, which means visiting with and hugging everyone.  Rachel worked for several summers with the Oklee Community Rec, so children of all ages know and love her.  She is also a favorite of the parents too.  Having just graduated last spring, Rachel has friends among the high school kids and other young adults.  Even the older people seem to want to hug her and ask how things are.  I was continually impressed with how many people's lives Rachel has touched.  And I myself felt a special fondness for this dear young woman many times throughout the evening, as I realized that these two young people, Josh and Rachel, had no embarrassment or awkwardness at all, spending their evening hanging out with me, a comparably old lady, and her crazy kids. 

Rachel and Josh

As the train pulls into town, Rachel explains that until it's fully stopped, the people must stay back a ways, but later everyone can come right up to the stage.  Hmmm.  Stage?  Curioser and curioser.

Then suddenly, the large silver surface about which I had wondered, seems to drop from the side of the boxcar.  Several other things occur simultaneously.  Pink and purple fog issues from the boxcar, and the music grows in intensity.

What had previously appeared to be a silver wall falls opened to become a stage.  The ClayTones appear, rocking to a familiar holiday tune.  They will entertain us for about half an hour, jamming away to their own rock and country renditions of various Christmas and holiday songs, and some original numbers, as well.

The ClayTones

In between musical sets, different speakers come forth for a brief statement encouraging support for the local food shelf.

The crowd is huddled cozily together and we keep each other warm, both with the close proximity of the many bodies, and the dancing and swaying in which we all participate as the band gets us going.  

At one point during the performance, the announcer mentions that those with tickets into Thief River Falls can board the passenger car.  Apparently, those who desire it can purchase a ride between legs of the route.  How fun!

When the performance is done the train pulls out again, slowly gathering speed.  The crowd turns away and drifts into the night.  Rachel and I have a hard time pulling John and Jonathan away until the train is completely passed.  They don't want the night to end.

It was an afternoon and evening full of of fun and excitement, neighbors and friends, holiday cheer and good will.  It was filled to overflowing with the goodness of small town life.

Mental Gymnastics: and other forays into the dark and cobweb strewn recesses of my mind

I've been going through a season of personal growth.  Strange but true.  I feel like a teenager in some ways.  But unlike when I was a "teen turning adult," this similar stage of "adult turning into older adult," has plenty of responsibilities to keep me from obsessing about all this personal growth and stretching through which God is leading me.  Mostly it's in the back of my mind, but sometimes some revelation comes to me that causes me to think a little bit more intently on this process.

Maybe I've written a little bit about it before.  I've been thinking along these lines, a little bit at a time, for two or three years. 

The first revelation that came to me, is that I am not my mom.  I am also not Naomi Peterson (the dear wife of the ELS Seminary President during Joe's years there, and who became in our young "wife minds," the gold standard of good pastor's wife, to which we all held ourselves).  I am not Olivia Walton.  Or Ma Ingalls.  Or my Grandma Hinderer. 

I am Mary.  I am my own unique blend of genetics and nurture and experience and faith.  I have my own unique mix of struggles and gifts.  And in order to best fulfill the vocational callings God has set before me, I have to use ME.  The ME God has made me, and not the THEM that I see in all these other women and mistakenly think I ought to be. 

This realization hit me about two or three years ago.  Since that time, I've been thinking, as time allows, of what this means.  What does it mean to be MARY?  Who is MARY?  What are the traits and gifts that make me unique, and how can I best use them?  What are some of the habits I've developed that hide these gifts or bury them?

Within this same period of time our family life has changed in some major ways.  Instead of continuing to homeschool, we put our kids into public school.  Our oldest son graduated.  We went from all elementary children, all at home; to having several high school aged kids who drive, and work away from home, and join the Marines, and go to Italy for foreign exchange. 

I stopped having babies.  At least for now.  At this time God has said, "No more."  No more of the constant pregnancies, constant newborn stage, constant nursing of infants, constant diaper bags and etc.  All that goes along with a woman at the stage in which her primary vocation is the bearing and nurturing of babies and young children.  All of that is set aside.

And related to that last is the fact that I am entering that stage of life often called peri-menopause.  The years during which a woman's hormones go stark raving mad, and which will lead eventually to full menopause.  The best description I've seen of this time of life was in the title of a blog I found a while back, Peri-menopause: Yes, it is real; and No, you are not crazy.  All the women I know who are about my age are experiencing their own unique brand of crazy.

For me, the primary example of my unique brand of crazy is this depression in which I find myself.  Through it I've seen sides of myself I hope to never meet again.  Through it, I've come to feel more empathy, understanding, and patience toward others who struggle similarly. 

And this whole depression thing also relates directly to one angle of this most recent exploration of my mind, heart, and soul.  This will be hard to describe, so please bear with me.  The reason I here draw a connection with the depression is because of the prozac I'm on.  One of my fears in going on prozac is losing my inhibitions.  I have a friend who behaved and spoke in a very uncharacteristic fashion after she went on prozac.  It was almost as though every sinful thought and deed that she had previously held in, came tumbling out in one fell swoop.  Her filters were suddenly missing.  It was a hard time for everyone close to her, until she realized what was going on and asked to be put on a different medicine.

But I'm a pastor's wife.  I can't afford to risk being irresponsible in my talk and behavior.  It is one of the things my husband and I talked about before I started taking prozac.  I can't lose my filters.  I've talked to my closest friends about these fears.  I've exhorted them to please tell me if I start talking or acting in a fashion that seems out of character.

But here's the rub.  The crux.  I'll bring it full circle later, and you'll see the full connection then.

The combination of trying to be a "good pastor's wife," and dedicating my whole self for the last 19 years to raising my children, has left me feeling like a shell.  An empty skin of person who is almost no longer ME.  Suddenly I find myself with strange new opportunities to interact with others, and have opinions, and socialize even, in ways I haven't in forever-and-a-day.  And I find that I no longer know who I am or how to behave in such situations.  How do I "put myself out there"?   And how ought I not so to do?  What parameters ought I to have?  I can no longer simply occupy myself with a fussing baby or dirty diaper in order to avoid such decisions.  I have to be.  I have to live.

Now let me be clear.  I am in no way implying that mothering children is not living or being.  It is probably the richest sense of life and being that there is.  But like anything else in this life, it will gradually come to an end.  Even now, even with almost all my children still at home, and two little ones still home all the time, even now my life has changed.  My whole entire self is not occupied in the minutiae of mothering, as it was in former times.  And those portions of myself that are now less occupied are having a little bit of a hard time figuring out who they are, who they want to be, and who they ought and ought not to be.

I used the following phrase with Joe the other day, "I'm tired of being good.  I've been good for so long I don't know how to be Mary."

Joe's response, "What part of Mary is not good?  Why do Mary and good have to be opposites?"

My instinct is to respond, "No part of Mary is good.  Every inclination of my heart is only evil continually." (Genesis 6:5)

And that's the truth.  But that's not really what I meant, nor was it what Joe meant. 

Mary is an OK person.  Not perfect, but OK.  She messes up and is forgiven.  She's washed in the Bood of the Lamb. 

Mary is fun and energetic and creative and silly.  But she is also prone to sticking her foot in her mouth.  She tends to be obnoxious and annoying.  She is a huge klutz and also very prone to distraction.  She is insecure in certain social situations and behaves awkwardly. 

I feel as though, so as not to risk annoying anyone at Joe's churches, that I've turned off any of the fun and energetic and creative and silly parts of MARY-ness; in order to avoid risking the other less desirable parts of my personality showing through.  I'm certainly not perfect.  I am nowhere near "the perfect pastor's wife."  And I don't really expect myself to be.

But instead of being a bad pastor's wife, or a good pastor's wife, I feel as though I am nothing.  I have become a bland and totally neutral nothingness, so that I don't risk bothering or annoying anyone.  (Yes, I know, I know.  I have almost certainly not avoided annoying people.  There are probably plenty of people out there who periodically just want to grab me and shake me!  But still, trust me, I've not been nearly as annoying as I might have been.  Just trust me on this, OK.)

I had opportunity this weekend to attend a social occasion.  We were invited to an anniversary dinner with a large group of people, an extended family into which we have been welcomed as part.  This family is great fun to be around.  They are all generous and loving and would give the shirt off their backs to anyone in need.   But more, they tend to give of themselves in other numerous ways when there is any kind of need.  They are an excellent example of a family that sticks together through thick and thin.

But I digress.  The dinner was at a supper club, and before it got started, we were all standing around the bar area, visiting.  I was not drinking.  I seldom do.  The practical side is that it's simply not in our budget to drink socially.  But another part of it is that, in the name of responsible behavior, I don't trust myself to drink publicly very often.  And yet a third factor is that socially awkward part of myself that freezes into stupidity when asked if I want anything to drink.  I simply cannot remember what I like to drink and how to order.  I'm very out of the habit of such things. 

So returning to the social occasion of the other night, the first few times someone asked me if I wanted anything to drink, I turned them down. 

It's easy that way.  "No thanks; I'm fine." 

But eventually I went out on a limb and ordered.  Of course I couldn't think of anything to order, so I just pointed at Kelly's drink and said, "I'll have one of those." 

(And I have to say, although it was totally a "candy" drink, it was really good.  Cake vodka and Dr. Pepper!  Can you believe there's such a thing?  Cake flavored vodka!  What will they think of next?)

But enough of that.  In the joking and trying to explain about how my brain freezes because I'm so out of the habit, I mumbled something about something...I don't even know what I said.  But Kelly's response stuck with me.  Not because it bothered me in any way.  But because it made me think again of this naggling question that's been on my mind of late, "WHO IS MARY?"

Kelly said, "Do I need to ask you each time we're together whether you are pastor's wife, Mary; or friend, Mary? I could ask you which hat you have on."

And there's the thing.  Friend Mary is Pastor's wife Mary.  I am me.  All my various facets.  I am the mom of many, Mary.  I am the formerly constantly pregnant and caring for little ones, Mary.  I am the homeschool mom, Mary.  I am the Christian, confessional Lutheran, Mary, who is able to hold her own talking theology with pastor types.

I am the awkward, geeky, curious, fun, dorky, energetic, silly, foot-in-mouth, Mary.  I am all these things. 

But for the first time in many years, I have opportunity to figure out how to assert these parts of ME-ness.

I have the leisure, so to speak, to BE rather than merely to SURVIVE.  In all the rush and adrenaline of  being a mother of many, a homeschool mom, and a pastor's wife, I never had time to even think about how to behave.  I mostly just shut up and smiled politely.  And every once in awhile I spoke my mind or let a little energy and enjoyment shine through, and usually felt bad for doing it afterwards.  Isn't that crazy?

So, now that I've realized all this, I feel as though I am on a quest to FIND MARY.  But, and here's where things get dicey again, and you'll finally get to see the whole circle...Is this a good thing?  Or is it the prozac tempting me to such indulgences?  It sounds silly to put it into words.  But there it is.  Is being myself a sinful indulgence?

And the answer, quite obviously is both yes and no.

We are certainly called to control our sinful inclinations.  God's righteousness is absolute.  The Law is unbending and unswerving.  We are called to perfection.  Be perfect as God is perfect. (Matthew 5:48). 

The disciples had to leave their nets and follow Jesus.  They were still fishermen, of course.  That was the livelihood through which they provided for their families.  But they were called to change.  To change their focus.

Jesus says to take up our cross, to deny ourselves, and flee temptation.  We are to love others more than ourselves.  St. Paul exhorts us to take every thought captive to obey God. (II Corinthians 10:5).

But we are also given our own personalities.  God wants us to use ourselves to His glory.  All the aspects of our personality.  They are all good and bad.  But we dare not hide our talents in fear of our hard master. (Matthew 25, Luke 19).

We are created in God's image, but that image is soiled by sin.  How do we justify these difficulties?

And that leads me to where I am today.  And really, to where I've always been.  I live by grace.  Every day, I get up and do my thing.  I make choices; I do the work put before me.  Sometimes (most times) I will mess up.  Even when I don't mess up in any obvious ways, my accomplishments are tainted by sin.  My very life's work is blemished. 

But it's also cleansed.  The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanses me from all sin. (I John 1:7).  Although my sins are as scarlet, they will be white as snow. (Isaiah 1:18).

I am given the wedding garment, the clean and pure covering of Jesus' righteousness with which to cover myself. (Matthew 22).  Through this alone is anything I do worthy.  Only through this are any of my works good.  Without it, all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags. (Isaiah 64:6).

And because of Jesus' righteous life, because of His sacrificial death on the cross and His resurrection, because of these gifts of God, even my works that are most definitely not good, are made good and pure.  They are made holy.  Sanctified.  Set apart as good.

And that's who MARY is, first and foremost.  An adopted child of God.  A sister of Jesus, Himself.  A washed and new creature.  A woman who still lives in this world and will mess up.

But who is baptized into Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Busy, Busy, Busy...Crash

We had a fun  weekend.  Fun, but oh, so very busy.  Once I had dinner done yesterday, I totally crashed.  I didn't sleep, but totally diddled my whole day away.  Guilt-free!  I loved it.

Friday Morning Walk

Friday started out very pleasurably engaged with my morning walk.  Lana and I were the only ones walking that day, and I think we must have kept the pace up a little more than usual.  The wind was brisk and we probably subconsciously reacted to that by moving quickly.  I know I was more tired usual when I was done, and I had a few muscles here and there that I noticed more than usual all the rest of that day.

Company

The pleasure and relaxation continued throughout the day, because I had a friend from years back here to visit for the day.  Becky G, is the sister of one of my classmates; the wife of an ELS pastor who I met during Joe's first year at sem and who Joe knew before that; and her husband also worked at Bethany during the time Joe did.  We have lots of little connections, and I've enjoyed her friendship very much throughout the years.  

Joe made dinner for us at noon.  He braised lamb pieces and broiled his famous potato steaks.  Since Joe is not a vegetable person, and so does not think to prepare a vegetable when he cooks, I made a salad to accompany his delicacies.  It was a wonderful dinner.  Thank you, Joe.

Friday Evening  Errands

We visited all day Friday, and almost as soon as Becky left, the rush began.  I had to run over to Red Lake Falls to pick up milk.  Yes, it's a strange direction to go for milk, but I get it fresh from the farm, from a friend of mine over that way.  Mmmm, delicious.  I had planned to get milk on Tuesday, when Louisa and I went to get her passport paperwork done at the courthouse in Red Lake Falls, but much to our chagrin, we ended up going into Thief River for the passport photo.  I must have read the information incorrectly, becasue I thought the photo could be done at the courthouse, too.  Which is not the case.  At any rate, I chose to skip the milk, rather than take the it along with into TRF, since the weather was kind of warm that day.

So off to get milk on Friday evening.

"But wait, Mom," said Louisa.  "Remember I need a few more things in Thief River for prom tomorrow.  Can I go with, and we can run into TRF, afterwards."

So I let Louisa and her friend, Brooke, hop into the car with me.  Louisa drove, since she needs the practice.  Although it was cooler that night than it had been on Tuesday, I still didn't want to risk the extra trip with into TRF with milk, so we went to TRF first, then down to RLF after our errands were done.  We made Louisa's stops, filled the car with gas, and picked up some supper to eat in the car at Wal-mart.  I got plain Greek style yogurt, and some dried cranberries and sugar glazed pecans to put in it, and a bottle of water.  Brooke and Louisa decided they needed Subway, which is in the corner of Wal-Mart, so with the anticipation of my "diet food" in my mind, I had to watch Brooke and Louisa pick out all the toppings for their subs.   Ooooh!

Eating Crow

We got home Friday night just as Joe was getting the kids to bed.  Oh, shoot, I have to be more accurate than that.  I have to make the BIG CONFESSION!

When the bigger girls and I got home from town, the littlest kids were in bed.  I had not seen Matt's car out front so I assumed he was not home.  I couldn't find Joe anywhere.  There had been no lights on in the church office.  Where was he?  Why would he leave the little ones unattended.  I reached for the doorknob of Clara and Sophie's room, to ask them where Dad was, and then it hit me!  Oh, dear!  The girls were not home.  I was an hour late to pick them up.  That must be where Joe is.  But would he leave the little ones unattended?  Oh, wait, the van is here, so Joe must have used Matt's car.  Which means Matt is home after all.  Ugh, what a mix-up.

Sophie went to the Shrine Circus Friday afternoon and evening with the third and fourth graders from school.  Since they were not due to get back until 8:00, which meant I already had to plan an extra trip into Oklee, Clara went over to friend's house after school.  Julia is in Clara's class.  Her sister, DJ, is in Sophie's class.  So DJ was at the circus, too.  The plan was that I would meet the bus at 8:00 at the school in Oklee to pick up Sophie and DJ, and then drive the few blocks to the other girls' house.  I'd drop off DJ and pick up Clara.  Everything would work slick, right?

Except that I forgot about picking up the girls.  Totally forgot!  Can you believe it?  I just blew off both my daughter and the daughter of a friend.  Left two third graders standing alone in the cold, at night, in the big city of Oklee.  OK, you are right, Oklee is not a big city.  And it was not terribly cold, either.  And DJ's house is only about six or eight blocks from the school.  So everything worked out fine in the end.  After Sophie and DJ realized I was not showing up, they walked to DJ's house.  Her parents eventually got tired of wondering what happened to me and called our house.  Poor Joe, who had no idea of any of the arrangements, was left covering for his dingy wife.  And he suddenly had to make an unplanned trip to Oklee to pick the girls up on a Friday night when he was supposed to be finishing off work for his church service the next day. 

Joe also ended up picking up Elsie, since Matt had agreed to run back into town to get her after a track meet.  Since we never know what time the kids will get back from such things, they don't get to attend very often, unless they are participating.  This was a high school meet, but the coach had suggested the Jr High kids attend if possible, to see how things work.  Since Elsie called Matt just a few minutes before Joe got THE CALL, the times coincided nicely with his trip to town for my forgotten girls. I suppose saving that gas is a teeny silver lining in the cloud of my irresponsibility.

Oh, and did I mention that DJ and Julia's dad is the sheriff?  Oh, yeah, that's a good one Mary.  Leave the sheriff's daughter stranded.

It's a good thing I live in a small town community.  It's a good thing it was not deep winter.  It's a good thing DJ's home was close to school.  Oh, my, the things I thank God for daily...in this case, preserving my child and her friend when they are the unsuspecting victims of my often times addle-pated behavior.

And the girls' mom, Krista, was so kind when I realized what had happened, and immediately called to check on the girls and to apologize.   Really, Krista, you are too nice.  I could imagine a mom being very upset and never wanting to have anything to do with me or my children, out of her maternal protective instincts.  I could imagine someone warning all the other moms never to trust me.  But instead she refreshed and built me up with her kindness and understanding.  A big thank you to Krista.

Mary as Hairdresser, Part I

I got the car unloaded, all the milk brought in and  carried to the basement fridge, and the various grocery items we had picked up in town put away.  Louisa and Brooke showered quickly in anticipation of the beginnings of their prom preparations.  I was commissioned to put their hair in sponge rollers.  Just in case anyone wants to know, when doing sponge rollers for two teenaged girls with long hair, allow about an hour for each head of hair.  I did Brooke's first, and then Louisa's.  They each had over 30 rollers in.  I should have done more in Louisa's, but I wouldn't find that out until the next day.  I finished rolling Louisa's at almost exactly midnight.  Poor Louisa.  Brooke had gone to bed long before, and Louisa was just about sleeping while I was rolling the last of her locks.

Mary as Hairdresser, Part II

On Saturday morning, I slept in a little bit.  The girls had asked to sleep in, too, since they knew they would have little sleep on Saturday night.  After I got up, I lazed around and did a few chores.  Eventually I got breakfast on for those who were up and about.  And then the fun really started.

I hadn't planned on helping the girls with the rest of the prom preparations, but it turned out they were planning on me unrolling their tresses.  Louisa would take if from there.  They got up at about 10:00, ate breakfast, and then started their coiffure.  They got dressed and worked on their make-up first.

Then, just as I was done lollygagging and about to start my morning chores, I was called upon to  take Brooke's rollers out.  She got to go first, since her ride was coming to get her first.  But her hair was not quite dry all through, so we had to blow it dry.  Uffda!  Took forever.  Blowing each roller individually, spreading the hair with my fingertips, as I worked the hot air through the layers of hair. 

Brooke's turned out very nice.  After we had all the curls out, Louisa pulled it back around Brooke's face in some pretty clips.  Her curling locks were then firmly sprayed into play with something called Got 2b Glued Blasting Freeze Spray.  Just imagine that!  These curls weren't going anywhere. She also got a coating of sparkly hairspray when all was done.

Louisa as Hairdresser

Rachel arrived just after we finished Brooke's hair.  Louisa did Rachel's hair with a curling iron.  Rachel's mom is partially disabled from a stroke, so she can't do fine work that takes both hands.  Nor can she drive.  But she can accompany Rachel who has her permit, so the two of them, plus Rachel's brother, Jonathan, who is our John's age, came for a couple of hours.  The girls had set up camp in our living room, so we grown-ups sat around, and visited and teased, as they worked at everything.  They had nail polish, make-up, pins, scissors, curling irons, blow-dryers, various hairsprays, etc.  And we adults sat by and gave commentary.  I wish I had taken some pictures at this stage.

Mary as Hairdresser, Part III

After Rachel and Brooke left, it was time for Louisa's hair.  Both Louisa and Brooke have nice thick hair, but Louisa's is longer.  So I ought to have done hers in smaller hair sections.  Because I had to roll it around more times, the hair on the rollers ended up being thicker, and therefore, even less dry than Brooke's had been..  But I didn't think of that when I was rolling them up the night before.  When I unrolled the first few tresses, Louisa's hair was quite damp inside.  I rolled them back up and grabbed the blowdryer.  Because of the thickness of each roll, it was hard to get the heat from the blowdryer into the middle layers.  So we ended up unrolling each one about half way, and then blowing those inside layers, then re-rolling it to blow the outer layers.   Again, uffda!  It really took forever.

And poor Louisa.  She is "blessed" with her mom's hair.  When I was young, my hair was straight.  Not just straight, but as my hairdresser friend described it, boingy straight.  It boinged with straightness, so that it was very resilient to curl. And once it was curled, it couldn't wait to get back straight again. 

And Louisa's hair is much the same.  At last year's prom, hers fell right away, and she was so sad, and even embarrassed about it, all evening.  I can imagine feeling that same way.  She so wanted hers to turn out better this year.  And it did turn out better.  But there were a handful of tendrils that we could not get to hold a curl.  She was in the bathroom at the last minute, frantically trying to use a curling iron on them.  Hairspray.  Curl.  More hairspray.  Pull here.  Tug there.  And finally the layer of sparkles over all.

She looked very lovely.  I hope, my dear, you were not too unhappy with how it turned out.  You really were very beautiful.

Ready to Go

Finally, but not soon enough for Matt, who was nervous about picking up his date on time, the young people hit the road.  We made them slow down enough to snap this picture before they left.  I had to laugh at Matt.  Louisa instinctively reached out to put her arm around her brother and Matt stepped back.

"I don't want all the sparkly stuff on my tux."

What a guy!

A few more pictures from the evening

Louisa and Brooke, looking lovely

Louisa with her date, Josh

Louisa and Rachel, looking lovely

Matt and his date, Kayla

Matt and Kayla

Josh (this one, Matt's buddy, not Louisa's date), Matt, and Zach, cutting up a little bit

Matt and Kayla during the Grand March

Josh and Louisa during the Grand March

A Relaxing Evening After the Whirlwind--Oh, shoot, maybe not

We quickly threw the three youngest ones into the tub for Saturday baths before running into Oklee for the Grand March.  (I just this morning realized John never got his, whoops!) 

After all the excitement, it would have been good to be able to crawl into bed.  I could feel my brain starting to shut down.  But it was not to be.

Louisa had forgotten some things she needed for the post prom party, so I had to run back into Oklee after I got the little ones to bed.

I also had to get Elsie and Clara started on the four dozen muffins we had to make for the LYS (youth group) to serve at church the next morning.  Yes, I could have done it earlier in the week, but I didn't.  Part of that was on purpose.  I just don't know how Gluten Free muffins freeze.  Would they still taste fine?  I just wasn't sure.  Plus I really wanted the kids to help with them, since the LYS and its fund raising efforts benefit the kids.  They ought to do the work for it.

But on such a busy weekend, I didn't have enough brain capacity to split my concentration between the morning's primping in the living room and a second project in the kitchen.

So after we got home, we quickly had bedtime prayers, and sent the little ones to bed.  I got Clara busy mixing up a batch of the gluten free flour mix I use.  Then I transcribed a regular recipe into a Gluten Free version for Elsie to mix up while I ran into Oklee.

When I got back, Clara was done with her flour mix and was ready to head to bed.  Elsie had her first dozen muffins ready to put in the oven and I helped her get the next one ready, too.  But, shoot, the coffee cake recipe I had used as a base only made 1 1/2 dozen muffins.  I really thought it would do two.  So Elsie put her first pan in the oven, and I quickly whipped up a second batch of the same so that we'd end up with three dozen of that variety. 

After Elsie got her first pan out, I sent her to bed, and told her I'd finish up.  By then I had the next batch mixed up, and so could finish filling Elsie's second pan and fill a third, too.  We ended up with three dozen mincemeat muffins.  They were a layer of coffee cake batter, a dollop of the green tomato mincemeat I made last fall, then a second layer of batter, and topped off with a sprinkling of streusel crumb topping.  Elsie's first pan turned out great, so I was optimistic about the next pans.

While they were in, I mixed up a batch of pumpkin, raisin, flax muffins.  I took the first batch out of the pan after it cooled.  I scrubbed out the muffin pan in preparation of putting in my next batch.  But there was something wrong with those muffins that were in the oven.  They had spread out all over the the muffin pan, running together across the top.  The fat from the streusel topping was dripping off onto the bottom of the oven and stinking up my house.  But the muffins themselves were not getting done.  Grrr.  Why can't anything be easy?!?

Finally I noticed that, between two cooks, and turning on and off timers, oven lights, etc, the oven had somehow gotten turned off.  So my muffins had been sitting in a hot, but gradually cooling oven for twenty-some minutes.  Aaaargh!  And these were for serving in public!  Shoot!  Now I'll have to come up with yet another batch to replace those that obviously will not turn out right.

I finally got them done and out of the oven.  They were pretty dark on top.  I popped the pumpkin ones in the oven, carefully checked all the settings, and sat down to play some  spider solitaire while I waited.  My brain was too far gone to trust myself with measuring out another batch, but I got the recipe ready for morning, and steeled myself to get up early.

Just before the timer was going to go off for the pumpkin muffins, I removed the failed ones from their tins.  I had to cut the tops into squares, since as I said, they had cooked all together across the top of the pan.  And then I had to attempt to gently run the knife under that lop of muffin, work it down the side of the cups, to loosen the muffin, and then pop it out.  But you know what I found.  They really were quite nice inside.  Two of them fell apart, so I set them aside for Joe.  And I made the executive decision to serve the muffins in church in spite of the flat square slightly dark tops that were otherwise fine inside. 

Oh, my goodness, what a relief that was.  They might not have been pretty, but none of them came home after church!

Almost done

Sunday morning.  I remembered Matt coming in to tell us he was home.  That is our rule when the kids are out late.  We don't wait up, but they are supposed to wake us, to let us know when they get in. 

I had a little naggling worry, on two counts.

1) Louisa had not checked in, and I was not sure whether she had planned to come home with Matt.  Officially they are supposed to both check in when they get home.  But they are not out late enough, often enough, for us to have really made all the rules clear.  I will have to remember to remind Louisa of that.

2) Matt's date, Kayla, is a homeschooled girl he knows from work at Pizza Hut in Thief River Falls.  I know how homeschool parents think.  They had asked Matt if he could bring Kayla home at 2:00, rather than staying for the entire post prom party.  I can respect that.  I totally understand.  But, although I didn't check the clock when Matt got home, it didn't feel like 3:00, which is about when he would have gotten home if he drove her into town after 2:00 and then returned home.  It felt more like 4:30, which is about what time he'd get home if they stayed for the whole thing, but come straight home.  My clock was set for 5:30, and I was pretty sure he would not have had time to get all the way into TRF and back soon enough to let me know he was home, and still allow me to fall back asleep well before my alarm rang.  I just couldn't work it out.

On both counts, everything was fine.  After the kids found out the schedule of activities for the post prom party, Kayla had called home and gotten permission until stay until the end,   They'd have missed the hypnotist and all the drawings and prizes if they left early. 

(The prizes are a big deal.  I don't know how other schools do things, but all kinds of businesses donate prizes and the kids all come home with quite a haul.  Last year, among other things, Louisa got a really nice set of towels and very big, soft fleece blanket.  This year she got another nice set of towels and a Cenex gift card (the Oklee Cenex is kitty corner from the school).  Matt got a gun cleaning kit and a $25 dollar gift card to JC Penney.  I know they both got other things, too, but I can't remember what.  I think Kayla got some nice things, too, but I'm just not remembering right now what she got.)

Matt had gone to church with Joe on Saturday, so he could sleep in until it was time to come down and serve the muffins afterwards.  Louisa decided that since she had to get up to serve, anyway, and since she had rollers on Saturday morning, she'd attend church on Sunday, too.  It was tough, but we got her up.  She came storming up the stairs a little irritated with about 5 minutes to spare.

"Mom, couldn't someone have gotten me up a little bit sooner."

"We've been trying to wake you up for an hour.  And at least one of the times, you said you would be right up."

I taught Sunday School for  Louisa.  Matt made it down to church in time to help clean up afterwards.  I had noticed he was not there, and threatened to come up to the house and drag him down to church, but the ladies helping the kids in the kitchen said to let him sleep.  I was still kind of debating, when he showed up, all freshly showered and ready to roll.

Ready for the crash?

I had a nice dinner planned for after church, chicken in cream sauce over noodles. The chicken in cream sauce I had managed to get into the oven before church.  Since I didn't know for sure what time I'd get back to the house, I put it in at only 300.  I didn't want any burned dinner.  I had left over macaroni in a baking dish that I asked Jeremy to pop in when he came up from church.  

But much to my dismay, when I got back up to the house, the kitchen had a kind of scorched smell in the air.  I immediately took the chicken out of the oven and peeked under the lid.

One more Mary disaster!  The cream sauce had totally cooked to a crispy layer at the bottom of the pan.

So we had macaroni with butter.  With crispy chicken on the side.  The chicken ended up not being too much of a problem.  Not as bad as I anticipated.  The meat was still somewhat moist and the outer layer had a kind of crispy deep fried layer from having cooked in the cream.  There was no sauce, but there was crumbs of the crispy cream cooked with the onions, celery and carrots I had put in for flavoring.  It was not what I had planned, but really quite edible.

Crash

I didn't even do my lunch dishes.  Elsie had to eat ahead of time and leave for babysitting just as the rest of us were sitting down.  Louisa went to bed right after dinner.  Matt had to run into Oklee to help his class clean up.  Joe went to bed for his usual Sunday afternoon nap.  Sophie was at a friend's house. Jeremy was here for the day, and until Monday afternoon.

I had Clara stack the dishes in the sink, in preparation of my doing them at some point.  Then everyone was given the privilege of computer time.  They had a few tiffs, but mostly they enjoyed their treat of having a whole afternoon to share the computer time among all of them.

I sat around all day and dinked on my laptop.  I figured out how to upload pictures to facebook.  I played spider solitaire.  I exchanged  e-mails with friends.  And etc.

A nice, slow, well-needed day of rest.