tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20429939144868017702024-03-19T07:16:30.532-04:00mammamilkcelebrating life with five kids - lots of laundry, lots of noise, lots of lovemammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.comBlogger644125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-53145846619853447482024-02-19T19:12:00.001-05:002024-02-19T19:15:31.473-05:00On the End of an Era<p>Twenty-one years ago this month, I got a packet in the mail. I was absolutely thrilled to receive it - our almost three-year-old daughter was going to start preschool in the fall at our Lutheran school. I was equal parts excited and shocked that my little baby was old enough for school. It felt like a <i>moment </i>- her preschool enrollment was to begin our family's journey in the Lutheran elementary school years. </p><p>Fast forward. Tomorrow is re-enrollment day again. But this year, I won't take my form to the office, enrolling 1,2,3,4, or 5 kiddos in our school Tomorrow will be a regular day for me.</p><p>It's a bit surreal to know that next year I will walk in the doors for work by myself. I won't have anyone tagging along, helping me take down chairs, waiting for me to get done after school, or popping down to my classroom midday for a hug or a visit with my littles. It feels like the end of an era.</p><p>Let's pretend I'm a swiftie - we'll call it our <i>Lutheran School Era </i>(I never said I was a creative swiftie!).</p><p><i> </i>In this era, we've:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>gone to 11+ Christmas/Mother's Day/Thanksgiving programs per child (though many overlapped between kids), so maybe roughly 35, but who's counting?</li><li>listened to/helped with more memory work passages than I can try to count, all of these moments being good for my own faith as I memorized Bible verses and sections of the catechism </li><li>participated in 21 National Lutheran Schools' Weeks, complete with special dress days, which are not my strong suit, but luckily Daddy is creative</li><li>thanked God for our children's teachers, for our church and school, and for the steadfast mission they have always had to give their students Jesus </li><li>cried through 21 Blessing Chapels, and thus far 4 graduations, soon-to-be five (I fear some ugly crying might show up)</li><li>helped our children work through countless struggles, hopefully teaching them valuable skills along the way</li><li>attended about a zillion volleyball, soccer, basketball, and games, and many eternal track meets, washing stinky uniforms many nights</li><li>watched the kids participate in spelling bees, geography bees, math competitions, music concerts, and talent shows</li><li>prayed, and prayed and prayed</li></ul><div>Lots of things in the list above will carry on into high school - we still have two kids at home after all. But this May will be the end of a very long era in our house, and it stings just a bit. I'm excited for my youngest daughter to join her big brother in high school, but I also long for those little-kid days with part of my heart. The height of our Lutheran School Era was craaazy - there was so much to help the kids keep track of in those days. But I look back on it all so fondly. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm grateful for everything that has brought us to this point. Our Lutheran School Era is finally an adult - a full-fledged 21-year-old. It's time for our next era now, and we're ready for it. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbPVDA6zVXpKrb6IwDDR3LhE2JMOr37R__5z9LMUiYpVwimUFoz7sP3e6xVtXp0u5AxumLB6CU4VHG2y_6iagCpL9elUJ4HqO-BHNlMGKYbdTFj-fL1AjxLp6aCXxM26BTvnCPuS-sS1FnZVGCFBKlvP2h8tw-f-94TnwvkSUUGDh5QQccJlGCO7H7dNP/s640/21.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="640" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbPVDA6zVXpKrb6IwDDR3LhE2JMOr37R__5z9LMUiYpVwimUFoz7sP3e6xVtXp0u5AxumLB6CU4VHG2y_6iagCpL9elUJ4HqO-BHNlMGKYbdTFj-fL1AjxLp6aCXxM26BTvnCPuS-sS1FnZVGCFBKlvP2h8tw-f-94TnwvkSUUGDh5QQccJlGCO7H7dNP/s320/21.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-36780186110740609912024-01-01T20:52:00.000-05:002024-01-01T20:52:03.718-05:00Silent Night<p style="text-align: center;">Silent Night.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Flickering candles.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Beautiful harmonies.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Cherished faces.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Family. </p><p style="text-align: center;">A newborn Baby.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Love.</p><p>Those phrases sum up the end of worship last week on Christmas Eve. As the church reverently lit their candles and passed the flame down each pew, the organist softly playing the beginning strains of Silent Night, I looked down at my hands, holding a lone candle. </p><p>And suddenly my hands seemed to change before my eyes. . .instead of hands showing their 50 years, I saw young hands holding the candle. And the candle didn't have a fancy plastic holder, it had a flimsy paper one that sometimes dripped hot wax onto my fingers. </p><p>I recalled my childhood Christmases, earnestly holding the candle my parents entrusted me with. I remembered singing in the aisle with the school choir members, and later with the adult choir. I thought of our early years of marriage in differing states and our last 25 years at Trinity, juggling wiggly children with their own lit candles that I cautiously let them hold onto, their faces rapt with joy. </p><p>And I realized, with a great amount of reverence, that every Christmas Eve of my life (except for two due to sick children), I was in church, holding a candle, singing Silent Night, surrounded by family. Very quickly, the beauty of that realization hit me, and my eyes welled up. For 50 years, I have been blessed to celebrate Christ's birth in this way - quietly, reverently, beautifully, and with family.</p><p>So many things change in life, and change is not my fave. I prefer continuity and constancy and sure bets and steadfastness. </p><p>But this. This moment, though each year looks a little different, remains at its core the same. The family surrounding me has changed over the years - some people are sainted with Jesus, some are far away, and some have been born to us. The church family is different as the years pass too. But every year, I stand with my candle in my hand and my family filling the sanctuary with me.</p><p>What a gift. To have had parents who raised me in the church, week in and week out, including so many Christmas Eves (and mornings!), to have married a man who values the faith and dedicates his life to it, and to have children who hold their faith dear and are themselves so deeply affected by the birth of their Savior. </p><p>As I stood there, last week, with my candle in my hand, singing by heart the song I've sung on December 24th every year of my life, I looked around at the faces both in my pew and in the rest of the church, and I thanked God for His generosity to us. That He sent His son, in such a lowly way, to save all of us. That He gifted us all with each other - brothers and sisters in Christ - to encourage one another on our walk. </p><p>That one silent night, so long ago, changed everything. And because of that silent night, we have everything. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMeebbPBUN5m4mD3H_SsfweEjVfCRlOUpoR6_18hN1_qPCTdK8owUQbNFZht0h88SsyXc06875pmGKGw8tws0t0MU_bHCWaLU-uDJJJd5xLgHimHb_AGy4BpIpv7YbRZbhFROD5ovnIhMptWLZvjPx0gtpPYdx4FaATjubp84szotF8h9Cxf4WzK572Q-/s612/candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="612" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMeebbPBUN5m4mD3H_SsfweEjVfCRlOUpoR6_18hN1_qPCTdK8owUQbNFZht0h88SsyXc06875pmGKGw8tws0t0MU_bHCWaLU-uDJJJd5xLgHimHb_AGy4BpIpv7YbRZbhFROD5ovnIhMptWLZvjPx0gtpPYdx4FaATjubp84szotF8h9Cxf4WzK572Q-/s320/candle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-10076696699599741012023-12-03T14:24:00.002-05:002023-12-03T14:25:18.343-05:00150 Years of Love<p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222; font-size: small;">Dear parents of my PreKindergarteners —</span></p><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">I love your child fiercely. I love her when she gives me hugs, when his face lights up with understanding during a lesson, when she is selfless during center time, and when he sings his heart out during Jesus time. I love your child when he is frustrated and gets upset, and when she has big feelings that are hard to navigate through. I love your child when he says silly things that make me laugh, and when she asks questions about Jesus and shares her faith with her friends, saying joyfully - “Jesus is in my heart!”. I love your child fiercely. </span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">As each school year starts and I begin to form a bond with my students, I am always taken aback a bit by my love for your children. This love comes on quickly and strongly as we get to know each other and become a class family. This morning I was praying for your children before I got up for church, and the following thoughts came to mind:</span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">This morning was the kickoff service of Trinity’s 150th year. For 150 years, Trinity Lutheran Church and School has shared Jesus with those in our community. Pastors and teachers have shared the gospel and God’s word has taken root in people’s hearts. And this morning my heart was filled with joy at the privilege it is be a tiny part in that timeline. I already often think about the gift it is to be surrounded by so many selfless teachers who pour themselves out for their students — teachers who work tirelessly to help their students learn academically, but more importantly, grow in their faith. I also often think about all the other Lutheran and parochial teachers across the world who are doing the same things in their little corners of the world. </span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">But this morning as I thought about our 150th celebration worship today, I realized I don’t remember quite as often those who went before us and did all these same things. They also got tired, and discouraged, and felt insignificant, perhaps thinking - does anything I’m doing really matter??</span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">And as we look back, oh how we could answer them — YES!! What you are doing MATTERS. I think of my own Lutheran school education and the incredible foundation it gave me for literally every piece of my life. And I think of my mother, who also received a Lutheran education and feels the same way, and her father before her. The names of all those teachers and pastors won't all be remembered, but what they did has an eternal impact.</span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">For 150 years, God’s servants have walked into whatever building housed Trinity at that time and shared Jesus with their students. For 150 years, they have had the same feelings I have about my little ones. And it’s kind of an overwhelming feeling, knowing how God can take so many ordinary people and use them to share His love. </span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">So dear PreK parents, I started this letter sharing my love for your children, and I’ll end it just the same. As I carry on, day in and day out, teaching your children their letters and numbers and working on fine and gross motor skills and how to be a kind and loving friend, I’ll also be reminded of this: God is using me, like He is using everyone at Trinity now, and all those who taught before me and those who will be called here in the future, to be His hands and His feet. So even when that task might feel daunting, instead I’ll be reminded that God loves your children more than I do, more than you do, and He, like He has for eternity, equips us all with what we need for the task. I am grateful to have the chance to love your children this 150th year of Trinity. </span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Love, Mrs. M</span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"> <img alt="❤️" aria-label="❤️" class="an1" data-emoji="❤️" loading="lazy" src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/15.0/2764_fe0f/72.png" style="height: 1.2em; vertical-align: middle; width: 1.2em;" /></span></div>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-23593974757169463662023-09-13T20:14:00.000-04:002023-09-13T20:14:07.672-04:00Duke Strikes Again<p> My dear friends, you may remember Duke, our <strike>beloved</strike> <strike>precious</strike> <strike>good</strike> tolerated puppy. He's adorable, but so very full of super naughty behavior. While he is slowly improving (with age and the help of a very special collar), he still has a loooooong way to go, as evidenced by what you're about to read. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHupTFupJ9zDz18RxkDmHf0-zlpmvfNlD3P_iWxCh_iDO1wMt0vbEP7ue7GLVjtffhpH5V3tehEDRw5gHiJ54uvtmywqkw-kPXgxLoXdXPfihBKwvhBAaM2aJV_dqhi42TgeGhCOaligoGDyFo8GUPYCR0CLhCE0SIoS_mBnnVX4pDSndzI9wDSeOpkZ3/s640/duke4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="541" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHupTFupJ9zDz18RxkDmHf0-zlpmvfNlD3P_iWxCh_iDO1wMt0vbEP7ue7GLVjtffhpH5V3tehEDRw5gHiJ54uvtmywqkw-kPXgxLoXdXPfihBKwvhBAaM2aJV_dqhi42TgeGhCOaligoGDyFo8GUPYCR0CLhCE0SIoS_mBnnVX4pDSndzI9wDSeOpkZ3/s320/duke4.jpg" width="271" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">Duke, deceivingly cute</p><p>The other night, my husband had several men from church over for dinner and drinks. The men were all in the dining room and I was next door in the kitchen, working. The men were having a great time, with so much laughter. I wasn't really listening to what they were saying, but I was so enjoying their constant laughter. And bonus! They all seemed to truly enjoy Duke and not mind at all that he was nearby as they ate dinner and had a drink afterward. </p><p>And then the laughter <i>really </i>intensified. The men were howling with laughter and I began to wonder just what was going on in the dining room. Before long, my husband called out to me, "Honey! We owe him a new pair of pants!!".</p><p>With great trepidation, I went into the dining room to find that dear old Duke, friend to fun-loving guys in the dining room, had, over the course of several minutes, <i>chewed/consumed/destroyed the pant leg </i>of one of the men's jeans. So sneaky and quiet was this naughty boy that our friend didn't even realize it was happening! This was the carnage:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwtcz3I5PNKcui-aWH6DbyncPARZkBvYhqaLRbtgY_dxuKnN-dlY5gk7CAdAc0RfLnGurVwqaVT-gYMsvgtIvqdfcN-QMdJfme1hQ6kaNlIB1aNpvhGsfCszLwjpouR0XQ9XTi0medeBBOR5PdZE-I82EhlRnR2BB4IXU1MeRWyOjGBoRsZY3zLEmik18/s640/ron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="503" data-original-width="640" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwtcz3I5PNKcui-aWH6DbyncPARZkBvYhqaLRbtgY_dxuKnN-dlY5gk7CAdAc0RfLnGurVwqaVT-gYMsvgtIvqdfcN-QMdJfme1hQ6kaNlIB1aNpvhGsfCszLwjpouR0XQ9XTi0medeBBOR5PdZE-I82EhlRnR2BB4IXU1MeRWyOjGBoRsZY3zLEmik18/s320/ron.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Duke has ruined so many things in our house since we got him almost a year ago, but never has he <i>eaten the clothes off of someone while they were wearing them. </i>We've reached new lows. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was laughing and crying so hard I could hardly stand up. Our friend was an amazingly good sport and was so generous to us in our state of horror. I hugged him as he tried to make me feel better for owning such a wretched animal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Seriously. Is there a more poorly behaved dog in all of the land? If so, please share your stories with me so I feel a glimmer of hope.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the meantime, you can find me tirelessly guarding all important items in our house and hoping these days will soon be behind us. </div><br /><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-12613578285782567522023-09-07T21:45:00.004-04:002023-09-08T06:39:37.625-04:00Then and Now<p>I spent several hours yesterday and today driving to visit one of my college boys. I haven’t seen him, our third and middle child, in about a month since we moved him into his college dorm. As I told several people the day that we dropped him off, leaving your third child for his first year of college is no easier than leaving your first or second child. It still hurts quite a bit as you drive away, leaving a piece of yourself behind. I have missed this boy during these last several weeks, like his siblings before him. But, I am doing better than I thought I might, which is largely in part because I am so confident and excited about the place he is in. He has been adjusting himself and doing so well with it. Knowing he is doing fine soothes the ache in my heart just a little bit. </p><p>While I have visited my college children many times, going to visit this child in particular hits a little different, as my kids would say. Our third child, whom we used to affectionately call our monkey in the middle, goes to school in the same city where he spent the first seven weeks of his life, in the NICU of the Children’s Hospital there. And after those seven weeks in the hospital, my husband and I made countless trips back for appointments, hospital stays, surgeries, and checkups. For the bulk of the three hours it takes to get to my son's college, the drive is exactly the same as it was to take him to his children’s hospital; in fact, we pass one of the hospital locations that we frequently visited over the years. As I drove all of those miles yesterday and today to hug my giant son, I couldn’t help but ponder all of the drives we had made in years past. He was a much smaller but no less precious son. Sometimes, those drives were exciting, and sometimes, they were filled with anxiousness or fear, both on our part and our son's. How different it is to drive that highway this time, knowing that I got to see my boy when I arrived.</p><p>Many of those trips to the hospital were exciting ones for my son. Even though he has had 15 or so surgeries, he typically approached every one with excitement – he loved staying in the hospital. And while we knew that each overnight stay might be a challenge for him, we were incredibly grateful for his spirit and sense of thrill as the visit approached with every passing mile. He loved the hospital! He loved the food, the nurses, the one-on-one attention from mom and dad, the Child Life specialist, the therapy dog that might come to visit… the list goes on. Even though my husband and I might have felt a little worried about a surgery now and then, our son's peace and anticipation made it so much easier for us. </p><p>Our son is studying to be a nurse at this university in the town of his children’s hospital. He wants to work in the pediatric wing of a hospital when he graduates. He is wonderful with children and so very much wants to be for them what so many nurses were for him for so many years: a source of joy, safety, cheer, and comfort. I was texting with my son the other day and told him how vividly I could picture him in this vocation. Typically, while I hope and pray for many things in the future (weddings, grandchildren, vacations, and the like), I often can’t quite picture them very vividly. But for some reason, I have such an incredibly clear vision in my head of my son, confidentially entering a child’s hospital room, big and strong, dressed in scrubs, and with a beautiful and warm smile on his face. I can see the child in the bed, perhaps anxious or sad, and I can see my son, who knows just how that child might be feeling, introducing himself and setting the child’s fragile heart at ease. And it brings me such incredible joy. </p><p>While we were hanging out today, we decided to go to the hospital and walk around. Oh, the memories! We swapped stories and finished each other's sentences as we walked those incredibly familiar halls. So many of those visits were scary and worrisome, but overarchingly, our memories are so good of all his time there. </p><p>As I drove all of those miles and walked those halls and pondered all he has experienced over his 19 years, I thanked God. I thanked Him for giving us this child, for providing for him so richly through all of his challenges, and even more, helping him grow so much through them. And I also thank God for his heart now, for his desire to give back and to reach out to help others in this specific way.</p><p>Only God knows the future for our son, just as he always has. In those early days, oh, how we prayed for God to give us faith and show us the way, just as he had given Abraham with his son. Never in our wildest dreams could we have envisioned how God would provide for him. As usual, God’s dreams and plans are far better than mine. So, while I have this vision of our boy ministering to the needs of those in the hospital, only God knows how he will use him in the future. And I can’t wait to find out what that will look like. </p><div><br /></div>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-42534542451650253462023-07-30T11:12:00.000-04:002023-07-30T11:12:52.692-04:00Thoughts on our Vacation Down South<p>Late Friday night, we returned home from our family vacation. This year's vacation looked a little different - mainly due to the fact that we didn't all sleep in a teeny tiny pop-up! Yes, this year we went to South Carolina, and our 21-year-old pop-up doesn't have A/C, so we couldn't bring her along. We had an amazing time seeing the sights in South Carolina and relaxing on the beach together. A few highlights:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Hours in the car: About 35. If you know our family, you know that's waaaaay fewer than other years. And while 35 hours in the car with 7 people might not sound appealing to many, I always enjoy the car time (granted I drive ZERO of those hours, sooooo). On these long drives, we sing together with harmonies (both good and crazy), we laugh till we cry, and we also have good and meaningful conversations. While a plane ride might be more efficient, I'm glad we have all those hours together in the car.</li><li>Wildlife seen: As I said above, this trip was very different from our other trips, especially in the area of wildlife! While we're used to seeing bears and eagles and buffalo, this year we saw <i>enormous</i> orb spiders (one of which was at almost eye-level with my son on a hike!!), skinks and lizards, a snapping turtle, dolphins, and alligators! We had alligator sightings several times, but this picture shows one just across the pond from where we were staying. He slithered up on the bank during a rainstorm, and after about 10 minutes, he just slid right back into the pond. The kids were glad we got to see one, and I was <i>very</i> glad he was at a slight distance!</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYbULGTYJE9gsw19QoxjA4NpuWdBFUdxxQig4L9IaVLoRxOyrGtWA6aLbnv-AqeLSXSG_DNnTBBefX9dTUfUt973UPJ94NZtvlIeKliQ1LQcz1DtlueBB1YU-jRYFXC5Q30NPW21u9PTuTQvwXUOhelmXanfNcEO9nxaRWlJ_kGBVg9tCF5yejVNxrInLi/s640/gator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYbULGTYJE9gsw19QoxjA4NpuWdBFUdxxQig4L9IaVLoRxOyrGtWA6aLbnv-AqeLSXSG_DNnTBBefX9dTUfUt973UPJ94NZtvlIeKliQ1LQcz1DtlueBB1YU-jRYFXC5Q30NPW21u9PTuTQvwXUOhelmXanfNcEO9nxaRWlJ_kGBVg9tCF5yejVNxrInLi/s320/gator.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>National Parks and Monuments: Congaree NP and Ft. Sumter and Ft. Moultrie. At Congaree National Park we took a short 2-mile loop through the swamp lands, which is where we saw the giant man-eating orb spiders. It was 1000 degrees as we walked on the boardwalk, reading the informational signs, but also sweeping left and right, up and down, lest we walk into a spider or encounter an alligator in all the standing swampy water right next to us. Ft. Sumter and Ft. Moultrie were both fascinating and sobering visits as we pondered all those who had sacrificed so much.</li><li>Heat Index: 105+ Our first several days of vacation were spent in the National Park/Forts, and sightseeing in Charleston and Savannah. And oh. my. word. It was HOT. I am not a fan of the hot, (or the cold for that matter - I often tell the kids that I am a delicate flower). We walked around the cities, slathered in sunscreen and wilting and sweating within seconds of being outside. Charleston and Savannah were so beautiful - we all loved the history and architecture and beauty of the towns, but I gotta say, it might be better to see all these things when you didn't feel like you were going to die of heat exhaustion.</li><li>Jewelry lost/found. Three pieces. On the "hike" at Congaree, my son quickly brushed away a bug at his face and broke his crucifix, causing it to fall through the boards to the muck below the boardwalk. My husband, ever ready to do whatever job must be done, got on his hands and knees next to the boardwalk (thankfully there was no water at this spot) and <i>put his hand under the boardwalk</i> while my son shined his flashlight through the slats. Do you recall all the creatures that were at this National Park? I couldn't have done it! The second piece was another crucifix, misplaced as we were about to pull out of our hotel in Charleston. After several minutes of searching the hotel and car, it was found in the owner's backpack. And finally, a gold hoop earring, lost at Ft. Sumter or on the ferry ride over. Unfortunately, this one has yet to turn up, though I still have hope maybe it's in the car somewhere.</li><li>Theme Song: God's Country by Blake Shelton. Every year, a theme song emerges during our many hours of car time, and this year was a clear winner. When my husband and I started dating, we only agreed on about one thing regarding music: we both hated country. This has stayed true all 27 years of marriage, and our kids have rarely if ever heard country music in our house. But as they've gotten older, they occasionally like a country song that wanders onto our radio or Alexa, and this seems to be one of them. So this year as we drove through "God's country", we could sing all about the devil going down to Georgia. But he didn't stick around.</li><li>Doggies left behind: Dukers! Since Duke is too crazy/naughty/strong, we didn't feel we could ask anyone to dogsit him, so we boarded him at the place we adopted him from. They are a great organization and post pictures daily of their doggy daycare dogs and their boarders. Every day, one of us would remember to check their facebook page and we would often be rewarded with pictures of our naughty boy. He appeared to be living his best doggy life, swimming in the baby pool and running around like a maniac with the other puppers. We picked him up yesterday and I can't tell if he's glad to be home or if he misses his newly made pals. Either way, he's resumed his naughty ways at home. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5YDQjYgSccnzg2RasRY_Ig-4KWrH6WNNp7_2hNSQ2Q50lalPhPd6bIqhYFc7wXl_J1mS7uK1JqdFMCcPz-wGePcUaeTDl5e3Yo9VEWqP4dhdpDPkPwQpqzh4XqkRca2JtJ60J5ZdIiphb5xYpHDXLqVyCNavYRR_0Wdk1d53vsq3gspqNVexxEk-q2hQ/s640/dukepool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5YDQjYgSccnzg2RasRY_Ig-4KWrH6WNNp7_2hNSQ2Q50lalPhPd6bIqhYFc7wXl_J1mS7uK1JqdFMCcPz-wGePcUaeTDl5e3Yo9VEWqP4dhdpDPkPwQpqzh4XqkRca2JtJ60J5ZdIiphb5xYpHDXLqVyCNavYRR_0Wdk1d53vsq3gspqNVexxEk-q2hQ/s320/dukepool.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Time in the water: So much!! During our time at the coast, we fell into a rhythm - eat lunch, then go to the beach for a few hours, then head to the pool before a (very!) late dinner. The ocean was ridiculously warm and we all loved playing in the surf. We played spike ball every day, read books, drank beach drinks, and took walks. At the pool we built triple stack shoulder sits and practiced our handstands and underwater tricks. I tried valiantly to get someone to make a synchronized swimming routine with me, to no avail. Our trips don't often include so much time in the water and while we're all still a little sunkissed/peeling, I think its safe to say that we all loved so many days at the beach and pool!</li></ul><div>As the kids get older, we are seeing them treasure these trips more and more. I think they all realize how precious our time together is as they are all leaving the nest in various ways. I am so incredibly grateful that all the older kids still want to take an adventure with their family - I know that the days are numbered when we'll all be able to take these trips together. We saw some beautiful sights, we relaxed, we ate well, and we laughed so much. As usual for me, it doesn't really matter where we travel to - the best part of any trip is the togetherness. I'm so thankful for the time we get to spend as a family on these adventures. </div><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-85478118434590260772023-07-14T21:49:00.000-04:002023-07-14T21:49:24.170-04:0025 years and counting!<p>This past Sunday marked the celebration of the 25th anniversary of my husband's ordination. The love that was poured out on him and our entire family was unbelievable. From the moving service to the beautiful luncheon, the whole day was just overwhelming. So many people worked so hard to show my husband how much he was loved, and it absolutely blew me away. What a gift we have been given in this place.</p><p>A couple of the kids and I spoke at the luncheon, and below is what I said (give or take :). Perhaps I'll share more of my thoughts about the day later, but for now, here is my general feeling this week: I want to hug every member of our church that I see and tell them I love them. I will try to refrain from doing that, so as not to humiliate my children, but that's where I'm at. God's people are so good and we are so very thankful. </p><p>My words from the luncheon:</p><p>I want to start off by saying that I'm not the public speaker in the family. I prefer writing or talking to a classroom of little people. But I couldn't let today pass without putting my fear aside and taking just a moment to share my heart a bit. <br /><br />First, I want to thank my husband. I can't imagine being married to a more generous, loving, thoughtful, and hardworking man. It has been a joy to walk alongside you these 27 years of marriage, with 25 of those years at Trinity. I am in constant awe of your ability to suss out what's important and to truly focus on those things. Despite what is generally known as a demanding vocation, you have never made me or our kids feel second best to the church; you have always prioritized our family and managed to balance everything so very well. You never waver in doing the right thing, even when it's tiring or comes with a cost. You always point the kids and me to Christ, and never stop challenging all of us to look to Him in every decision we make. I am incredibly grateful God chose me to be your wife, and I look forward to our future together in the next many years of your ministry. I love you.</p><p>Second, I want to thank you, the people of Trinity. When we came here, almost 25 years ago to the day, we were welcomed with open arms, and that has never changed in all these years. My friends and family know that in my teen years, I always wanted to marry a pastor, but I had no real idea what ministry would be like as a pastor's wife. I had heard all the scary stories - you won't be able to have any friends! The church will work your husband day and night! You'll never be able to put down roots anywhere! - but I didn't really believe it would be that way, and Trinity has certainly proven to be a wonderful place - the absolute opposite of all those dire warnings I had been given. Over all these years and through God's grace, I have watched my husband share your joys and sorrows. I have watched him love you and care for you with all his heart. And I have no doubt in my mind that he was able to do that because <i>you</i> loved <i>us</i>. You have rejoiced with our family and you have cried with our family and in so doing, you have <i>become</i> our family. </p><p>So today is a day we are celebrating 25 years that God has used your pastor to further His kingdom, and as his wife, I celebrate that too - I'm so blessed by his heart and the person he is. But I also see today as a day to celebrate 25 years of Trinity as a family - a family who continues to pour out grace and generosity to all those in her midst. You are Christ's hands and feet and we are so thankful for you - we love you so much.</p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-75766292721888335402023-05-21T20:46:00.000-04:002023-05-21T20:46:11.238-04:00Send Off!<p> In just a few days, my middle son will be graduating from high school. It still feels surreal to me, that this giant man-boy will soon be done with his high school career, and also with his time at home. This is his last week of driving to school with his brother, of morning "circle up" prayer with all of us before school. . .the last week of everything we've ever known with this boy. </p><p>And ohhhhh - my heart is aching a bit. I've launched two kids already, who are thriving and of whom we're so proud. And I have absolutely no doubt that this sweet and loving boy will have just the same story. He continues to amaze me with his strength, his empathy, and his generosity. He loves Jesus fiercely and that relationship is going to deepen through the pastoral leadership program he was accepted into in college. He wants to become a nurse and care for others the way he has been cared for by countless nurses over his lifetime, and I know he'll provide compassionate care for his patients. </p><p>So yep. In short, I really love this boy and I'm gonna miss him like crazy. But as we close out his senior year and send him off in a few months, I know he's prepared. I know he isn't alone.</p><p>This morning at worship, we had a send off for the seniors in our congregation. The seniors and their parents were called up and our pastor prayed for their futures - that they would listen to God's calling in their lives and walk with Him as they move on from this place. After the prayer, my husband and I traced the sign of the cross over his eyes, ears, mouth, heart, hands, and feet as we prayed for him. We prayed for his heart, that he may always know his Savior; his hands, that God may be glorified in the work they do; and his mouth that God's praises may always be spoken. We have done this same blessing for all of our kids when they were preparing for confirmation, and I was immediately taken back to the time we had done this very thing for this son. I remember being choked up then, and I was quite emotional today too. </p><p>He was 11 the first time we gave him these blessings, and I wrote a bit about this rite in this <a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2015/10/bits-and-pieces.html">post</a>. This is what I wrote then:</p><p><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 14.49px;">Last Sunday we were able to participate in a confirmation rite with our 11-year-old. During the rite, we made the sign of the cross on his ears, his eyes, his mouth, his shoulders, his heart, his hands, and his feet. At the beginning of the rite, our son was smiling a bit and feeling self-conscious. But somewhere around his heart, I started to get choked up (which surprised me at the time, but of course is </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 14.49px;">not surprising</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 14.49px;"> whatsoever). As my husband's and my hands traced the cross on his heart, my mind flashed back to his body in the NICU, hooked up to machines keeping him alive. It's hard to reconcile those early memories with the strapping, healthy boy he is today. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!</span></span></p><p>These prayers take on new meaning now as we prepare to send him off. And while it's so hard to imagine our daily life without him in it, I know he's ready. I know he's not alone. I know God will be walking before him, beside him, behind him, hemming him in. We will continue to pray that all he does will be to the glory of God, just as we always have. </p><p>He's come a long way, and we know God's plans for him are still unfolding. We can't wait to see how God uses him to serve others!</p><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-73031683239350791932023-05-20T21:51:00.000-04:002023-05-20T21:51:40.577-04:00Lax it Up!<p> About 6 years ago, my two younger boys asked to play a new sport. </p><p>"Can we play lacrosse, mom?" It's really fun and we want to try it!"</p><p>When I asked about baseball, also a spring sport and one I had come to love, exhausting though it was, they assured me they could do both, since the overlap was only a month or so.</p><p>So with caution, we let them try it out. Of course, the only team they could play on practiced and competed at a field 30 minutes away - three times a week. My Tuesday and Thursday nights were now spent in the car (cold nights) or walking the nearby neighborhood (warm nights). In between entertaining my younger daughter for those two hour practice slots, I got glimpses of this strange game. I didn't understand much of it. . .my biggest takeaway was that there was a lot of whacking and hitting and running and scrambling for the ball. And oh how I preferred to watch baseball!</p><p>Fast forward to this year. My eldest son is now a senior and he and his brother play on the same team for their high school. Their last game was this week. While there is still a lot I don't get about the game, I enjoy it so much more now. I love to see my sons run down the field, shoot, and score. I still think it's very violent and have been known to quietly say "Don't hit my baby!" to rough opponents. But this season has been especially meaningful to me because it is the only year the boys have played on the same team. </p><p>Maybe every mother would be this way, or maybe it's just me, being my usual sentimental self, but seeing the boys on the field together is the <i>best thing ever</i>. Watching them walk on and off the field together or confer during the game makes my heart so happy. But my absolute favorite thing, as everyone who has sat with me during a game this year knows, is the Brotherly Passes. Many times during each game, one brother would pass to the other and I loved it every single time. Brothers! Brothers who lax it up together! Brothers who look so strong and capable and old out there! Brothers who look out for each other! Brothers who are <i>friends.</i></p><p>As each of our children has overlapped with a sibling in high school for a year or two, we've watched the relationship between those two siblings deepen. These two brothers have spent two years of high school together, and playing lacrosse this year on the same team has been one of the many ways they've connected. I'm thankful for this crazy, violent sport after all. </p><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-15633461932053739882023-03-26T12:00:00.002-04:002023-03-26T19:04:19.545-04:00Daddy Daughter Dance<p> Yesterday was the Daddy Daughter Dance at our church. For the last 20 years or so, this dance has been the highlight of my husband's and my daughters' years. </p><p>Every year, since my eldest was 3 years old, this dance meant a new dress, special hair, a fancy dinner out, a beautiful corsage presented by daddy, and so much more. But even though they love to dance the night away, this Daddy Daughter Dance has never really been about dancing. This dance is still and has always been about the special bond my husband has with our girls. Early on, I remember my husband and daughter choosing to go out to dinner just the two of them, instead of with groups of girls and dads that were forming; they wanted the time to themselves. And over the years, this dance, this precious event, became sacred to them. Even when covid canceled the dance for two years, dad and daughter had a special dinner and danced in our living room.</p><p>Over the years, the dance preparations have varied slightly. For years, it was just my eldest daughter and my husband. Then for many years (until my eldest graduated from high school!), it was both girls and daddy. And now for the past several years, it is just my youngest and daddy. My amazon photos of the dance number over 300(!), and each one brings a smile to my face as I remember those little girls and see their faces gazing up at their daddy and their dad, in turn, looking upon them with love. Such gift. Such grace. </p><p>I've heard the sentiment before that "a daughter needs a dad to be the standard against which she judges all men". During all the years of attending this dance together, my girls have seen their father treasure them. They have learned from his example, his words, the way he treats me and others what it means to be a man, and how a man should treat a woman. A girl loves her father like she loves no one other -- she looks up to him with an adoration she has for no one else. A father can shape how a girl sees herself and is taught by him she is worthy of being treasured someday by her husband. </p><p>This year, the pictures I took of my daughter and husband were at church instead of in our living room. After I took their pictures, I walked out of the building as they walked into the gym toward the dance. As I walked out, I saw so many girls I know (some from my class who have been talking about the dance all week!) and their dads, all dressed up, holding hands, so excited. As I got in the car to go have dinner with my son (another tradition we've made over the years), my eyes filled up. My tears were happy tears - for all these precious girls and their adoring daddies, and for my own girls and husband. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I prayed for all of them and thanked God for the gift they are to each other. And ultimately, I am thankful for all of these earthly fathers who point their daughters to their heavenly Father. </p><p>At our church, the committee that hosts our Daddy Daughter Dance goes all out. The decor, the food -- the whole experience is unbelievable. These men and women spend <i>hours</i> transforming the gym into a wonderland. The girls' faces light up when they walk into whatever theme has taken over that year - they are so excited for the evening. I am forever indebted to the servants who make this dance happen, year after year. They, too, have always understood that it's so much more than a dance.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlIAOpldyrKqDLf5zf1anJTkvPmw8p3TxARsied9le0-12ADxNyNQTvnkqT6RkJ9TvFY6oF7a3dP_LJ_9YG5RmcfLV5JwsUdTZbF6JeHB4qzgxIDnivXpjhAcn1oKzX1YIiLDYllDSLhvzHXE5D9D9ubMIX-U1HO8nUmCWQSafb9JAny1JPzqrPlrVw/s2079/DDD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2079" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlIAOpldyrKqDLf5zf1anJTkvPmw8p3TxARsied9le0-12ADxNyNQTvnkqT6RkJ9TvFY6oF7a3dP_LJ_9YG5RmcfLV5JwsUdTZbF6JeHB4qzgxIDnivXpjhAcn1oKzX1YIiLDYllDSLhvzHXE5D9D9ubMIX-U1HO8nUmCWQSafb9JAny1JPzqrPlrVw/s320/DDD.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-89942902124949874362023-03-07T17:49:00.000-05:002023-03-07T17:49:05.335-05:00Out of the Mouths of Babes, Part 4<p>Teenager: "I'd <b>love</b> to go back to my childhood and do it all over again. . ."</p><p>Me, holding my breath: </p><p>Teenager: ". . .and do it exactly the same way!"</p><p><br /></p><p>Parenting often feels hard and messy and exhausting and sometimes I find myself wondering "Did we handle that right?", "Did I give them a good foundation to launch from?", "Are they ready for the world, loving Jesus first and foremost?".</p><p>And the answers to these questions? I don't know. But we know that God does and can see just how each of their stories will unfold. Each day we trust and pray that God holds them close and gives us wisdom when we ask for it. And we also cling to the sure knowledge that as much as we love these precious children, we know that God loves them infinitely more - how grateful I am for that!</p><p>So while we wait and watch to see how God shapes their lives, I'll hang on to little moments of encouragement like this one. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFGljw2_w2RHQQRfvf_sp6vIkAxtqNvg4c00hiM2XPbeBTbeMVzU3cFNbuiFiejsDSBXn8CniJPTvpnHHltJ8_BezWhXDgkeq7ZXFta_740l_SGdOvjfsH0eBEJONh5pLp4pbnG1gCaakD-wXkoJ5dh_GNsceS--5WvTRrNG_2HiXIvY_N2uSTQwLvQ/s1024/kidssunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1024" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFGljw2_w2RHQQRfvf_sp6vIkAxtqNvg4c00hiM2XPbeBTbeMVzU3cFNbuiFiejsDSBXn8CniJPTvpnHHltJ8_BezWhXDgkeq7ZXFta_740l_SGdOvjfsH0eBEJONh5pLp4pbnG1gCaakD-wXkoJ5dh_GNsceS--5WvTRrNG_2HiXIvY_N2uSTQwLvQ/s320/kidssunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-77078028139283522462023-02-21T13:32:00.001-05:002023-02-21T20:19:34.189-05:00Upon Finding a Displaced Fork<p>About 27 years ago or so, my now-husband and I went to Target. After talking to an employee (who I knew since I had worked there for 6 years!), we were given portable scanners and given free rein of the store. I vividly remember my then-fiancee darting in and out of the aisles as if he was James Bond. We were laughing and thinking about our wedding and also registering for wedding gifts. </p><p>Among the things we registered for that spring day was silverware. Not as fun as some of the other things we chose, but a necessity nonetheless. We chose a pattern we thought would stand the test of time and then moved on to fun things like towels and shower curtains and blenders.</p><p>Fast forward to this past week. I was getting in our "teen" car, a 2003 Rav 4 that is hanging on by a thread. My almost 19-year-old son was driving us home from a college visit, and I looked down on the floor of the passenger seat and saw a fork. And I was suddenly back in Target, registering for our wedding gifts. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Cnz4bShneoFaBI2UW7UyiU9ABwlBQVBcjNYAl0vd-hAJHzSouMD1JRb5P8O1y7uJVRttRPYVvxcWyqf7dMatG0T2zF5MAKiPDEggFLSNmr8pCYXuKqh5F5-ocFn5UBgjMF4RzWgNUBHXVK4UOSiWxmee4oYE0K9OrizsKz4cNOCOfUkvU-Kl6ERZSw/s640/fork.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Cnz4bShneoFaBI2UW7UyiU9ABwlBQVBcjNYAl0vd-hAJHzSouMD1JRb5P8O1y7uJVRttRPYVvxcWyqf7dMatG0T2zF5MAKiPDEggFLSNmr8pCYXuKqh5F5-ocFn5UBgjMF4RzWgNUBHXVK4UOSiWxmee4oYE0K9OrizsKz4cNOCOfUkvU-Kl6ERZSw/s320/fork.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I thought of us that day, only a few years older than this man-child who was driving me home. We were so excited about the future: each other, our wedding, our impending move to Colorado, and just the future in general. Everything was wide open - opportunities, joy, and happiness were on the horizon. </p><p>I am absolutely positive that I could not have envisioned our beautiful newly-registered-for forks lying on the floor of a beat-up car being driven by our third adult child. </p><p>Maybe others are better at picturing what's ahead, but it appears I'm pretty lousy at it. In some vague, other-worldly way, I could dream of children and the deepening love that marriage brings over the years, but I really couldn't foresee it with any detail at all. </p><p>So many years have passed since we chose silverware. So much <i>life</i> has transpired. So many years filled with good and hard and everything in between. So much beauty, even in the challenges and sorrow. And I wonder, if God grants us life and marriage and parenthood for another 27 years, what will life look like? </p><p>Will I be taken off guard again by a random fork or similar relic of our earlier years? Perhaps being used by a grandchild or great-grandchild? </p><p>As I already said, I can't really imagine it. But I do know that God can, and I'm thankful for that. Whatever is in our future, I know God is already there. </p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-60137285974256488932023-01-17T12:56:00.000-05:002023-01-17T12:56:22.638-05:002023 Goals<p> 2022 was not the easiest year. We had a fair bit of loss, disappointment, and sadness. The year started off with challenges from the start, and it remained so throughout. Many times during the year I thought "I hope next year is better!".</p><p>And yet, even through all the tears, frustrations, and worries, I knew God was with us. I often prayed during those moments, "gift, gift, gift". Even the bad parts of the year were gifts from God and I knew it. And it helped sometimes, but sometimes it also just helped to cry, mourn, grieve, and offer it all up to God. </p><p>As 2023 approached and I thought about the new year, I made some loose goals, one of which is to listen to a podcast of the Bible in a year, which has already been a wonderful blessing. I also thought about a word for the year. I tossed around a few ideas, but I kept coming back to the word I've held onto for a few years now: fiat. I've blogged about the word fiat (<a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2021/01/fiat.html">you can read it here)</a>, and everything I wrote then still holds fast today. Among the hardships of the last year, I could always see God's hand working; I could often see the blessings coming from the challenge, and even if I couldn't immediately see it, I knew God would work it for good. </p><p>And so I continue to pray fiat. To pray God's will in my life -- that God, who knows far better than I what will be beneficial for me to experience and endure, will continue to bless me and my family as He sees fit. </p><p>Our pastor's homily on Sunday centered around the phrsase "Know God and make Him known". As I approach this coming year, being open to God's will, I will keep this in mind too. After all, everything in the Christian life boils down to this: to know God and to grow in myrelationship with Him, and to make Him known in everything I do, to everyone I encounter. </p><p>So no matter what curveballs I may feel 2023 brings me, I want these two prayers to hem me in: let it be unto me as God says, and to know God and make Him known.</p><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-14940329916493772192023-01-09T21:33:00.000-05:002023-01-09T21:33:57.665-05:00Random Thoughts, Post-Christmas<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXa2cSzLW5F5xVGsti556f4qnnyyt_M90W6HhHhS9qO50rYs97GsUzPXx6g9WxTooWggRorFTOfUZ-607z5r9EiMmgbs9Mklve7YZaNsuwVnkoxNoqtCAmHn3T5VwrlElR0qv2BHBrWOujLZooNtgutR67otFdq0JQS1EBmlpI8U-Rr0tD7SxoJYGW7g/s640/jomo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="640" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXa2cSzLW5F5xVGsti556f4qnnyyt_M90W6HhHhS9qO50rYs97GsUzPXx6g9WxTooWggRorFTOfUZ-607z5r9EiMmgbs9Mklve7YZaNsuwVnkoxNoqtCAmHn3T5VwrlElR0qv2BHBrWOujLZooNtgutR67otFdq0JQS1EBmlpI8U-Rr0tD7SxoJYGW7g/s320/jomo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Oh wow! If ever I resonated with a meme, it's this one! The older I get, the more this is me. Staying home brings me serious joy, and it appears I'm becoming a hermit in my old(er) age. Wearing comfy clothes, doing chores around the house, hanging with my family. . .what's not to love?? I am afraid I may become a complete recluse when I retire! Maybe send help? Or don't and just come and visit me - as long as you bring wine and don't mind how I look in joggers and a sweatshirt. :) </p><p>Here is our Christmas tree this year: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2ewezl6avpoZ9qbRLAvSl7o6PxDc69zv9k_L14nHGHNMg8OZo7LZ4aZNvCwmh9u3-7nLxu6sWetM7pKFFGBXT7hC1SY9pvmlMU9egrbZ7Il1LHKysXtXQuk5XU7pytzkfbZV3VsGTxwgMFye_-LZAk4TL3LnB7yG5DbUHmTqc5W0ddZBwPcV3qUvdg/s640/christmastree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="521" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2ewezl6avpoZ9qbRLAvSl7o6PxDc69zv9k_L14nHGHNMg8OZo7LZ4aZNvCwmh9u3-7nLxu6sWetM7pKFFGBXT7hC1SY9pvmlMU9egrbZ7Il1LHKysXtXQuk5XU7pytzkfbZV3VsGTxwgMFye_-LZAk4TL3LnB7yG5DbUHmTqc5W0ddZBwPcV3qUvdg/s320/christmastree.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our tree began in the normal way, with fun family decorating and silliness and banter. The tree looked lovely, covered in all our family ornaments, just as it always does. But a day or two into its tenure in our home, the tree was being attacked. Or rather, the ornaments were being attacked. Picked off, one by one, by. . .you guessed it - Duke the wonder dog! Yep, the ornaments appeared to be tasty treats to our naughty boy. So one by one, over the next few days, I began un-trimming the tree, until only about the top third of the tree remained decorated. I got used to the look after a while and it reminded me of all our toddler years. Of course, Duke is a lot of the work of a toddler without all the rewards. . .but that's not the point here. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just before Christmas, I did this silly sheet with my students: I think my teacher wants_____for Christmas. The answers all made me laugh. A couple of my favorites:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPQ3qBgxeT80NKGyDCw2mht8ipUiJZVIllSVTU3gZMP_5l0VwuiUPsyAIXE8RuiHdLgL02vIvTjr0rLMz86JKWELtiEtkJRUbJcgyhp-mvqUMesjJjCz1vtgHWHP1sDFUVNj_7FoG6W_RagVwxC0puvfb1oTf_1mD-bZMC-ib89KQpE2-c34QEOZKcg/s640/dogfriend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="601" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPQ3qBgxeT80NKGyDCw2mht8ipUiJZVIllSVTU3gZMP_5l0VwuiUPsyAIXE8RuiHdLgL02vIvTjr0rLMz86JKWELtiEtkJRUbJcgyhp-mvqUMesjJjCz1vtgHWHP1sDFUVNj_7FoG6W_RagVwxC0puvfb1oTf_1mD-bZMC-ib89KQpE2-c34QEOZKcg/s320/dogfriend.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Umm. . .no thank you! One wild canine is all this family can handle. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqK3Usux8O7izokzp8IV0-dDHSe_ZPQsyYzcD4Ejr5OjvgiIsFA--It-9sWjIktZIeMvLV2JQLkc0TwZ781lGJwkMq77ywCeDQOskJwkEdzJhUnh_EFA6iSmobDMDHzPKBbCCb7ePBoSzGHI07uug0zTr4u8acZYy72DD7Xfl5Pn1vq9G9pk0V6jee5g/s640/batman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="640" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqK3Usux8O7izokzp8IV0-dDHSe_ZPQsyYzcD4Ejr5OjvgiIsFA--It-9sWjIktZIeMvLV2JQLkc0TwZ781lGJwkMq77ywCeDQOskJwkEdzJhUnh_EFA6iSmobDMDHzPKBbCCb7ePBoSzGHI07uug0zTr4u8acZYy72DD7Xfl5Pn1vq9G9pk0V6jee5g/s320/batman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ok! I don't know what a crazy Batman car is, but I might enjoy fitting all my children in it. <br />Apparently it's crazy big!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-75447538171539747662022-12-18T21:25:00.001-05:002022-12-18T21:25:30.358-05:00The Week-ish in Pictures<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILppwglOZBeJd6waq2duPIzmIbeJ5tg0fEqaENxxBgu6vXNJXgqkVIBe84XenOEuGrRoCJEYKsptArXVCYOqJn9UGwb9pHUD-O13LpdtjtFJx_T5hhUq152_I6WLROYY92qSI3kGizFHLAySmcnlzxfUCv9lzevYQDwKlCepKlOTBv9AKPyj02ANodA/s640/mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILppwglOZBeJd6waq2duPIzmIbeJ5tg0fEqaENxxBgu6vXNJXgqkVIBe84XenOEuGrRoCJEYKsptArXVCYOqJn9UGwb9pHUD-O13LpdtjtFJx_T5hhUq152_I6WLROYY92qSI3kGizFHLAySmcnlzxfUCv9lzevYQDwKlCepKlOTBv9AKPyj02ANodA/s320/mary.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I saw this on the interwebs the other day and it seriously cracked me up. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Just what every new mamma needs - a drum solo. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9igeMWe2s8YKJdRLZF_BBLtrGiK8QOIi74eQMSti3GZ4g-Al1MpzdNY6MVkY6zwEgEyrKm8NkpQn3ezzQIX6FxZuN7YIyr1G6rtkjtcjhdFmsxy0e-SDC03eMsgp2wVFq9cg2H2ufxFDNOQISdJcWAwX-V0zPanWUltxG8eOe7oDF3Zma3B3xZt2ahg/s640/culvers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9igeMWe2s8YKJdRLZF_BBLtrGiK8QOIi74eQMSti3GZ4g-Al1MpzdNY6MVkY6zwEgEyrKm8NkpQn3ezzQIX6FxZuN7YIyr1G6rtkjtcjhdFmsxy0e-SDC03eMsgp2wVFq9cg2H2ufxFDNOQISdJcWAwX-V0zPanWUltxG8eOe7oDF3Zma3B3xZt2ahg/s320/culvers.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Duke strikes again! I bought these Culver's cards as a Christmas gift, laid them on the counter when I got home, and ran upstairs quickly. When I got back down a few minutes later, Duke had snatched them and was happily chomping away. Thankfully, though it took them a while to figure out how, Culver's was able to give me new cards so I didn't have to gift these Duke-ified cards as a gift.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhBdWdf5J9U8duoehNt0k5QLpgmuKdVp_gc7TJ_yFQ5CqYF_vnEP-yUR5RE-TmcT5nBEA-rNxmDAVSJdbc6ZVb2BQuVjW2GJvz5TkVyjh9ns9245Lep2Sl5QbSuk2q0cI35qbePXaxQcWbnmJBzUYnz0X0clNHifj9gXnRKdLXVX6dFBjXmUNYQHAEg/s640/duketree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhBdWdf5J9U8duoehNt0k5QLpgmuKdVp_gc7TJ_yFQ5CqYF_vnEP-yUR5RE-TmcT5nBEA-rNxmDAVSJdbc6ZVb2BQuVjW2GJvz5TkVyjh9ns9245Lep2Sl5QbSuk2q0cI35qbePXaxQcWbnmJBzUYnz0X0clNHifj9gXnRKdLXVX6dFBjXmUNYQHAEg/s320/duketree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our sad Christmas tree. Duke (him again!) has been trying to eat the ornaments, so our tree now looks like we have a toddler. The last few days I've been trying to add a few ornaments on the lower part of the tree to see what he'll do, and he has left them alone, so maybe there's hope for the future. Maybe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtlo_7DIP5d4lZiB_HjuN_OFCcM_RcHHV4gOC70_L_ohKzjiKozzR2lIRTBv0nAwCNW9wkQEvYxjENUifaOwMJLHTGnZd8DU4YXFQigpndENS2s4ABWbZd0pFFy8jpiHY2zyTH-KhnEUo1CMkbMFYrt24msz_am-6JU56Q0wUQRu3AX3aMST49yzrCQ/s640/tshirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="640" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtlo_7DIP5d4lZiB_HjuN_OFCcM_RcHHV4gOC70_L_ohKzjiKozzR2lIRTBv0nAwCNW9wkQEvYxjENUifaOwMJLHTGnZd8DU4YXFQigpndENS2s4ABWbZd0pFFy8jpiHY2zyTH-KhnEUo1CMkbMFYrt24msz_am-6JU56Q0wUQRu3AX3aMST49yzrCQ/s320/tshirt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">I bought this T-shirt this year and it brings me a lot of joy whenever I wear it. Teaching the Christmas story to my students is hands down my favorite part of teaching (and also teaching the Holy Week story). This phrase caught my eye the Christmas of 2020 and has had my heart since -- what a thrill of hope Jesus is to this oh-so-weary world.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-86771342909411170002022-11-30T17:04:00.005-05:002022-11-30T17:07:38.029-05:00On How To Find An Iphone<p>1. Wear leggings without pockets.</p><p>2. Juggle multiple items in hands while helping early-dismissal children get coats and backpacks on.</p><p>3. Tell early-dismissal children goodbye and take rest of class to library.</p><p>4. Realize at end of library time that phone is missing.</p><p>5. Retrace steps and repeatedly ping apple watch fruitlessly.</p><p>6. Realize that phone might have fallen into a student's backpack and gone home with the child, even though no memory of such a thing exists in one's mind.</p><p>7. Email husband and ask him to check my location to see if phone might have left the building.</p><p>8. Try to wait patiently for husband to email back, carry on with teaching PreK kiddos.</p><p>9. Encounter several people in the building and hear lots of good advice and well wishes for lost phone.</p><p>10. Finally hear back from husband and learn that phone is, indeed, about 6 miles away.</p><p>11. Feel ridiculous.</p><p>12. Determine which child lives at that address and call his mom, my friend.</p><p>13. Wait while she kindly goes to check and verifies that yes, my phone is tucked away safely in son's backpack.</p><p>14. Continue with the day, needing my phone multiple times and having to figure things out without it.</p><p>15. Feel ridiculous.</p><p>16. Print directions to her house from MapQuest like its 1999 because <i>I HAVE NO PHONE OR GPS OR ABILITY TO FUNCTION APPARENTLY.</i></p><p><i>17. </i>Leave school in the windy, freezing cold, and promptly lose the printed directions to the wind.</p><p>18. By some stroke of luck, stomp on the papers and save them.</p><p>19. Drive as if blind, relying on printed directions and not a disembodied voice, and wonder how we ever survived without GPS.</p><p>20. Arrive at student's house and walk up to door, admiring all the Christmas yard decor. </p><p>21. Feel my watch go crazy with missed texts and calls.</p><p>22. Greet my friend and her children and thank her profusely for helping me end this wild goose chase.</p><p>23. Feel ridiculous.</p><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-22495994021151555902022-11-27T19:42:00.000-05:002022-11-27T19:42:22.575-05:00Happy New Year!<p>Happy New Year! Well, Happy New Church Year! Today is Advent One, and also the start of the new church year. Today we begin preparing our hearts for the coming of Christ at Christmas. Advent is a time of reflection, quiet, and gentle solemnity as we ponder the coming of the Christ child.</p><p>Which of course sounds ridiculously hard in a season of busyness and crazy and shopping and parties and decorating. It seems the world is in constant push back to the Christian idea of a reflective Advent, and it is therefore a bit of a challenge for us to approach it that way.</p><p>The last year hasn't been the easiest. It's easy for me to be in a hurry to turn the page on the year, anxious for better times. Throughout the last year, I have tried to find the good in challenging times - to see how God provides, how God answers prayers, and how God always has our good in mind. As we begin Advent and the new year, I am praying that I am able to truly focus on God's gift to us in His son Jesus. </p><p>Today in Bible class, we talked about what John the Baptist said in the gospel of John: He must increase and I must decrease. This has long been a favorite passage of mine. As this Advent season begins, this is my prayer. That all my worldly problems, even though they will remain present, fall away as I put Christ first. Less me, more Christ. Less worry, more worship and witness. Less inward gazing and more pointing to the newborn King.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsL_XhFbnqrHPys-oTk-x_ff4ZpYMXwBRMZfm9v7Y_9t253jyHELENVKqZ8AhKar5xGezev01hrAyKY6U5Yvh0ulrlSdBNeKphPuTYavpgEb1urr2JXR7NV62jtCzHebxBxI4gHdHOtw7xot7AiiKacc94Ue-dzz5XePKZ3Nv-xsR7kFqHoLlnRjFVUw/s640/john3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsL_XhFbnqrHPys-oTk-x_ff4ZpYMXwBRMZfm9v7Y_9t253jyHELENVKqZ8AhKar5xGezev01hrAyKY6U5Yvh0ulrlSdBNeKphPuTYavpgEb1urr2JXR7NV62jtCzHebxBxI4gHdHOtw7xot7AiiKacc94Ue-dzz5XePKZ3Nv-xsR7kFqHoLlnRjFVUw/s320/john3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-81124044538169855662022-11-10T09:54:00.002-05:002022-11-10T10:00:40.978-05:00On the Process of Naming A Dog<p>As I just blogged, we got a dog. The name he came with was fine, but didn't grab any of us, so in the week between our (surprising) decision to adopt him and his adoption day, we had to come up with a new name for him. Our family group chat with the seven of us LIT UP with name options being tossed out day and night. Everyone was passionate about the names they loved and the names they hated. As I often find our family group chat, it was hilarious. </p><p>Since our Shadow was a black dog and had a name connected with his color, I thought we should do the same for this dog. I tossed out Pepper, Coffee, Stormy and the like. They were all quickly vetoed. Among some of the names that were suggested are these:</p><p><br /></p><p>Maverick<br />Rooster<br />Moose<br />Bear<br />Asher<br />Chewbacca (Chewy)<br />Kronk<br />Snuffleupagus (Snuffy)<br />Augie<br />Zeke<br />Dwight<br />Ron Swanson<br />Duke<br /><br /></p><p>This is an<i> incredibly small </i>representation of the names suggested in our group text. Some I can't share here, some were just ridiculous, and some were good but never took off with enough people. If I had agreed to Kronk (from the Disney movie character), that's what his name would be. At some point, one of the texts said it was a done deal because "we have a child majority and dad". Apparently they thought mom was a lame duck in the veto department, but they quickly learned that since mom would be doing the majority of the work, mom would not be sounding like an idiot calling a crazy name out the back door. About mid week, one of the kids created a google poll to put an end to it all, but it proved inconclusive. Later in the week, we tossed out two names in the category of "Names we wanted to use for our children but didn't - and added Augie (Augustine), and Zeke (Ezekiel). </p><p>And then. . .my husband happened to poll the second graders at our school, and one of the names they tossed out was Duke. When he shared the names in the group chat, he also shared that Duke was his dad's childhood dog's name. And the rest is history. We all thought Duke was a regal name, and we all very much loved the Papa connection. <br /></p><p>And so we named him Duke. And while he doesn't exactly have regal behavior yet, we think he'll get there. And we'll always love that our crazy dog name discussion ended with loving thoughts about Papa. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDYb87MFmW7ak8HFvbNs5oOa11rqdTas3iMMVuChu8p0eDj_MWPPyD6O6wjk8RvQ6FdQ1thDAdsE7wgONI6RW_hOwpuOMsaDt8qK-JDmWDw2qRjhqACijfnd8TaMxmkzyIS8ZY2gCVS7jqeq6deFZ2Iz05NhLO_GbRnL8xRVP1gsHNHcs7bjmGA2GEg/s640/Duke2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDYb87MFmW7ak8HFvbNs5oOa11rqdTas3iMMVuChu8p0eDj_MWPPyD6O6wjk8RvQ6FdQ1thDAdsE7wgONI6RW_hOwpuOMsaDt8qK-JDmWDw2qRjhqACijfnd8TaMxmkzyIS8ZY2gCVS7jqeq6deFZ2Iz05NhLO_GbRnL8xRVP1gsHNHcs7bjmGA2GEg/s320/Duke2.jpg" width="159" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-51929050373803133992022-11-10T09:12:00.000-05:002022-11-10T09:12:04.259-05:00DUKE!<div>I haven't blogged in ages, which is due in part to big kids who don't want me to share the hilarious things they (still) say and do. The other part, of late, is because we temporarily lost our minds and listened to our children. We gave them what they asked for, and now we are unable to do anything else, including, but not limited to: showering, sitting on the couch, using the bathroom, unloading the dishwasher, going upstairs, having people over in a peaceful manner, and generally living a calm lifestyle.</div><div><br /></div><div>You guessed it! We got a dog! Even worse - a puppy! Ever since we lost our very best bad boy, Shadow, the kids have been begging for a new dog. Our youngest daughter, who is shockingly 13 years old, was the most tenacious. She checked petfinder day and night for new listings that met good ol' mom's rigorous criteria (no shedding, no puppy, housebroken, well-behaved, cute and fluffy, and not too expensive). She showed me countless listings over the course of a few months, and either we inquired and never heard back, or I rejected her choices (re: my Very Important List). </div><div><br /></div><div>Until she showed me a listing for a black, fluffly schnoodle. First red flag: PUPPY. He was a 7 month old puppy, but housebroken. The biggest reason we didn't want a puppy was because we don't have the time to train one. But since this one was housebroken, I thought maybe he might be ok. I emailed the shelter for more information and the next morning (Saturday), I had a reply that we could have a meet and greet that day! It suddenly felt more real. . . and on the way over to the shelter, I prepped my daughter. "He is going to be adorable. We cannot make this decision based on his cuteness. If he's crazy or badly behaved, he won't be for us. You must be mature about this." </div><div><br /></div><div>Our first meeting with Duke was like this: A tall, 35 pound blur of black fur zoomed into the meet and greet room, peeing all the way. Red flags two and three: WILD AND NOT HOUSEBROKEN?? We headed outside with the worker (who was great) so that he could pee out there (all told, he peed 3-4 times during our meet and greet). And while we talked to her, he ran around the small area like a maniac, jumping up on us and the table and zooming in and out of our legs. The whole visit lasted a half hour and he never got still even once.</div><div><br /></div><div>To everyone's complete shock (including several of the children), we got the dog a week later. And it's been. . .hard. And fun, and rewarding, but also challenging. He is the cutest boy, and sometimes sweet and cuddly. But has has been very prone to nipping and barking and chewing anything and everything (he might be part goat). He is a puppy, so almost all of these things can be chalked up to his age, which we know. I am taking him to training classes, and we are all working with him. He's a smart boy, so I am thinking we'll probably all make it through the puppy stage alive. Hopefully.</div><div><br /></div><div>So. Here it is for posterity, in the annals of our family history. We got a dog. A puppy. And after a month and a half, we are still standing, albeit in a slightly more guarded manner. He's cute, he's sometimes sweet and we can see glimmers of the calm boy he'll be in a year or so (a YEAR. sigh.). </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoGdJ3u1DpZ2L9Yz0Y1WB13VrcOjQe4xCuhXUzmo95GB4hOskr_NmuUbsAyVuKNknadWE1Qj6NCriljTDASBXrVIV6HOV5LgIcTgQDv5UI8UQQT_Ct7IPSKlYSZ_MGf7HeNavQpn1D3YqL_Eaps3J0qpys5fIzmkW1TLd4FJMIjHhaNAtkI-egGW2-w/s640/duke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoGdJ3u1DpZ2L9Yz0Y1WB13VrcOjQe4xCuhXUzmo95GB4hOskr_NmuUbsAyVuKNknadWE1Qj6NCriljTDASBXrVIV6HOV5LgIcTgQDv5UI8UQQT_Ct7IPSKlYSZ_MGf7HeNavQpn1D3YqL_Eaps3J0qpys5fIzmkW1TLd4FJMIjHhaNAtkI-egGW2-w/s320/duke.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">A few notes about this picture. See the spot on the piping just behind Duke's head? Yep - that's where he chewed the couch and pulled some of it apart. Also, the pillow he is resting his cute head on (as well as almost every other throw pillow we possess) has chewed corners. </div>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-6323257271502256422022-08-07T20:27:00.001-04:002022-08-08T08:04:08.717-04:00Vacation By the Numbers Part 3<p>Earlier this week we returned home from a fabulous family vacation in Colorado. It was full of beauty and laughter and hiking and driving and complaining (gotta keep it real, ya know!) and camping and family togetherness. As usual, I loved the time together -- no matter where we travel, the best part of vacation for me is that we're all together. Here's a little numerical sum up of our time out west:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>LCMS conventions we randomly happened upon: 1 While traveling through Missouri, we got to our hotel to find a looooong line of people. . .who were all LCMS, there for a district convention! It's a small synod after all!<br /></li><li>Miles hiked: 35 Not all of us hiked all 35 miles, but my husband definitely did. I hiked a decent amount of them, some of which had sneaky misleading info at the trailhead (sometimes 1.4 miles means 1.4 miles <i>straight up a hill (mountain)).</i> </li><li>Hilarious history lessons: 1 While driving and driving one day, one of the younger kids asked my two eldest kids a question about history. Somehow those answers evolved into super funny accents and quippy history lessons. I recorded lots of audio from the front seat for posterity. I was laughing so hard while also thinking, "Sheesh! These two<i> really</i> know their history!!" </li><li>Miles driven: 3741 As usual, they were all driven by my husband, and some were a little nerve-wracking on the descents through the Rockies. I gave him emotional support by keeping the kids quiet and looking terrified.</li><li>License plates seen: 47! I think this might be a record for us. We were shocked to find Hawaii near the end of the trip. The only three missing were Vermont, Delaware and Rhode Island (which my daughter saw two days after we got home! But I am a purist and said it didn't count). We also saw 2 Canadian provinces and 1 Mexican state.</li><li>Number of states passed through: 7 (thought Kansas felt like several states pretending to be one)</li><li>National Parks: 2 Black Canyon and Rocky Mountain National, plus one National Forest</li><li>Number of degrees dropped while driving in a several hour period through Kansas: 44 The temp was as high as 110 degrees, and within a few hours had dropped to 66!</li><li>Friends visited: 4 On the way out west, we stayed with two dear families and on the way home we stayed with another family, all friends from college/seminary. While we were in Colorado, we randomly were able to meet up with my college roommate and family who also happened to be vacationing out there and were driving right by our campground that day! We are so thankful for such great friends and the opportunities to nurture those friendships all these years later. And for the amazing hospitality we were shown!</li><li>Birthdays celebrated: 1 Our fourth child turned 16 while we were in CO and several members of our family celebrated with him by renting an ATV and riding all day in the beautiful (but rainy!) mountains. They were so muddy at the end of the trip, but they had a great time!</li><li>Wildlife spotted: 4.1 We didn't see as much wildlife this trip, but we did see lots of marmots, deer and elk, and also were able to see a moose and her little one in a lake at dusk. I added the "0.1" because we did have a hysterical bear sighting (no actual bears were sighted, but the desire was there).</li><li>Theme songs: 1 + Every year on our adventures, a theme song chooses us. This year the song that won was Divine Romance by Phil Wickham - we all loved singing together about Christ's love for us and our response to that love! And as a "second" theme song, I submit all of our family favorite Christian artists. We listened to Matt Redman, Matt Maher, David Crowder and a few others more times than I can count. Almost everyone in our family loves to sing, and hearing everyone belt out (sometimes with more than one harmony, even!) songs of praise to our Savior fills up my heart.</li><li>Nights in our 21 year old pop-up: 11 The old camper is still holding on, though she is starting to show her age. We also took a tent for the first time this year, and two of the boys stayed in there most of the time.</li><li>Stints in the big house: too many The suburban has three (very uncomfortable) seats in the back. We made them a bit better on this trip by adding chair pads, but still no one ever wanted to sit back there. My oldest daughter made a schedule to switch everyone out to keep it fair, which helped a lot. But still, the back row was about as desirable as jail time (and I know - I took a few turns now and then too!).</li><li>Games of Sorry Revenge played by Dad and our youngest: 11 Every night in the camper, before bed, my husband and our 13 year old played a round of Sorry Revenge. On the last night, our daughter won the tournament against my very competitive husband.</li></ul><div>For Father's Day, we got my husband several camping related items, one of which is the sign below. We affixed it to the side of the camper each time we stopped, and it always made me smile. The pop-up is <i>really</i> crowded (even with two boys sleeping in the tent), but I'll take it every time over an empty castle.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTznjDNwJ2t-YAU__hMoqXVjc3OymKT8D71X31TR9gcfNAC_MdRYqujYZqQq-q4xPpHI3TStYlwP3cxwEFYvQXsJtPYr4XYZ_dn9WEVhl0HuLk2nPnzS5E6g7D_IEJnBkfjuFSere5QyboQDMM-csHIj46G-AqcWw9pHCvuyoLvx6QbFUdVB93XwK-Kg/s640/crowdedcamper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTznjDNwJ2t-YAU__hMoqXVjc3OymKT8D71X31TR9gcfNAC_MdRYqujYZqQq-q4xPpHI3TStYlwP3cxwEFYvQXsJtPYr4XYZ_dn9WEVhl0HuLk2nPnzS5E6g7D_IEJnBkfjuFSere5QyboQDMM-csHIj46G-AqcWw9pHCvuyoLvx6QbFUdVB93XwK-Kg/s320/crowdedcamper.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-60663301189110269372022-06-21T22:15:00.001-04:002022-06-21T22:15:32.475-04:00Knock, Knock<p>Many years ago, when my oldest daughter was young, a tradition somehow began. Our master bathroom shares the wall in her bedroom that her bed is next to. She was always a bit of a night owl, and sometimes when I was getting ready for bed (since I am <i>not</i> a night owl), we would both be making noise on opposite sides of the wall. </p><p>I don't remember the specifics, but we started knocking on the wall. One of us would start - k<i>nock, knock, knock </i>- which meant<i> I love you. </i>Then the other would knock back with four knocks, which meant <i>I love you too.</i> Then we would each knock twice in succession, which meant <i>Good night</i>. Every time I had this exchange with my daughter, my heart was happy. I would be brushing my teeth, smiling and loving my girl.</p><p>When my youngest girl was older and her older sister was away at college, my husband and I started the same tradition with her. And just like I felt with her older sister, those bedtime knocks (because she is also a night owl and I'm still decidedly <i>not</i>!) brought me such joy. </p><p>For a couple of months this summer, my oldest daughter is home before she starts her teaching job. The girls have a loft in their bedroom, so both beds share our bathroom wall. The other night I was getting ready for bed and wasn't sure if the girls were still awake. I knocked on the wall three times, wondering if one of them was still up and would answer. Almost immediately I heard three knocks from the top bunk and three knocks from the bottom and my heart was seriously so happy. I responded with my good night knocks and then zoomed into their room to give them hugs. </p><p>It's the little things in life, and both my girls knocking on the wall to tell me they love me is actually a really big thing. :) </p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-23986568228657008572022-04-29T22:33:00.001-04:002022-04-29T22:33:19.742-04:00Glory!<p>In late January of 1995, I went on my first date with my husband. The next day, he asked me if I'd like to meet his parents, who were visiting him that day from his home town. Of course I said yes -- I really liked this guy and thought he might be "the one". Spoiler alert -- he was! :). So on that day in 1995, I drove to meet them, blasting ABBA on the drive, and feeling nervous. Later that night, I wrote in my journal (back then in college I called it my diary, but let's not quibble over semantics). And I wrote something along the lines that his parents were really nice, his mom talked to me quite a bit, but his dad was pretty quiet.</p><p>I don't know if I knew then, but I think maybe I did. I think I knew that I would marry this man, and these wonderful people would become my in-laws, but truly, they would become another set of parents, no "in-law" necessary. And for the last 27 they have been just that -- parents, loved ones, confidantes, mentors, advice-givers and just downright amazing, wonderful people.</p><p>A little over a month ago, my father-in-law went home to Jesus. And over the last month, I have thought of him so much (and dreamed of him so many times). I've pondered who he was and how much he was loved by so very many people. And as I said to my sister-in-law, who also married into this dear family, "We won the jackpot." We could never, in our wildest dreams, imagined an in-law family better than the one God called us into. My husband's mom and dad welcomed us both from the very start, and we always, always felt that we were part of the family, again no "in-law" needed.</p><p>So I've been thinking so much of my dear father-in-law, and who he was. Here are just a few brief thoughts about this man I was privileged to call my family:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>He was funny! He had a quiet sort of humor and would drop a one-liner now and then that always made me smile.</li><li>He was a man of integrity. In business, in raising his boys, in his faith. . . he always conducted himself in a way that was above reproach. I am grateful for the way that he raised my husband - not always with a lot of flowery speech, but by quiet example.</li><li>He was smart! In so many ways I valued his opinion and appreciated his advice. He knew a lot about a lot of things and was always a trusted advisor.</li><li>He was generous. Oh, so generous. Of time, of resources and with love. More than once, he pressed a $100 bill in my hand unexpectedly and told me to "just spend it on you". He sent my husband and I to LA to fulfill my life's dream (don't judge me, friends) and see The Price is Right before Bob Barker retired. He never tired of sharing and giving - to family, friends, his church and strangers.</li><li>He was quiet! As was mentioned in his funeral sermon, he was a man of few words. Therefore, when he spoke, you listened. He was wise and funny as I said earlier, and though he reserved his words (there are plenty of us around who filled up the word quota at family gatherings), when he did say something, it was usually worth paying close attention to.</li><li>He loved. He loved his family fiercely, he loved his friends, he loved his church, and ultimately, he loved his Lord. And those of us on the receiving end of his love were so much better for it.</li></ul><div>And so now he is no longer here on earth, and there have been a lot of tears. But I can honestly say, more than I ever thought possible, the vast majority of my tears are out of pure joy. Pure joy for the full life he lived, and most importantly, for the glory that is his now with his Savior. While we still struggle here on earth, he is dancing and singing in heaven (and probably in tune this time!). </div><div><br /></div><div>He is <i>with Jesus</i>. And while we miss him here, nothing makes me happier for him. Our tears are tears of euphoria for Curt. Glory is his!</div><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-46536228993889648192022-03-08T16:30:00.000-05:002022-03-08T16:30:09.980-05:00The Week-ish in Pictures<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVJxEZZEAFMVQA2BrvgoqcW_N7eeKd4BmlbB2BrL1KFDeqkDI_f7LcVg8DX40YNPpIWrX-pqOH4FEgMHVPS20IXOMY2UgpIwJRUrSElPLV0DopH1KDJJ-OgR4jnBJpYm6KMNY45B9jAOAcAeNCXQRqQokDhURZVlf6O2B8wjlgHUBftmkHgbzNhyIfvw=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVJxEZZEAFMVQA2BrvgoqcW_N7eeKd4BmlbB2BrL1KFDeqkDI_f7LcVg8DX40YNPpIWrX-pqOH4FEgMHVPS20IXOMY2UgpIwJRUrSElPLV0DopH1KDJJ-OgR4jnBJpYm6KMNY45B9jAOAcAeNCXQRqQokDhURZVlf6O2B8wjlgHUBftmkHgbzNhyIfvw=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2021/10/four-things-im-loving-right-now.html"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2021/10/four-things-im-loving-right-now.html">My TTTT (two tier tower of tchotchke</a>) has taken on the Lenten season in its decor. Someone gave me the idea to do this last year and I really enjoy having it as a visual during the lenten season. Simple, yet full of reminders of the solemnity of this season.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZ4obaTL-11ZcOY9uL8xZl9Q8dR-zDlf-NLg8XW-G_hzKggRFSQUovyIdtw1XmacMQCWV1gTrDykFjyJ0o5EzIENQ9I9ZyPPulA6BIh1FfghAUWO-_Wp17kxqnwiWu8FRwN-WCAHiXlLYl3l-pS25PcAXMOlOm5jnSiBM2hkNubFLwafa7kdOIfH5M-g=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZ4obaTL-11ZcOY9uL8xZl9Q8dR-zDlf-NLg8XW-G_hzKggRFSQUovyIdtw1XmacMQCWV1gTrDykFjyJ0o5EzIENQ9I9ZyPPulA6BIh1FfghAUWO-_Wp17kxqnwiWu8FRwN-WCAHiXlLYl3l-pS25PcAXMOlOm5jnSiBM2hkNubFLwafa7kdOIfH5M-g=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the inside of the garage door at my parents' house. The bottom starts with my parents' birth years represented on the license plates and then works upward with my sister's and mine and our husbands', then our kids' years. My dad is pretty creative - a license plate family tree!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij0ulzTgaWP_seO0jYmWrYN06M69tDoT-I0Zhp8y2uLEh1mbMEZmfitk_zbyYZ9zPrEaQ2A0WLjarBEPKR33CSVniocnKW04JcbO1h4nt7sUibzia66ly7tDNq_O4t1dd4DJk7AB_JmiuPlX5Hs3heVwDdsF2eh4syRAefvc7oOwvrwzw87HD-ynUB2g=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij0ulzTgaWP_seO0jYmWrYN06M69tDoT-I0Zhp8y2uLEh1mbMEZmfitk_zbyYZ9zPrEaQ2A0WLjarBEPKR33CSVniocnKW04JcbO1h4nt7sUibzia66ly7tDNq_O4t1dd4DJk7AB_JmiuPlX5Hs3heVwDdsF2eh4syRAefvc7oOwvrwzw87HD-ynUB2g=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">This, dear children, is called an adding machine. It is far superior to a calculator. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">This relic gets resurrected twice a year when we work on taxes and our housing allowance. </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;">I have always been a whiz on a 10-key (if I do say so myself), and twice a year I practice my skills while adding up scads of numbers. One of my kids wandered by while I was in stern concentration and said "Wow - you're a machine on that thing!" What a marketable skill I possess. :)</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_KO3g2rYdbR0Hae9i4fb-XXUvcehw35E_V4wWKdA03wKE9n-qV2vIqG2ybt0CvY-BZwGWyR4hkSrTffmCtbt_EAstQMqNq0DbuNkoSlPNmlzF9HJUFuFTcjKXBPAkIw8Av5S9LOK9gZnCdIqf5wL_YQptPRoW0jj7oT0pqArfFqQDEPfp0tJTL0hkpQ=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_KO3g2rYdbR0Hae9i4fb-XXUvcehw35E_V4wWKdA03wKE9n-qV2vIqG2ybt0CvY-BZwGWyR4hkSrTffmCtbt_EAstQMqNq0DbuNkoSlPNmlzF9HJUFuFTcjKXBPAkIw8Av5S9LOK9gZnCdIqf5wL_YQptPRoW0jj7oT0pqArfFqQDEPfp0tJTL0hkpQ=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This song came on Sirius the other day and I snapped a pic to share with my parents and sister. Oh how we used to love this song! I had the sheet music when I was young and we'd often hum it around the house. So lilting and pleasant - hearing it brought a smile to my face and fond memories of my childhood.</div><br /><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-58648372995899858522022-02-22T17:24:00.001-05:002022-02-22T17:26:41.892-05:00Shadow Tales - Last Edition<p> I've been blogging now for 15 years, sometimes for my sake (gotta get the words out!), other times to share a thought about faith or parenting, and most of the time to preserve our family history. The landscape of my blogging habits have changed as the years have passed -- I no longer can write about all the funny things my kids say (they still say them, but now they'd rather not share them with the whole universe). I don't know what the future of this little corner will be, but I may now and then still share my thoughts and heart here, as I will do today, about our little pupper, Shadow.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwl2IoFbo8Okij3TS8Om24inNcCQ8iskH241RP-tjXeaxK2k5LP5Bsy0wisQ56CwFnwSro30KVWD2I0uHFraZMc61grZIQdkDeI4eDnPGJEvTUpXCpqfAigKHvvnSIddxDuVMtCbdlu8Sz4Fglv-9OpHtYHslBDBVomx2vw1SH-dVdJAiT_j3ixZLUmQ=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="640" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwl2IoFbo8Okij3TS8Om24inNcCQ8iskH241RP-tjXeaxK2k5LP5Bsy0wisQ56CwFnwSro30KVWD2I0uHFraZMc61grZIQdkDeI4eDnPGJEvTUpXCpqfAigKHvvnSIddxDuVMtCbdlu8Sz4Fglv-9OpHtYHslBDBVomx2vw1SH-dVdJAiT_j3ixZLUmQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I've blogged about Shadow <a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2015/01/dog-daze.html">here</a> and <a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2016/01/shadow-tales.html">here</a> and <a href="https://mammamilk.blogspot.com/2018/03/shadow-tales.html">here</a> and scores of other times. But this post isn't quite as silly or tongue-in-cheek about our furry family member. A little over a week ago, quite unexpectedly, we had to put Shadow down. While we are very thankful he is no longer in pain, we are missing him quite a bit around here. Our house just isn't quite the same. A few things we're missing about our pupper doggo:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Our dishwasher pre-wash cycle. Shadow very kindly and thoughtfully pre-washed all of our dishes as I loaded them into the dishwasher. Now that he's gone, we have to hope the dishwasher can handle the food remains on its own.</li><li>And in the dishwasher category, every time I put the dishwasher detergent in, I opened the under-sink cabinet. This cabinet was SHADOW'S cabinet. No matter where he was in the house, I swear he had a sixth sense about it and would make a beeline to me to receive his due for someone opening the cabinet -- a treat. He basically got a treat <i>every time</i> I opened that cabinet. </li><li>Sharky Shadow! Shadow had a very bad habit of counter-surfing (see below for things we <i>aren't</i> missing in his absence), and when we would eat dinner at the dining room table, Shadow would lurk about, his nose sniffing the air next to the table, hoping to pounce on whatever was on someone's plate. From across the table, only his black snout could be seen, bobbing up and down like a shark's fin. While it was a naughty habit, it always made us laugh.</li><li>Kangaroo Shadow! Whenever we would come home, Shadow was <i>EUPHORIC</i> at our arrival. He was wild with delight and bounced up and down, jumping quite high, causing us to nick name him kangaroo boy. Sometimes he would try so hard to be good and sit for a minute, but after a sec, the excitement would get the better of him and he would be jumping up and down again until you put all your stuff down and petted and loved him. Now when we come home, its quiet and no one seems interested in jumping up and down at my arrival.</li><li>Playing bally! Shadow looooooved his tennis balls and we have roughly 75 rolling around our house. He would lovingly lick the furry thing as if it were precious, and if you threw the ball he'd run to get it, sliding all over the hardwoods. He never seemed to learn how to play fetch though -- he was notorious for bringing it almost back to you, but not quite. He liked to play hard to get and made you work at it to get it back. My husband was his primary playmate. The other thing about his tennis balls is that no matter how many balls were near him, if one was under the couch (or a bed or a dresser), that was the ONLY ball for him. He would bark and bark until someone finally retrieved it for him. Then he'd happily lick it for about five seconds and then lay down next to it.</li><li>Allllll the love. I have often said that no one loved me like that dog loved me. I seemed to be his person (though he loved everyone), and if I was gone, he'd sit at the dining room window waiting for me to return, or look out my bedroom window and whimper. He followed me around literally always -- and I always knew he was up to no good (chewing a sock or toy or pen) if he wasn't under my feet. Since he passed, I look for him countless times a day - he was never far from me for long.</li></ul><div>He was such a good boy, aside from his naughty behaviors, which we seemed to just take in stride as part of who he was. As I referenced above, we aren't missing his counter-surfing tendencies, and we've all commented on how we are now living it up by placing our plates and food on the edge of the counter. My daughter has left a few fidget toys on the floor too -- something that would never have been ok when Shadow was policing the territory. </div><div><br /></div><div>He was a big part of our family for the seven years he was with us. We are thankful for all the joy he brought us during that time. He was the best boy.</div><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2042993914486801770.post-13361571502918632782021-12-30T14:26:00.000-05:002021-12-30T14:26:01.101-05:00Gifts<p>As the year winds down and comes to a close tomorrow, I've been pondering 2021, as most people probably are doing. Christmas and the end of 2021 didn't look exactly as we had planned, a truth that many families are experiencing in varying ways. Every day this week, I've taken an <strike>early</strike> morning walk (it IS Christmas break, after all!), and on the walk, I've focused my prayers on all the good we've been given. With each footstep, I reminded myself out loud this truth: Gift. Gift. Gift. We have been given gift upon gift upon gift. As I walk each day and pray, I've listed some of God's immeasurable gifts to us:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>family. Though our holiday looked a little different than we planned, we are still rich in the love of family</li><li>technology! Facetime, texting, sending pictures digitally. . .so many ways to stay connected</li><li>laughter. Even amidst some changed plans, so much laughter</li><li>home and all our needs taken care of</li><li>a beautiful and gracious church family! We are surrounded by love through our church family</li><li>new traditions and memories. Our daughter's fiancee joined us for Christmas this year and it was wonderful to have him here for our celebrations</li><li>good health. What a gift we have been given in our bodies.</li><li>our newborn Savior. Amidst changed plans and minor disappointments I have made many efforts to keep my eyes focused on Jesus and the abundance of gifts He's given to us -- most importantly, the gift of Himself. Everything pales in comparison to His overwhelming love for us. </li></ul><div>Gift upon gift upon gift. </div><p></p>mammamilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03988694337145379370noreply@blogger.com0