A Few of Life's Little Ups and Downs

It was a good news and bad news kind of day.

1) We started the day today running down to McIntosh to get the car which wouldn't start for Louisa when she got off work last night at 11:00.  (Thanks to the Oklee area co-worker who kindly helped Louisa out last night after having worked a double shift.)  The car has been problematic since the summer, but it's what we have, so we've been trying to nurse it along.  We made the decision that it was no longer reliable enough to trust for her to go back and forth to work all those miles in the cold.  (Bad)

2)  After contemplating all the various things that might have been the problem last night, today the car started with just a little boost from the van via jumper cables.  We took it over to Fosston to the ever capable Dustin and Adam at Carco.  (Good)

3)  Dustin and Adam don't have time to work on it until next week Wednesday.   Our good van is in the shop getting the deer damage repaired, so that left us with the prospect of two drivers with work obligations (Louisa and Joe) and only one vehicle.  Only a kind of, sort of, sometimes functional vehicle, AKA the creeper van, which has really crummy winter tires that scared me all last winter.  Oh, and the headlights only sometimes work if the car warms up first and the door is slammed just so.  Oh, and the gas gauge is shot, we have to use the trip odometer to keep track.  The speedometer isn't accurate.  The heater van hums with a very annoying high pitched hum, until one drives over rumble strips or a railroad track, after which it will run normally for a few miles.  The radio is down to one speaker that rattles like things are falling off the car.  The back seats have holes rusted through the floor in spots.  And once since we replaced the battery the van didn't start.   (Bad)

4)  We have Jeremy's vehicle here which we've been wanting to get into working order before sending it down to him in Granite Falls.  .  Since the car sat outside for over a year, we want a few things checked out.  Hoses and wires and fluids, etc.  Oh, and we're going to have him blow the engine area, to make sure all the leaves and mouse nesting material is off the engine block.  Jeremy cleaned most of it out before he moved, but the wimpy little shop vac we have still left some debris.  We're happy that Scott's able to get it in so soon.  (Good)

5)  But that still leaves us with four services and two work shifts, just tonight and tomorrow, not to mention the ride up to Tami and Jim's in Grygla for Thanksgiving, which we're hoping to be able get to.  And one van.  (Bad)

4)  But we have very generous friends and neighbors who have often come to our rescue.  When I called our friend Lana to see if we could use Brad's older car, she dissuaded us based on the fact that the heater in it is one of those "only occasionally functioning" varieties.  kind of like so many things on the Creeper van.  But Lana generously offered us her almost new and very nice car for a few days.  (Good)

5)  I took Louisa over to get Lana's car and left my purse there.  Duh, I can't figure out why I even took in into the house for the 30 seconds I was there.  (Bad)

6)  In spite of the other commotion and the missing purse, I was still able to get back into Oklee to pick up Elsie in time to get to the chiropractor in  Thief River on time.  (Good)

7)  We ran out of time to get all the way downtown to mail Aunt Aimee's afghan, so she'll have to wait an extra few days.  :-(  (Bad)

8)  In spite of the 155 miles I put on the car today, I still managed to photo copy some stuff for the Sunday School kids for the Christmas program and serve my kids meals at mostly the proper time.  I didn't wipe out on the slick spots on the roads from this morning's snowfall.  And most importantly, we got home in time for Joe to make his 5:00 Mt. Olive church service, with a few minutes to spare.  In fact, we even beat the school bus after we passed it as it was accelerating after stopping at at Alyssa's house.  (Good)

9)  When I got home, Clara had mixed up crust enough for four Gluten Free pies!  Yeah, Clara!  (Good)

10)  And perhaps most exciting of all to my Mommy heart, Aunt Nyla called just after I got home with news of Matthew.  He's officially finished with all the initial Marine Corps training.  He'll be in the Twin Cities tonight at around 9:00.  Nyla's daughter (Joe's cousin) Christina and her husband, Troy, will pick Matt up at the airport tonight and get him to Nyla's.  Joe's parents Jerry and Bergetta will come to their place for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and take Matt home with them where his truck is waiting.  Thank you all for caring for him so well.

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!

"A top lip? Why did you give me a top lip?" AKA, "Happy Birthday, Donna!"

Thank-you Heavenly Father for my family.   And especially for my Donna LouElla, who turns six today. 

Tonight at Donna's birthday "party" our kids did the typical routine of digging out all kinds of their own things to give to the birthday person.  This used to drive me nuts, but I see all the joy they give each other, and so I've come to enjoy watching them open the usually immense haul.

So what if Stella gave two pairs of worn out shoes?  "Shoes?  Stella, why did you give me your old shoes?  And broken flip-flops?  Stella!"

So what if Stella also gave Donna the fox fur that Sophie gave Stella, when Sophie cleaned her room and didn't like that pieces of it were crumbling all over the place?  "Fur?  What will I do with that?"

Does it really matter that Stella also gave Donna the big Teddy Bear that used to be hers.  But that was before she had given it to John at Christmas.   Oops, forgot about that, I guess.  John didn't care, though, so I guess it's all good.

What about Inge who just goes through the house picking up whatever fits in the bag?  Regardless of it's rightful owner.

Clara and Sophie purchased their offerings at the Dollar Store this year.  I suppose that's a step up.  They have a little money burning a hole in their  pockets, you know.  Donna is excited to try her sidewalk chalk and she likes her star shaped sun glasses.  "Do you know who Lady Gaga is, Mom?  She always wears things like this."

I laugh at the kids, but I'm not much better.  I picked up one dollar store item, and one new little thing from the Wal-Mart toy aisle.  (That one just about kills me, since the new stuff is such junk these days.  I just know all these little Polly Pocket outfits will be torn apart in a few weeks.  Or Polly's head with be cracked and no longer stay on.  I feel like I ought to get the kids something "real",  as in something new, just for them.  It's usually nothing much.  But it's so hard to part with our money when the toys are so cheaply made.)

Oh, and I also pulled my usual stunt of forgetting to wrap one of the gifts.  I had found a little skirt on clearance a month or so ago and tucked it up in my closet.  So that ended up wrapped in a bandana.

Some of the kids' gifts are usually wrapped in newspaper, others in reused gift bags.  Some are wrapped in tissue paper, or other paper they find around the house. Coloring book pictures, or drawings.  The kids make little cards to put on all their things.  Some put a separate card on each item, and the messages are very sweet.  "To someone I love, From Inge."  or little hearts and flowers.  or a "portrait" of the birthday child. 

I love to see the thoughtfulness and generosity these little tokens show. 

The crowning moment tonight, though, came when Donna was reading one of Sophie's cards.  She was looking at all the little drawings and sounding out the words. 

Then suddenly she said, "A top lip?"  We all kind of looked at each other.  We weren't sure we heard her right. 

Sophie came closer to see what Donna meant, as Donna repeated the question, "Why did you make me a top lip?"  We all laughed while we waited for Sophie to interpret the apparent misunderstanding.

"It's a heart, Silly!" 

For some reason that just tickled me.  What on earth would someone draw a top lip for?  To represent half a kiss?  Sophie and I really got the giggles talking about the various possibilities of what this strange and new symbol might mean in a greeting card.

Later when Donna asked Stella, "Why did you draw a flower and a heart?"  I couldn't resist answering, "I guess she couldn't figure out how to make a top lip."

Gotta love the "small town he said, she said"

Really.  I know Jason Aldean used the phrase to refer to the negative side of it, but there are good things about, "small town he said, she said," too.  People know each other's troubles and can support and pray for each other.  We rejoice in the exciting things our neighbors and friends have happening.  We are much more inter-connected than those neighbors living in many urban and even suburban areas.  But yes, everyone knows everything about everybody else; and sometimes half of what they think they know is not an accurate portrayal of the situation.

So there's good and bad, as with most situations on this earth.

But today we were blessed by a little of the good side of, "small town he said, she said."  It helped us sell a car.  Here's how it happened. 

I was sitting and reading while having my coffee.  The phone rang, and Donna picked it up before I could intercept her.  As she was trying to figure out how to answer, or what to respond, I whispered, "Let Mama talk, please." 

She then said politely into the phone, "Here's my Mama."

The man on the other end of the line started out with this, "I just talked your boy at the Cenex."

"Oh, dear," thought I, "what now?"  But then I thought a bit further, "He didn't introduce himself as law enforcement, Mary, so it's probably not too bad."

He explained that he was looking for a cheap used car and Matt said we had one.

"Cool, come on out and look."

When he got here, he poked around a bit in the '92 Olds 88; and I tried to remember all of its foibles.  There were three things that were somewhat basic repairs, but Joe did not feel up to tackling them with our disordered and somewhat meager "shop."  And those three things, as I remembered, would have maybe come to $100 to do ourselves, but quite possibly less.  But to pay someone, each was potentially a $150-$250 job.  We didn't want to put possibly upwards of $500 into a car with very, very high miles and for which we only paid $500 three years ago.  So basically it's a decent car for getting from point A to point B.  But it needs some TLC.  We stopped driving it last spring when the wires from one of the tires started poking through and scraping the inside of the rim.  The other thing I remembered was some sort of tie rod, ball joint, or front end steering kind of thing.  But that third thing...I just could not remember.  Until after this man started the car.  Then I remembered.  The deep reverberations rumbling from underneath instantly gave it away. 

"The exhaust system needs work!"  I explained rather loudly.  "That's what the third thing is!" 

"What are you asking?"

"My husband thinks he can get $300 at the scrap metal place, but it's also extra time and work for him to get it there, so with that in mind, make an offer."

"I'll pay you $300 today.  Let me go get my trailer."

Wow!  Easy!  Very cool!

We got to visiting a little bit and I asked how he happened to get talking used cars with Matt at Cenex on a school morning.

He explained that he is the cousin of Scott G., who runs the service station area of the Cenex in Oklee.  Scott has worked on our vehicles a number of times.  And Scott's son, Zach, is one of Matt's buddies.  I don't know if it was out at the gas pumps, or at the pay counter; or perhaps Matt was in the shop before school checking with Scott about something on his Dodge Charger.  But regardless of where they were, Matt, Scott and John (for that's his name, I found out later) were present when John told Scott he hadn't found a car.  John was looking for something other than his truck to get back and forth to work.  (Keep in mind that we have big open spaces around here, with many miles to drive in any direction before getting to most places of employment.  When the price of gas goes up, people notice a big difference.) 

After hearing that John was looking for a car, Matt spoke up, "We've got a used one.  My dad's hauling it to the scrap metal recycling this week, if we don't find a buyer."

And so we sold the car.  Very quickly and smoothly.  And got $300 for it.  As John said, it's harder and harder these days to find an inexpensive used car.  And for someone who's got a little time to work on it himself, it's a pretty good deal.  But also considering that he said he put $150 in gas into his truck each week, it wouldn't take many weeks to save enough to make up the difference, even if he paid someone else to work on it.

But, oh!  Joe!  You owe me.  You owe me BIG!  I cannot believe how much trash I picked out of there.  Ugh!  And chew bottles!  Gross!  About six of them!  I apologized profusely for all the little stuff I couldn't pick out.  And the gravel and sand that was deep on some part of the floor.  But John seemed cool with it.  He just kept saying, "You don't get much for $300.  I'm happy to have found it."

And the car is no longer sitting in our driveway in that "Rio Linda" kind of way.  Oh, wait.  That's Matt's Sunfire that makes our yard look like Rio Linda.  It's even up on blocks with the rear tires off.   But probably, since the cars we buy are so near the end of their lives anyway, probably any of our vehicles might make a yard look kind of run down. 

But it works for us.

There's Hoarders, and there's Hoarders

I hear people talk about hoarding.  The reality show, Hoarders, along with others of similar vein, seem to have put the more extreme mentality of hoarding into the mainstream consciousness.  And perhaps I even engage in a certain amount of hoarding.  I hate the idea of throwing things into the landfill that still have materials left on them that can be reused or remade into something useful. 

After going through nearly all of the totes of children's clothes I have collected throughout my nineteen years of parenting, I'm beginning to wonder if I quality as a full fledged hoarder.  In my defense, I think I simply had many children to clothe and was determined to spend little or no money on the process.  Because we live in a  very opulent era, everyone else has much more than they need and people like to pass things on.  To whom do they pass things?  They look for the people who would need them most, and well, large families tend to look "needy".  It's a very kind-hearted gesture.  And thankfully, you wouldn't believe it if I told you how little I've spent on clothes for my kids throughout the years.  But gradually, it appears, I have saved more of these gifts of clothing than I realized.  Certainly more than we would ever need. 

I currently have twelve very large boxes sitting in my front entry way waiting their trip to Goodwill in Grand Forks.  I also have several smaller boxes of things for consignment, and various other bags and boxes to go here and there.  Everyone still has a full dresser, and there are clothes packed away for most of the upcoming sizes.

So, the good news is, that I am making progress on what seemed for so long an impossibly daunting undertaking.  I am very excited about all the order, and new-found space we will have once I get everything hauled out.

In between my various jobs, I take a few minutes here and there to read.  I'm currenly re-reading the Ranger's Apprentice series.  It's a middle school level series of adventure stories with a fictional medieval setting that is roughly based upon Europe and the surrounding areas.  The main characters accupy a country called Araluen, which is somewhat comparable to England.  There is also Celtica, Teutlandt, Gallica, Skandia, etc.

The Ranger Corps is a sort of intelligence group that specializes in steath, gathering information, and a mysterious set of skills that give others the impression that they are almost magical.

Right now, I'm reading book four of the series, The Battle for Skandia.  In this installment, the famous ranger, Halt, and his apprentice, Will, team up with the Skandian jarl, Erak, to help the Skandians fight off an invasion by the Tumajai, who are roughly comparable to the Mongols.

Since the Skandians prefer a straightforward, bashing kind of conflict with their fearsome battle axes, they are dependent upon Halt and Will to lead them in forming some strategies to fend off the Tumajai hoards.  One of the ideas, the merits of which Halt and Will are discussing, is whether they could train some of the Skandian slaves to serve as archers.  These archers would be trained to release arrows at a command, which would include instructions indicating at what angle to hold the bows, in order to hit the invading armies at just the right spot.

The idea is Will's and he is waiting for Halt's reply.  He is pleasantly surprised when Halt, likes the idea.

Will had been waiting for his mentor to point out the fundamental flaw in his logic.  Now he saw that Halt was considering his proposal seriously.  Then he noticed the look of exasperation that grew on Halt's face as he found the flaw.

"Bows," the Ranger said, disappointment in his voice.  "Where would we find a hundred bows in time to let people train with them.  There probably aren't twenty in all Skandia."

At this point in the narrative, both Will and Halt are feeling a bit dejected.  It was a great idea, but it simply will not work.  But then Jarl Erak pipes up.

"I could let you have a hundred,"  Erak said in the depressed silence that followed Halt's statement.  Both the others turned to look at him.

"Where would you find a hundred longbows?"  Halt asked him.  Erak shrugged.

"I captured a two-masted cob off the Araluen coast three seasons ago," he told them.  He didn't have to explain that when a Skandian said season, he meant the raiding season.  "She had a hold full of bows.  I kept them in my storeroom until I could find a use for them.  I was going to use them as fence palings," he continued.  "But they seemed a little too flexible for the job."

"Bows tend to be that way," Halt said slowly, and when Erak looked at him, uncomprehending, he added: "More flexible than fence palings.  It's one of the qualities we look for in a bow."

Well, I suppose you'd know,"  Erak said casually.  "Anyway, I've still got them.  There must be thousands of arrow shafts as well.  I thought they'd come in handy one day."

Halt reached up and laid a hand on the massive shoulder.   "And how right you were," he said.  "Thank the gods for the Skandian habit of hoarding everything."

Well, of course we hoard," Erak explained.  "We risk our lives to take the stuff in the first place.  There's no sense in throwing it away.  Anyway, do you want to see if you could use them?"

A few minutes later, we see the big Skandian jarl in a very satisfied state of mind.

"Excellent,"  he said happily, rubbing his hands together.  "If you decide to use them, I'll be able to charge Ragnak."

"But this is war,"  Will protested.  "Surely you can't charge Ragnak for doing something that will help defend Hallasholm?"

Erak turned his delighted smile on the young Ranger.  "To a Skandian, my boy, all war is business."

I don't know whether anyone without the context of the various personalities can appreciate this interchange as much as those of us familiar with the story line can.  I love the quirky twist it adds to the character development. 

But it does interest me a bit, too, from an anthropological point of view.  Are Scandinavians thought of as hoarders?  Is that a personality trait stereoptype that is widespread today?  It certainly fits, to a degree, with most of those among whom I live who claim Norwegian and Swedish, or even Finnish descent.

And that is not meant at all as an insult.  We save and reuse and refit and refurbish until there is comparably little wasted.  It's a beautiful thing!

Clothing from Heaven

Any mother of many will understand the challenge of managing the whole issue of clothing her many children.  At first consideration, some might think that providing the clothing would be the most difficult part of providing raiment. 

"NOT SO!"  I, together with any other mother of many, will firmly assert.

We Americans are very spoiled.  Very wealthy.  So much so that most of us don't even notice our wealth.  It's very easy to think that one has to spend a fortune on a wardrobe for one's kids.  That's the kind of society we have. 

As a case in point, I will provide this illustration.  A few years back I picked up a boys' Ralph Lauren dress shirt for John.  I got it at a charity thrift store.  I probably paid two or three dollars for it.  I don't remember, but two is my usual upper end of spending.  I may have gone to three if John really needed the dress shirt at that particular time.  The shirt is obviously of better quality than a Wal-mart or K-mart special.  Its fabric and cut have remained satisfyingly crisp and even throughout many washes. 

A quick google search tells me that similar shirts at Nordstrom might cost about $40 at full price, or perhaps $25 on a markdown.  Or someone lucky or diligent enough to find a clearance might get it for half of that yet.

Next in line of cheapness might be a consignment clothing store, or an overstock type venue such as TJ Max or factory outlets.  But I don't really find those to be a wise investment for me.  The prices are simply too high for my budget.  I don't live near any such stores.  I don't care about name brands.  But for others with a little more cash flow, the time and location to shop often, and a preference for higher end clothing, such places can be an excellent shopping choice.

On the other end of the spectrum, someone who keeps track of sale days and bag sales at the local thrift stores, or who lives in a town and so has easy access to rummage sales might find my two or three dollars quite spendy. 

And so, there are variations in how much one is willing to spend, and the quality on which one chooses to spend.  It does not have to cost a great deal even if one were to purchase all the clothes each child needs.

But (insert here a dramatic pause, and perhaps a drum roll or other suspenseful music), there are also hand-me-downs.  And most mothers of many have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of hand-me-downs.  This is the clothing from heaven phenomenom with which many mothers of large families perpetually deal.

There is the constant influx of bags of clothing, for many of which we are extremely thankful.  But it's very easy to save too many things in any particular size or season.  There are times when we don't have time to sort the things coming in.  There are times we don't have the energy to pull out all the stored away boxes to put the recently acquired items in their proper spot.  There are times we can't keep up with weeding out the worn, torn, and too small items from the stock in current use. 

Any mother of many will agree that this one aspect of raising a large family seems to consume a disproportionately large amount of maternal energies.

And that's the project I've been tackling the last few weeks.  Clothes for the four youngest to get washed up, sorted out, gotten together, stored away, weeded out for consignment or charity or rags.  And to remember to keep nagging at the middle set of kids to do the same with their own.

The following anecdotes are cut and pasted from facebook.  They will set the stage for my final story.

First, on Saturday as I worked I posted,

Joe accidentally picked up some 55 gallon trash bags for a picnic on Memorial Day. I've packed one totally full of things to take to Goodwill, plus another one well on the way to full. Hurray for Mary! I bet I could fill eight of them before I would feel caught up on the clothing situation around here. But it's a healthy start.

And then in response to the question, "Are you going to be able to lift them," I explained,

It will be a two man job. I probably could, but they are quite tall, as in almost up to my armpit. So I'd worry about breaking the bag by dragging it.

But see, I have this other problem w/ stuff I pack up to give away. Since we live 75 miles from Goodwill, so have to plan a special trip to take the stuff in, it sometimes sits around for awhile. Inevitably, some little hole will be torn in a bag,  And then for some reason, curious little ones always have to pick at little holes until they become big holes, and so all my carefully sorted stuff ends up all over my hallways, all mixed all together. This time I am putting everything in these super big, super strong bags, in the hopes that they will not experience such a fate. I hope.

Last night, Sunday, I told this follow-up story,

I had one of those Calgon situations regarding the bagged clothing. This is the three 55 gallon bags.  Remember from yesterday?  I noticed throughout the day today that little holes were developing here and there on the bags.

"Stop picking holes in these bags!"

I caught kids climbing those big black mountains and sliding down a couple of times.

"Get off those bags and leave them alone."

Joe asked last night if I wanted his help to get them to the car right away so that they wouldn't get damaged.

"Oh, I've talked to the kids, I think they'll be fine. Besides, I don't know which vehicle I will have to take to Grand Forks."

Yeah. 

So tonight, I was home alone with the younger five. I went to the back of the house for a little while, leaving them unattended for a few moments.

"Remember not to play on these bags, you guys. They are starting to get torn up," I reminded them as I walked away.

When I came back, there they were, a couple of the kids, bags knocked down, kids jumping and sliding all over them.

Big holes everywhere and clothes gushing forth. 55x3 gallons of clothes mind you.

"Errgh! YOU KIDS GET DOWN FROM THERE! WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU! I LEAVE FOR FIVE MINUTES AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED!"

"We're sorry, Mom."

"NO YOU ARE NOT SORRY! IF YOU WERE, YOU WOULD NOT HAVE DONE IT! DON'T GIVE ME THAT LINE! WHAT WAS THE LAST THING I SAID TO YOU?"

Except for the 165 gallons of clothes spewing forth into the hallway yester-eve, the clothing sorting/managing project has been going mostly smoothly.  I packed up four boxes of toys to keep them out from under foot.  I put them along the wall of the hallway, and put a big quilt over them.  It looks like a bench, and I don't think the little ones have thought to peak under the quilt to see what's making the bench.

I do have, however, the typical ongoing battle with Inge and Donna, the chronic clothes changers.  They are eager to try on all those pretty new-to-them clothes.  These are currently waiting in the living room in baskets, for me to decide what will best fit where in the dressers.  I want to wait until I have all the clothes sorted and ready before I decide, so that I know I'm making the best use of space possible. 

But there is always the question.  Is it really a better use of time?  Would the girls stay out of the clothes better if the clothing was in the bedroom dressers?  While I'm still occupied with this gargantuan task, would I be able to monitor them, and follow through on keeping them out of the clothing in the dressers?  Which will be less tempting for these two little monkey-shiners?

Mostly, especially considering the propensities of these two youngest girls, they are exhibiting an immense amount of self-control.  I only holler at them a couple of times a day to stop getting new clothes.  I've been mostly keeping everything they have worn and soiled into the laundry chute, and most of the unsoiled items back on their hooks or in the basket.  Mostly.  But it is an ever present responsibility.  I have to stay vigilant with them.

But for this next little story, you need little tangential explanation.  Sorry.  Please do stay with me.

I find little girl slips to be one of those things of which I've accumulated too many throughout the years.  Each girl fits them differently, each dress needs a different length, etc.  Also because I buy used, things don's always last long.  So when I see a slip somewhere for mere pennies, I tend to buy it.  Hence, the gradual accumulation.

But the other angle on this whole accumulated slip situation, is that in the crazy-disorder of my last several years, I've stopped worrying about slips.  I'm lucky to get dresses on the kids, let alone slips.  If one of the girls ends up in church with a see-through dress,... oh, well,... it's not the end of the world.  I'm just glad most Sundays that they are clothed and shod when we go out.

And so the idea of a slip, and it's proper use, is wholly unfamiliar to my youngest girls.  They think these silky, lacy items are merely pretty things for playing dress-up. For that reason, I tend to keep the slips hidden away.  But that adds to the difficulty of introducing the properly use and purpose of a slip.  When I need one, I can never seem to remember where they are hidden.

So now, in the process of going through all the clothing items in the house, I have found about ten slips.  I had them in my "pile of last stuff" that has invaded one of our living room couches.  And today was the day to tackle that pile.  All those odds and ends were waiting for me to put away.  Things like mittens and hats that never got put away properly last winter, baseball and sun hats, headbands, bandanas, assorted rags, cloth napkins, doilies, about 50 pairs of tights in varying stages of disrepair, and yes, slips.  All this had to be sorted today and put in some order.  And I did it.  I got it done.  Each kind of thing that does not yet have a proper spot, now has a bag or box that is labeled. 

After I had finished sorting that particular mountain, I asked Inge and Donna to put the slips in a box of things on Stella's dresser.  Temporarily. 

"But, Mom,: said Donna, "They have a place in my locker cupboard.  Remember we used to keep them there?"

"Yes we did.  You're right.  But right now we are cleaning and sorting and reorganizing.  They might not go in that same spot once we get everything put away.  I want you to put them in the box until I decide where their spot is going to be.  Please put them in the box for me."

The girls took the slips, an armload each, all those satiny items slip-sliding in their little arms, and went their way.  To the bedroom.  To the box on the dresser.  Ideally.

But alas!  It was not to be.  About 20 minutes later they came into the living room, each dressed in their choice of pretty lacy slips.

"Oh, you girls!  I wanted those put away.  Please take them off and get dressed in your regular clothes and PUT THE SLIPS IN THE BOX!"

"But, Mom, we want to look pretty.  These are pretty.  They are for dress-up and we want to dress up."

"Yes, they are pretty.  But they are for underneath dresses.  They are like underwear.  They aren't supposed to be dresses.  They aren't supposed to be toys."

They both got kind of confused expressions on their faces.  They looked at each other sheepishly.

"Really?"

Buying Well Used Cars, aka Driving the Trusty (and sometimes not so trusty) Rusty

The following was written about two weeks ago, but never posted.  Any references to time need to be converted appropriately. 

Imagine my surprise when I was pulling out of the church parking lot this morning for my walk at Connie's and my car door swung open.  Yep.  I was driving the vehicle that is usually Matt's, the door of which doesn't shut well for reasons I'll get to later.  I wasn't terribly surprised about the door's behavior, since I am aware it has these "door issues."  But it was unusual when I gave the door a slam, and then another, and it still didn't close.  All the while I was trying to shift the manual transmission to accommodate my increasing speed; yet each time I slammed the door, it stubbornly remained open a couple of inches. 

I decided to hold it closed for the duration of my short drive to Connie's.  It wasn't so bad, except the shifting thing was a little bit more challenging with only one hand free.  I would make sure I was driving straight, then quickly let go to shift.  If I needed to, I'd let go of the door for a minute to adjust the wheel.  And then I'd need to time it just right to quickly switch hands in order to hold the door shut once again.  But by then it would be time to shift up again, so the process would start over. 

The real challenge, however, came when I turned onto Connie's road, and the road grader had been past in one direction only, and had left that ridge in the middle of the road which is never really in the middle.  Then, not only was I driving east into the blinding morning sun, holding my door shut while the momentum of my turn was pulling it open, and shifting one handedly after having slowed down for the corner, but I also had to avoid the ridge of gravel that wasn't really in the middle but quite a bit closer to my side of the road.  Ah, the joys!  But I made it to Connie's just fine.  Only after I got to Connie's did I realize that instead of the usual not shutting right problem, the little door closure device gizmo had flipped down so the door clasp couldn't engage. 

We always buy used cars.  Well used cars.

Well, maybe not that used.  But almost.

Part of that is our financial situation.  It's not financially easy to raise a family this large. 

Part of it is our little way of taking a stand against the consumerist lifestyle, one facet of which is having new things constantly.

But probably the biggest part of it is because, even though we get a periodic lemon, when we average our costs, including repair and maintenance, we come out far ahead.  We made a commitment long ago to never have a car loan.  People tell us that the peace of mind that accompanies owning a new vehicle in good repair is well worth the its cost.  But Joe and I are not programmed that way.

At least I'm not.  I think my husband is probably programed more like that than am I, but he humors me.  He really, really hates anything having to do with vehicles.  He has used words like lame, deadbeat, and inept to refer to this part of his personality, but I wouldn't say that.  Not exactly.  He has the most of the skills, but not a very well-stocked shop.  And he just hates the stress of car repairs and car shopping.  Now that I think about it, I'm going to revise my former statement.  I think he would be very comfortable if we had a nice new vehicle with a good warranty. But he would also be very uncomfortable with a car loan.

Whatever the reason, the reality of our life is that we drive used. 

Now there is all kinds of used. 

Some people buy new every couple of years.  They trade those vehicles in for another new one.  Others then buy those trade-ins from the dealers.  That's one kind of used.

Then there are those people, who use the above used cars for a few years and trade them in, but they are a little bit too old for the dealers to sell themselves, so they send the cars to auction and the cars then end up at a used car lot.  That's a second kind of used.

When the people who buy at those used car lots drive their cars for a handful of years get done with their cars, they might sell them through an ad in the paper.  And that's yet another kind of used.

But by now that car is about ten or twelve years old.  So when these shoppers are ready to sell their cars, well, there is not much left of them.  They may not even get much money selling it through an ad in the paper.  They might sell it to a college student, or for parts.  They might haul it to the junkyard.  They might park it in their grove or woods and strip parts off as needed.

Or they might sell it to us. 

That's the kind of used we buy.  Some people find this terribly irresponsible.  Crazy.   How can they be comfortable risking all those little ones driving such junkers?

This winter we've had a higher than normal number of car related...um...let's call them...well.. adventures.  Part of that is because with teens driving now, we have extra vehicles to maintain.  We almost need to keep a third car running to help with all the various transportation needs around here.  And three junkers understandably break down more often than two, right?

These adventures actually started last summer when Matt's Buick Century couldn't make it up the hills in Mankato.  He had taken a carload of teens down there for the ELS national Youth Convention.  Then on the way home from Mankato, just north of Itasca State Park, late at night, along that hilly, tree lined road with not much of anything but wildlife and forest along it, the car died.  But God took care of the kids by graciously rolling the car to a stop at the end of the driveway of a very kind man.  This man helped them push the car directly into his shop to see what the problem was.  He got them on their way with a little coolant and he topped off the motor oil.  Then home they came.

But Matt continued to have problems with the Century, and finally it was diagnosed with a leaky head gasket, which we decided we didn't want to deal with.  And so we took this car to the junk yard where they were going to either sell it as is, or strip it down for parts.  We got a quote from them on the phone, and took it in.  Once they saw it, they gave us more for it than the amount upon which they had agreed.  Cool.  But it was still sad to see this car go to the junkyard, when it "only" needed a new head gasket and was otherwise in great shape.  I hope they were able to sell it still intact.

Soon after that, one of our members dropped a Pontiac Sunfire in our lap.  It has many issues, none of which is life-threatening.  We got it for a steal.  At least we feel like it was a steal.  The inner door is splitting from the outer door (so it's a little tricky sometimes to shut the driver's door; the inside part of the door closes,but getting the outside layer to come with doesn't always happen on the first try), the trunk is jammed closed (but we can access it from the backseat), the clutch is temperamental, and every once in awhile the car simply quits for some unknown reason.  We've never had it quit in this manner.  But it had happened on occasion to the previous owners, so they sold it cheap.  We love it.

But Matt has always had periodic trouble with that clutch.  Every time he has trouble, Joe drives it, and it's fine.  We've been unable to figure out what the trouble is.  Matt also had a habit of leaning the seat way back, so we thought that perhaps he wasn't applying proper pressure when he depressed the clutch. 

Our primary family vehicle is an early 90s Dodge Ram 1-ton passenger van.  The kids call it the creeper van, becasue they think it ought to be driven by someone who, well, offers candy to children he doesn't know.  But we don't do that.  We don't even offer candy very often to children we do know.  But we like to be able to pile a bunch of kids in our van to get form point A to point B.  And the creeper van has done that for many, many miles. 

A few years ago we noticed the floor was getting rusty in some spots, so Joe reinforced it with Great Stuff expanding foam. 

Two years ago, the heating system exploded suddenly.  Not actually exploded.  But it was quite shocking when we looked over at the car which was sitting in the driveway and had not been driven for several days, and there was a cloud of greenish steam and spray pouring from beneath, where the rear heating/AC unit was located.

The van always had a cold weather stalling thing that we have just learned to deal with.  It used to be more inconvenient when I had to take the kids to piano lessons each week all winter long in Red Lake Falls.  It would start fine, and get out the driveway fine, but when it was really cold (which remember is sometimes for about two months of our winter) it would die at the corner four miles south of us where I slowed down to turn west, and then die again four miles later at the stop sign at the intersection with the Oklee road.  After that it was fine.  So annoying, but nothing serious.  It always started up again.  It was a little disconcerting, however, imagining a time when it might not start again, and I'd be stranded with all my kids in the freezing temps.

And again last fall, we noticed more thinning and even non-existant spots in the flooring beneath the vinyl rug. More Great Stuff to the rescue.

This winter it pulled a totally new stunt, however.  We were on our way to a groom's dinner at the beginning of February and it died in the driveway.  Just died.  And wouldn't start.  We feared it was the transmission, since that's been a little bit funky ever since we had it rebuilt several years ago.

Between our other two vehicles we made it through the winter just fine.  But soon we will have a second teen driver, and so we really need to have all three cars in working order.  With Matt working part time, and Louisa in plays, the Lenten season with Joe having three evening church services a week, it's been a bit hairy.  But we made it.  Lent is nearly done, but now track practice will be starting.  And as Louisa reminds me frequently, she needs a car with an automatic transmission to take her driver's test.  "If I can't back around a corner well in a car, Mom, how am I supposed to do it in the van?" (That skill was one she got marked down on during her first try.)

Joe had been periodically trying to start the van all winter.  He and Matt tried to push it off the driveway, but it wouldn't go into neutral.  Another sign that it might be the transmission. 

Eventually, when we were expecting one of our few of this winter's snowstorms, we had Todd C. come and tow the creeper van off the driveway.  It towed without grinding, which Joe said was a good thing.  This apparently made the chance of the problem being the tranny slightly less likely.

So there the van sat all winter.

Until one frantic morning a few weeks ago.  Matt was having trouble with his clutch again, so asked if he could take Joe's car to school the next day.  He was going in early for weigh-lifting, so I took the liberty of telling him to go ahead.  I'd let Joe know.  Joe could drive Matt's car, since the clutch didn't generally cause Joe any trouble.

But I forgot to let Joe know.  So when he got up a little bit later to take the girls in to school, because they had something they needed to be early for, too, but not as early as Matt's weight-lifting, he was a little bit aggravated to find his car gone.  But he and the girls got into Matt's car and took off.  And got as far as the church parking lot at the end of our driveway.  This time the clutch issue was not a quirk of Matt's driving.  It just plain wouldn't work.  The girls had to be at school in 20 minutes and they still had to pick up a friend!  What to do, what to do?

Joe told the girls to get into the van and they'd see what happened.  Lo and behold, the thing started on the first try!  What in the world?  But we are not going to complain.  Not one bit.  It's been fine ever since then.  It is a little bit more expensive to drive than the Sunfire.  Truthfully, it's MUCH more expensive to drive.  But that's what we have, so that's what we've been using.  Once the Lenten busyness is done, Joe will have time to look at the Sunfire.  And until then, we'll put (shudder) $120 worth of gas into it every ten days or so.  Yikes!

Yesterday, however, changed all that.

Joe had a hospital call to do in Grand Forks, so I had asked if the little girls and I could go along.  I needed some shelving from Menard's.  "No problem, sure."  After the kids got on the school bus, I sat down for my coffee, and Joe kind of said, "I don't want to get going late, so make it a quick cup."  Meanwhile we had to decide before Matt and Louisa left for school, which vehicle we wanted them to take, and which we'd take to Grand Forks.  If we took the car, an Olds Eighty-eight (again, mid 90s) we'd have to find someone else to haul our shelving home.  As it turned out, one of our neighbors who has a construction business had a load from Menard's being delivered one day this week, so that would work slick.  We could drive the car and save the gas.  Except that when we finally got the car seats strapped in, and everything together to hit the road, (remember, Joe didn't want to get too late a start?), there was a strange rattling from the back wheels.  And yes, I know.  There are many strange rattlings from that car. But this was a new and different strange rattle.

When we bought this car (that was also dropped from heaven in the form of one our members) the family we bought it from said, "Well, I don't want you to pay too much for a car that maybe only has a few months of life left in it."  We responded that at the price he was asking, even if we did only get a couple of months out of it, it was a good deal.  Joe's been driving it for almost three years. It's gone many, many miles.

But this winter, it's really getting old.  It needs many things, any one of which we'd not hesitate to fix. But taken all together on a car with 270,000 miles on the odometer, well, we've just not been sure how much to fix.  The muffler is getting very loud, the tires are thin, something in the front end (tie rods, maybe?) has been really vibrating lately, ...the list goes on.

But yesterday, when Joe got out to see what was making the new strange noise, guess what?  I'm embarrassed to even say...the tires had gone from merely thin, to wires poking out and scraping against the inside of the rim.  Oy veh!  (Sorry, I meant Uffda!  I'm from northern Minnesota now, after all.)

So we piled out. 

Joe was quite worked up by this time, since he really needed to get to the hospital.  The shelving at Menard's was not important.  But the hospital, yes, that was pretty important. 

We have many neighbors who have extra cars sitting in their buildings or woods, so Joe called Connie and asked if they had anything we could drive.  Good old Connie and Kelly.  They have rescued us numerous times with vehicular emergencies.  But this time, Connie went over the top.  She brought over her nearly brand new Kia Sorento for us to drive.  Talk about sitting in the lap of luxury.  I think I could get used to that.  We are very blessed to have such friends. 

Joe mentioned on the way home that one of the family members he was visiting with in the hospital suggested checking the fluid for the clutch.  Well, as we had explained to Matt when he asked, checking fluids for a manual transmission was a complicated thing needing a lift and special know-how.  And we knew that it didn't really need as frequent regular maintenance as other fluids.  But what we didn't know is that the clutch itself uses a fluid that is very simple to check and fill.  Hmm.  Joe would have to check that when we get home.  He figured he could handle that simple task, even during Lent.

We got home and got Connie's car back to her.  We picked her up on the way home, and she then drove herself and her car home after we unloaded.  Until Matt got home from his track meet, we were without a vehicle.  Which normally would not be a problem.  Except that in a pastor's line of work, one never knows. 

After we had been home a few minutes, Joe got another call, and needed to leave again after supper.  That gave us a little bit of time to figure out how he would transport himself. 

Joe took a look at the clutch fluid reservoir as it had been described to him.  And yes, it was bone dry.  It told us on the lid what kind of brake fluid it needed.  Alas, we didn't happen to have any sitting around.  But we do have many neighbors who farm, and if there is one things farmers seem to always have around it's a variety of fluids for the variety of vehicles they have to keep operational.  They just may not always know which of the buildings it's in at the time you call.

Joe called Connie again, but talked to her husband instead this time.  Kelly called his dad who rummaged around the shop and came up with what we needed.  Which they then had to bring over here, since we had no way to come get it.  Thank you, Darrow and Shirley.  Second rescue of the day.  (I had a girlfriend tell me once during my college years that one of my personality problems was that I always needed rescuing. That I was prone to constant little emergencies, because I was never properly prepared for anything.  Oops, on days like this I can really see her point.) 

After Darrow and Joe got the car working, Joe took off in the new and improved Sunfire.

Now we still have only two vehicles that are in working order.  But I can hardly keep up, since which ones happen to be working at any given time seem to be varying from week to week. 

Matt scans Craig's list constantly, and regularly asks whether we can go to Fargo, or Bemidji, or wherever to check out a car.  So far we've not had time to shop. We've had a couple offers, from local people, but the cars they have to offer have not been quite down to our caliber of junker. 

Taxes are done now, thought, and that redistribution of wealth our federal government is so good at will be coming our way soon.  I have a pretty good idea what that money will be going toward this year.

A Raft of Children

I have a friend who likes to refer to our family as a raft, as in, "The Abrahamsons have a veritable raft of children."  I have always accepted this at face value, chuckling a little each time I hear it.  But this morning, just out of curiosity, I looked up this use of the word raft.  In what context, I was wondering, does the word raft mean many?

It turns out the context is a grouping of waterfowl.  As in a cluster of waterfowl, resting together, all bunched up, on the water...a raft.  Makes sense.  But not exactly applicable to a family.

But wait! Maybe it is!  Many are the illusions to life as a sea, waters, a river; the nice times are times of calm, the hard times are storms...So, yes, yes, yes!  I do have a raft of children.  God put us together to comfort and lift each other up, to provide protection and warmth.   We are bound together on the sea of life, through waters both calm and stormy.

Now particularly, the reason I was thinking of my raft of children today, in all their glorious variety and mystery, was because this morning I took the time to pray for each of my children.  It's not a new thing that I pray for my children.  My life, minute by minute, is one of prayerful surrender to God and His wisdom and grace.  I'd never survive otherwise.  But it's different to actually consciously pray for my children, both thanking God for the blessing each of them is, and asking God's grace and guidance for whatever particular struggles each child is dealing with.

Recently my friend, David, shamed me.  And it was a good thing.  A good kind of productive shame that brought me to a realization of something I have been neglecting in my life.  Dave mentioned his personal Bible study habits.  Check this out!  He has worked his way through the entire New Testament in the People's Bible series, and is as far as Isaiah in the Old Testament.  Amazing!

It dawned on me, though, through this conversation, that it has been a few years since I've been disciplined enough to spend any private time in God's Word.  Probably since I put my kids in public school.  I used to do my own Bible reading or study in the morning before everyone was up, but now I have to get them all up early.  What was formerly a time of peace and serenity has been replaced with a flurry of activity. 

We do try to have breakfast and bedtime devotions with the family, which might include any of the following:  memory work, Bible reading, singing a hymn, prayers.  So I am not totally "Wordless."  But just as sitting in church with a raft of children can make it difficult to focus on the message, so too, family devotions can be filled with many distractions.  I don't want to downplay the power of God's Word here.  I fully believe that God's Word can accomplish those things for which God sends It, even when we don't feel any particular concentration toward or uplifting feeling from It.  But it is also good for one to spend some time really studying and meditating upon God's Word.  I realized after my conversation with David that I had not done any of that lately.

One of my goals for this new year is to spend some time by myself, reading the Bible.  Really it was not so hard a change to make.  Generally my alarm goes off at 5:30 anyway, at which time I do any breakfast prep that needs to be done that early, and then crawl back in bed until I have to get the kids up and rolling at 6:15.   Now I stay up and have a cup of coffee and read my Bible. 

It helps that Matt found us a "new" coffee maker at the second-hand store.  We had been using a speckled blue enamel percolator on the stovetop.  That gets a little bit putzy, keeping half a brain on the stove, turning the heat down once it starts to perk, and setting a timer,...  But now we have a nice Mr. Coffee that even has a timer to start the coffee each morning before I get up.  Cool stuff.

Now each morning my coffee starts in all by itself at 5:15.  I stumble out of bed at 5:30.  I take care of any breakfasty things, such as getting a coffee cake in the oven or starting the oatmeal or rice.  I pour myself a cup of hot coffee and add my daily tablespoon of coconut oil.  Then I make my way into my favorite morning reading spot and pull out the Bible.

I've been trying to get through Romans, but sometimes I feel quite stupid in the early in the morning.  I've taken to reading two chapters each day, one I review from the previous day, and then I continue on to the next.  By the time I've read each chapter the second time through, usually I have a handle on it.  Some parts of Romans are still not easy, but whether I understand everything or not, it's still good.

Some mornings, I have extra time before I have to get everyone else up.  I've been using these extra minutes to pray for my family and friends, and for things of concern to me in the community and world.  Most times I tend to lump together all my family concerns.  I kind of metaphorically throw up my hands in one of those groanings and sighings that the Holy Spirit understands better than we ourselves.  There is so much to pray for, after all, where does one start?

But today, I took time to pray for each child individually.  I considered each child and thanked God for the good and wonderful parts of each personality.  I lay before Him the challenges and hurdles with which each of them struggle.  And I asked for wisdom in handling all that He has given me.  After thinking about each of my children, these many personalities, with their gifts and challenges, the various individual logs that compose our raft, I was humbled.  I am in awe that God would choose to entrust to such pitiful servants as Joe and I, the privilege and responsibility of raising such a raft of beautiful people.   Wow! 

God is gracious and good and full of compassion.  And He seems to have a higher confidence in us than do we ourselves.  But I pull out of the front pocket of my heart one of my favorite Bible passages (it's a good thing they don't wear out over time, isn't it?).  And trust what God told St. Paul after Paul asked three times for God to take away the thorn in his flesh, "My grace is sufficient for you.  My power is made perfect in your weakness."

It was the worst of times,...NO, it was the best of times...

I'm taking a break from the rush and rumble of getting ready to pack up and leave with a family of the size of ours.  There are ten of us leaving tomorrow, allegedly right after church.  Our actual departure time remains to be seen.

At times like this, I'm not usually very pleasant to be around.  Generally, in the days preceding the RUSH, I get kind of overwhelmed feeling and start to fizzle out.  I do next to nothing, because it's all a little bit too much for me; my brain freezes up.

Then at the last minute, I start to rush around, frantically throwing things together and hollering and screaming at my kids.  Not a pretty sight.  Then my husband gets frustrated, thinking the kids are deserving of the verbal abuse they are enduring, and he gets into the action.  Ooh, not a good scene.

Then I, who know deep down that the emotional mess is of my own creation, try to sooth things over and get us on the road.

And we always eventually get going somehow.

But really, truly, getting ready for a trip is for me one of the worst of times.

And why, I ask, when I can predict so precisely how things are going to play out, can I not do something to change this sorry state of affairs?  My prayer this time is that even when things get frantic, I refrain from the yelling and screaming.  I want to have a happy Christmas.

So far, so good.

Today, I got up and got moving in a timely fashion.  I made a chore list for the kids to tackle during the day, so that when we do eventually leave, the house is in a not-quite-so-messy state.  My main job for today was to tackle the infamous Mt. Washmore.  Da-da-da-daaaa.  (That was scary, evil organ music, that notorious phrase from Beethoven's Fifth, in case you can't tell.)

I also had several odds and ends to take care of, PLUS, sort out and wrap all the Christmas gifts, AND (since I have five girls with winter birthdays, two of whom are on Dec 27th), I generally buy for birthdays and Christmas all at once for those girls, and end up sorting and wrapping for those occasions, too.

So, I was a little bit busy today, but in keeping with my goal (no maternal ugliness) I tried to stay upbeat and happy all day, and gave myself little minutes to rest my brain in between things.  Like the minutes it's taking me to write this, for example.

Jeremy called me this morning when he got home from work; that was a treat.  We exchanged our Christmas greetings and miscellaneous pleasantries; and I arranged for us to drop off his gifts on our way out tomorrow.

I even took time to do my pilates.

I listened to 80s music on my MP3 player while I washed and folded laundry.

And yet, the clock marched on.  My goal was to have our family Christmas doings at 3:00 or 4:00 pm, but I was still folding clothes at 6:00.  Sigh.  But no ugliness.  I decided I'd have to leave a small portion of Mr. Washmore standing.

I forged ahead and decided on the minimalist approach to wrapping gifts. I gathered all the assorted bags and packages of clearance and second hand purchases I've accumulated throughout the year.  I summoned my husband to "join me in my chambers."  (That may sound a bit risqué to the uninitiated, but the phrase is used by Mrs. Moody in the Little Britches books by Ralph Moody.  Read them if you haven't.  They are wonderful books for all ages.)

Where was I?  Oh, yes, in my chambers.  Joe had just joined me. As I pulled each item out of the packages, his assigned task was to add it to the appropriate pile, youngest to oldest, lined up along the floor of our room.  Generally, we've tried to limit ourselves to one modest new or special gift per child, and we fill in with fun things that I pick up here and there.  So when it's time to finally wrap the Christmas gifts, there is a bit of play, moving some things from one pile to another, until I am satisfied the arrangement will be appreciated by all.  After Joe and I did the first tentative arrangement, I excused him from the process and finished manipulating the bounty by myself.  It's kind of a one person job. 

When I had all the piles arranged to my liking, I put into motion my emergency minimalist gift wrapping procedure.  A plastic bag for each child...tied shut at the top...labeled with permanent marker.  I loaded all the bags into a big box, and then threw a blanket over it all.   This sleigh of sorts, Joe and I then pulled and carried into the living room, and set next to the tree.  It wasn't fancy, but I reminded myself that all the trappings of the season, including pretty papers and trims, is not what really matters.

By the time we had everything ready, it was nearing 7:00pm.  The kids still needed bathed; we had not eaten supper; and the packing for tomorrow was not yet started.  But... NO MATERNAL UGLINESS... right?  Take a deep breath, Mary, and just enjoy the moment.

We gathered everyone in the living room.  I had Matt light the candles on the Advent wreath, and all the others around the living room.  We turned off all the lights in the house except a table lamp near Joe.  He read to us the Christmas story from both Matthew and Luke.  Then we turned off the lamp, and each of us got to choose a Christmas hymn to sing. 

It was the best of times.

When we were done with our Christmas worship, we started the part the kids were all waiting for.  We opened our oh-so-lovely presents.  I sat down by the erstwhile sleigh and, starting with the oldest working to the youngest, one at a time, I gave each person their plastic shopping bag. Each got to open his or her own, before we moved onto the next.  Anticipation built as we worked our way down to the youngest ones.

After the gifts from Joe and I were opened, the kids handed out all the treasures they had prepared for each other these last few weeks.  Colored pictures, puzzle pages ripped from a favorite activity book, candies saved from their treat bags at church, lip balm, lotion, a favorite book, a hand-me-down clothing item...I love to see how creative the kids get in giving to each other with our limited resources.  Probably one of our favorites was one Stella gave to Sophie.  She had used the pretty unused gift tag from one of her gifts.  She filled in her and Sophie's names in the to and from spots, and because it had such a pretty ribbon on it, she gave it as a Christmas tree ornament for Sophie.  Priceless!

It was the very BEST of times.

My Sophie gave me a singing card and a windowed locket containing within it a different colored gem symbolizing each of the fruits of the Spirit.  Clara gave me the painted turtle sculpture that she made in art class last year.  Joe plans to get me the 2012 Writer's Market guide.  And my friend, Christine, who makes beautiful jewelry, and from whom I got some pretty things for my oldest girls, sent along a little treasure for me also: a beautiful, sparkly bracelet that I am wearing as I write this.  It is winking provocatively at me.  I keep wondering what it is up to, with such a merry glimmer in its eye.

Jesus' birth, our heavenly Father's gift of His only Son, is the greatest gift of all.  But my mother's heart joyfully drank in my family's Christmas celebration.  Now I am refreshed to tackle the rest of the things on my list.

Well, I wish I was anyway.  I am filled with a warm glow of the love of God and my family.  But truth be told, I'm really pretty tired and kind of ready for bed already.

Christmas Shopping in Brrrrmidji

Yesterday we had two running around things to accomplish, in opposite directions. We had to go to Fosston to pick up the van, which had spent the night at Carco getting its pre-winter check-up done. And we had to deposit some money in the bank somewhere. After picking up the van, Joe took the little girls home, and I continued on in the car to do the banking. But first, I had to decide where to go. Fosston has no Wells Fargo, so my banking options were to drive 48 miles back north into Thief River Falls to deposit the money there, and then pick up a few things at Wal-Mart; or continue east on US 2 into Bemidji, about another 45 miles, but then be able to catch a variety of stores. It may seem a no-brainer to head into Bemidji with its relative multitude of shops, and it being a few miles closer to Fosston. But if I went into Bemidji, I’d have to drive about 75 miles home after shopping; whereas if I went into TRF, I would be only 25 miles from home at the end of the day.

What to do...what to do...

I don’t generally indulge in unplanned trips to the ”big city” (especially unattended by little ones). But it is Christmas season. And I felt the draw of Bemidji’s Goodwill. So I headed in that direction. It was a nice day for a drive anyway; cold, but crisply clear with a sparkling blue sky.

I wanted to get to the bank by 3:00, so my deposit would go in before the weekend, but I was cutting it kind of close. I pushed it as much as I dared. Since I got a written warning a few weeks ago, compliments of Officer Norland of the Minnesota State Patrol, I’ve been a bit more cautious of late. I pulled into the bank parking lot at 2:55, but there was a hold up in the bank (3:00 on a Friday...I should have known) and I stood in line for almost ten minutes.

When my turn finally arrived, I immediately asked if it was too late for a deposit to go in before the weekend. The teller said that yes, it was. But that I could put it in the ATM until 9:00pm, and it would be credited immediately. Whew. A little luck.

Or maybe not.

I may have mentioned a time or two that I’m a certified techno-phobe. We finally got debit cards just a few months ago; and I felt very cool and accomplished after I learned how to slide it through the little gizmo and sign my name. But the ATM, now that I’ve never done. Really. Never. Well, that’s not quite true. About three months ago, in Grand Forks, they had a promotion for the new envelope free deposit. If I tried out the machine, I’d get a dollar to deposit, just to try it out. The teller there gave me my complimentary dollar and then patiently took me out to the ATM in the entry, and walked me through the process. Oh, OK, easy, cheesy. No sweat. Nothing to fear.

So, there I was, three months later, in the drive through lane, about to do it all on my own. Take a few cleansing breaths, Mary, you can do it...

Oh, no! What’s my PIN number? Shoot, shoot, shoot. Didn’t I write it down somewhere? Ummm,...one of the kid's birthdays? my childhood pet? favorite hymn? Grrr. I drew a complete and utter blank. Well, there was nobody behind me, so I decided to dig through my purse and try to engage my brain. I remembered writing it down. Another thing I’m very poor with is remembering numbers, so yes, if you ever rob me, you’ll probably find a few PINs or passwords. But you’ll have to figure out which goes to what. They are not labeled. I'm so sure...I'm not THAT dumb!

I took a few minutes to dig through the month's worth of receipts and the miscellaneous detritus of a mother’s purse. I guess it needed cleaned out anyway. Oops, a car pulled in behind me....I pulled into a parking spot until I could figure it out.

Well, it’s too late to make a long story short. I ended up going inside again, and waiting in line again, and ashamedly confessing to the teller what a misfit I am, since I don’t even know how to use the ATM. She kindly and patiently helped me to set a new password,...and suddenly...excellent timing...I remembered the old one. Hmmm. So I simply re-entered the old one, so my new one is my old one. I remembered it long enough to complete the transaction once I was back out in the drive through.  It remains to be seen how long it will stay in my brain without being dislodged by some factoid of more pressing import.

Nice start to my afternoon of shopping.

By then it was 3:30, and I had wasted half an hour. But besides that... drat... I ought to have remembered, the middle school buses come in a swarm at that time of day past the west exit of the parking lot. After waiting for what felt like 40 buses to pass, I was finally once again on my way. But it did leave me wondering...If I only come to Bemidji about four or five times a year, and if it seems like I always get caught waiting for the buses at that particular parking lot exit at that particular time of day, does it imply that I’m always rushing to get to the bank before 3:00, and always arriving late?

At any rate, off to Goodwill and Twice But Nice. I’m not telling what I got there, but let’s just say it was probably too much...

(No books, though, Char, or small appliances; you’d have been proud of me. They did have a Braun immersion blender I picked up, and hemmed and hawed over. It’s nice to have an extra one around if a previously purchased second-hand one goes on the fritz. But I put it back, since I was Christmas shopping; strangely none of my kids has an immersion blender on their wish list.)

After cleaning out the second hand stores, I scurried across the street to Ben Franklin, simply because I love looking at fabric and yarn. But I didn’t buy any. Really. I was a good girl. There was lots of very cool yarn that I would have loved to buy. There was even one of those free promotional patterns for a very pretty plush afghan. But it took 11 skeins of yard, and the yarn around which the pattern was designed was $6.00 a skein. A $66 afghan? Really? Do regular people really have that much money to spend on yarn? I was stunned. I seriously can’t even imagine. I’m so penny pinching that it almost kills me to buy the multi colored yarns that switch from one color to another throughout the skein, because they are smaller skeins for the same price as the larger solid-colored skeins.

After doing that quick and very deflating calculation, I returned to the car empty handed, and moved on to Target and Wal-mart. I didn’t get much at Target, but I like that dollar section at the front of the store. I can always find some sort of doodads with which to fill the “box of tricks” I keep in my basement.

OK, now here’s a confession, it's embarrassing.  But this made me really mad, so I have to tell you about it. After that whole frustrating altercation with the teller machine earlier, wasting half an hour of my limited time in town, my debit card wasn’t even accepted at Wal-Mart. I didn’t spend that much!!! I know the money was in there! Why would they tell me that if I used the stupid ATM, the money would be immediately available, if it isn’t going to be?!? I’m going to have to call the TRF bank this morning and figure it out. It was very frustrating. I wrote a check, so it was not really a big deal. But still...Embarrassing!

By the time I wended my way through the milling crowds of holiday, Friday-evening Target and Wal-Mart shoppers it was, predictably, much later than I had wanted to stay in town. I still needed to put gas on the car and get a cup of coffee for the drive home. (Did any of you notice the strange preposition in that last sentence? Now tell me, who puts gas on a car? It would just run off, wouldn’t it? You put the gas in the car. Except if you live in Minnesota, you put gas on the car. Don’t ask me. I can’t explain it. I’ve lived in Minnesota for a total of eighteen years now, and it still sounds strange enough to me that I have to interject this little explanation into my post, so that any non-Minnesotans reading this don’t think it’s a typo.)

Now where was I? Oh, yes, gas and coffee. I pulled into the Murphy USA adjacent to Wal-Mart, and filled up. I got back in the car while I let it fill, which I’ve learned the hard way is a bit risky when the temps are low. When I first moved to Northern Minnesota, I once let about 8 gallons of gas overflow onto the pavement, because it was too cold to trigger the turn-the-pump-off thing. Strange but true. That little sign that warns you not to leave the pump unattended while filling, it’s for a purpose, and now I know. I still get in the car if it’s cold, but I keep my eyes on the pump. And when the number of gallons going in approaches the number I expect the car to need, I keep a close eye on the nozzle.

Last night my luck held and no gas was spilled. But when I went in to pay for the gas, I remembered that this particular gas station doesn’t have hot coffee. I make this mistake at least once a winter. I should know better. I ought to have filled up at that place several miles out of town. But once I hit the road, I don’t like to stop.

So I still needed coffee. I gave into all the pent-up frustrations of the day, and indulged in a Caribou Coffee. It was really handy, and I felt like I needed a little treat.

Finally, 7:00, and I was just heading home. I had hoped to be home in time for a late supper. I didn’t leave any instructions for Joe, so I felt a little negligent. And for some reason both our cell phones were missing when I left home earlier; so I had no way to call and check on how everyone was doing on the home front. (Not going to mentioned any names, but after the kids got home from the basketball game last night, I asked about the phones. A certain one of them happened to have them both. You know who you are...)

The drive home went quickly. It started out with John Denver’s Thank God I'm a Country Boy, which you may find hoaky, but it’s one of my favorite songs. Between the happy song and the warm fancy coffee, I was feeling a bit revved up. Glad to be heading home, happy with my purchases, always ready for a little road trip. That lasted about half way home until I heard a song that made me cry. Hey, it’s OK. It's been all of about two weeks since I’ve had a good car cry. I was due.

It was Clay Walker's The Chain of Love. Again, perhaps hoaky. Maybe I'm waxing maudlin in my old age.  I saw on Wikipedia that when it was originally released, one reviewer called it sickly sweet.

But I loved this song. Really loved it.

Clay Walker - The Chain Of Love (Official Music Video)

Really, really love it.

"Candy" Reading Series for the Junior High or Highschool Reader (or even adult)

Conspiracy 365
by Gabrielle Lord

I first reviewed this series just over a year ago.  This post is a follow up of sorts, so it will make more sense if you read that one first.

I've not yet finished this entire series, even though they are very fast reads.  One book takes me maybe three or four hours.  It's been somewhat challenging remembering which one to request from the library at the right time, and then having a free evening to read it when I do finally get it.

I really recommend this series for anyone who likes adventure, suspense, heroes and a heroine, and just a hint of romance.  There is also an element of fantasy, since many of the "nick of time" escapes that protagonist, Callum Ormond, manages would never work in real life.  At least, hair breadth escapes do not generally work one after another for an entire year, constantly, as they seem to do for Callum.  But I suppose, the entire premise is a bit fantastical in the first place, as is the steady stream of dramatic dangers that Callum encounters.

I picked up August and September at the library yesterday and yes, sadly, have finished them both.  When I got to the end of September, it ended so suddenly that I kept turning the page for several tries, thinking I had missed some pages.  But alas! it was just the next cliffhanger.  I'll have to wait to get the next couple in a few more months...

So far, there is only one spot at which I think the author committed a gross inconsistency.  But even that, I'm not  sure without checking back, which I probably will never do.

To reiterate a point upon which I touched in the original review, these books are clean.  Not even any swearing.  The hint of romance is very innocent and sweet. 

For such a quick moving story line, with next to nothing besides the perpetual action, the three primary characters are well developed, and continue to develop well in each consecutive book.  They really live in the sense that when the story is done, the readers is left feeling a little lonely for those friends he has to leave behind until he picks up the next book.

I'm in the process of trying to reduce number of volumes in our home library by 1/3, but even so, if I found these second hand and cheap, I'd buy them in a heartbeat. In each volume, there always seems to be at least a few things that I would like to recheck.  It would be an especially nice collection for a reluctant young male reader.