Go USA!

Oh my goodness, did y'all see the men's 400m relay last night? The one where the French, who bragged that they came to the Olympics to "smash the Americans", got crushed in a .08-second victory by THOSE VERY SAME AMERICANS???? Who were NOT favored to win? It was one of those Olympics moments you remember for years to come. We were watching it at the home of our friends the Meades, who also have three children being kept up way past bedtime, as we all snuggled under afghans on their enormous leather couch, fixated on the enormous TV. But for this race, let's just say the afghans came off! We were all screaming and hollering, and then laughing our heads off at the shot of Michael Phelps cheering and his teammate basically coming from behind and elbowing him out of the way for his moment in the spotlight!*

Les pauvres Francais. C'est dommage. Perhaps next time, not so much smack-talking. :-) (As the Americans learned the hard way from the Australians in Sydney, as I recall -- remember the air guitars?)javascript:void(0)

We were happy to add some medals to our USA Tally chart this morning!

But I must say, what's up with the totally family-inappropriate commercials during the early hours of the Olympics? There's no excuse for these violent clips from that new Christian Slater show (My Own Worst Enemy, I think it's called), for example, during the 7:00-9:00 time slot. We call out "eye pollution!" and our kids know to close their eyes, LOL! An angry letter to NBC is taking shape in my mind. Then again, just blogging about it makes me feel better ...

Time to go watch Michael Phelps again. And those other people who swim. There *are* other people who swim ... aren't there?

* If you missed it, my friend Acacia, who's over here watching tonight, reports that she found it on Youtube. But of course.

And I worry about her self-confidence

We're watching men's gymnastics -- the rings, to be precise -- and Eliza says to me:

"Mom, if I were doing the gymnastics things that they're doing, I would be GWEAT at it."

I'm thinkin' maybe she missed the insanely bulging biceps and triceps, but far be it from me to throw cold water on her, so I nod, smile, and mumble something affirming.

"And then I would go right to bed the first time you asked me to!"

OK, where do I sign her up?

More literary gems

I'm writing this during commercial breaks for the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I admit to being a mildly rabid Olympics fan, and I'm attempting something of a unit study with the kids on this subject. Tonight Ian and I painted Olympic flags while we watched the parade of nations. It was nice, especially because the rest of our day just wasn't that harmonious. Sigh.

Just wanted to share a couple other recommendations. I'm currently reading this great book called Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation. Most of us know what a great gal Abigail Adams was, but we know hardly anything about, say, the prodigious mind and talents of one Eliza Lucas Pinckney, a matriarch from SC who makes me proud to have a daughter (also from SC!) named Eliza. (Let's just say that age 16, her father went off to Antigua and left her to manage his THREE plantations ... she later almost singlehandedly introduced the indigo crop and convinced Great Britain to snap up unheard-of amounts of it.) I'm not very far into the book, but I love Cokie Roberts' writing style, and I love learning about these unsung heroines (Benjamin Franklin's wife; Aaron Burr's mother, etc.) who helped found our nation. It's one of the things I love about studying history -- learning the little-known stories of the amazing-yet-ordinary people who lived and worked behind the scenes.

And speaking of such people, the current soundtrack in our van is the audiobook version of Little House On The Prairie Low Price CD. The narrator, Cherry Jones of the velvet voice, is excellent, and not only are all the kids captivated (Caroline shrieks with delight when Pa says things to Ma like, "Come and see the roof, Caroline!"), but I have actually taken the wrong exit from the highway and made us ten minutes late to swimming lessons, which reminds me why I read the Little House series seven times through as a young bookworm. I'd better be careful or we'll end up in Dallas one of these days.

Believing without seeing

I'm deep into a couple of real gems right now, and I have to pass along a recommendation for at least one of them. While we were in San Antonio, I read a marvelous book called In the Presence of My Enemies It's a memoir written by Gracia Burnham, who, along with her husband, was held captive in the Philippine jungle by Muslim extremists for an entire year. They were missionaries who were taking one night away in a hotel for their anniversary, leaving their three children in the care of friends, when the resort was raided. Their tale works both as a suspenseful adventure story, replete with sometimes-gritty details of how they survived in harsh circumstances, and as refreshingly honest recounting of the spiritual journey she underwent through suffering. The final outcome isn't a secret, so I guess I won't be spoiling it for anyone if I tell you that her husband was eventually killed in the rescue operation that saved her. But the book is such a tribute to him and to what they went through together. Highly recommended!

You know, the whole question of why God allows His people to suffer is a popular and absorbing one. Reading this incredibly moving post several days ago has me thinking all the more. Just today I had a couple experiences that brought the issue to mind again. At the water park this morning, I was having a ball splashing around with my two girls and just feeling so blessed to have them and be with them, sharing that moment. Then I quickly realized that while I may FEEL blessed (and I am), what about the moments that aren't so picturesque? What about an hour earlier when I didn't have much help packing up the car, or an hour later when one of the kids started complaining of being hungry but didn't like what I'd packed? Still blessed? Still thankful?

Well, if God is just as Santa Claus kinda guy who passes out the presents and whooshes away, then no. But if blessing is more than an emotion, is in fact an unchangeable Person, then yes. I AM blessed in those Other Moments, because they remind me, almost force me, to turn to Him as the source of joy, rather than relying on the temporary bliss of my outward circumstances. And while my feelings may change like the Boston weather, the facts of who HE is, and who He is for and to us, remain unchanged. A conversation with a friend this afternoon who's struggling with God's mysterious timing in her life reminded me yet again. Some of her friends around her seem "blessed" with the very gift she's longing for herself. And yet God, in His infinite love toward her, says, "Not yet." A different kind of blessing, as it causes her to grow deeper into Him.

Dear friend, since I know you're reading this, I want you to know that after we hung up a verse came to my mind: "Whom having not seen, we love, in Whom, though not seeing at present, yet believing, we exult with joy that is unspeakable and full of glory." The Burnhams, stuck in the jungle and feeling abandoned as their fellow hostages were ransomed, learned the truth of this the hard way. We all have burdens, some more dramatic and pressing than others. But when we can't see Him -- yet -- can we still believe? Still love? Even exult?

Joy that is unspeakable and FULL of glory sounds pretty good to me.

Back from vaycay

You know, one of the rewards you get for taking a wiggly, antsy, tell-it-like-I-see-it 8-year-old boy to his friend's play (Singin' in the Rain) is that you get to be privy to snippets like this.
On stage: hero and heroine kiss, locked in embrace
Ian, in stage whisper: Ewwwww. Gross.
Boy next to him, who's already seen the show, in louder stage whisper: Don't worry. It's a FAKE kiss.

So, we've been vacating, pretty hardcore. As in, we've been on a very short vacation with Tim's family to their timeshare resort in San Antonio, a 2-hour hop down the road from here. This time, along the way we stopped at Cabela's in Buda. Do y'all know about this? I'm thinking so, since even my mother has heard of Cabela's, and let's just say that, her many virtues notwithstanding, she's not exactly a pop culture maven (nor is there a Cabela's anywhere near the town of Wilton, CT, where she grew up). Anyway, in case you don't know, I would describe Cabela's as a place where Davy Crockett and Charlton Heston would meet for a wild boar sandwich and a beer. Think REI, but on testosterone. We don't just become one with nature, we bring home the carcass in the back of our pickup truck. Think industrial-size meat grinders for sale.

But all in all, it's a cool place with plenty of eye candy for anyone with even the slightest appreciation for taxidermy. Or anyone with kids. Check out this giant manmade mountain, resplendent with stuffed wildlife and the only autumn-colored maple leaves you'll see within 100 miles of Austin.



There was a real trout pond, too, and a walk-through aquarium, and a shooting gallery, and a cafe where my son literally ate a wild boar sandwich. Won't try an apple, of course, but wild boar? Bring it on.


So then, we were in San Antonio at the resort, where we've all perfected the art of relaxation. It's called, do what the kids want to do. Which is basically, swim, ride the lazy river, build sand castles, hunt for golf balls after dinner, and play cards. What's not to love about that? They're all at age now where they're just fun to play with, including my 15-year-old niece and Tim's 17-year-old cousin, who plays a mean game of B.S. (That stands for Baloney Sandwich, Mom and Dad. ;-) Also known as I Doubt It. It's a card game.)

Okay, this borders on shameful gloating, but I have to tell you that because my in-laws basically rock, and think there's no more important job than parenting their grandchildren, it was arranged for my MIL, SIL, and self to spend an afternoon getting massages and lolling around the spa at the Hyatt Regency resort next door.
Oh.
My
Gosh.
It was HEAVEN. And guess what? When I was thanking my MIL as we floated on out of there, her comment was, "Well, you both work hard raising my grandchildren, and you certainly deserve it." Whoa dog! OK, you know how as a mom, you sort of LONG for those words to be spoken to you? You just get used to doing your thing, day after day, and knowing that no one's going to hand you an award for it? Last I checked, there was no Phi Beta Kappa of motherhood. There are times, actually, when I've wanted to squawk at the kiddos at a moment of particular lack in their appreciation toward me, "I used to be SMART, you know! People LIKED me! I graduated from college with HIGHEST HONORS and then had a boss who told me, often, that I was GOOD AT STUFF!" (But I don't really say that because, you know, I'm MUCH too mature for that.) I'm learning, though, bit by bit, to do what I do unto the Lord and let His smile be my reward. How sweet it is to be loved and accepted by One to whom achievements mean nothing. But once in a while, it's REALLY nice to have someone (besides my husband) notice. And it's REALLY REALLY nice when it's not Mother's Day and Hallmark isn't giving the big nudge.

Beauty and the Beast

Last night our friends Kyle and Caitlin, newlyweds without children of their own yet, gave us the gift of time. Time to go out on a date with our beautiful middle child while they stayed home with the too-young toddler and the disinclined boy. It's rare, occasions like these.

We drove through the 103-degree heat to Zilker Park, where we wormed our way through the crowd and spread out a blanket and picnic dinner... and a game of Go Fish. And then, the Treat with a capital T ... the traditional Austin summer musical: Beauty and the Beast!

This was the Broadway version of the Disney production, by the way, with local actors. And at the end, even though it was 11:00 and way past her bedtime, guess what we snagged?




The holy grail -- a picture with BELLE. (And look how the Princess -- ours -- dresses herself up for an outing with Mom and Dad!)

And look! Gaston, signing her program ...


We'll be paying the piper today, of course, as we drive to San Antonio for a couple days' vacation with relatives and our sensitive daughter endures the aftershocks of sleep deprivation. There will be tears, I guarantee it. I'll need to bask in the memories from last night. Hmmm. Better carry my camera in my pocket, loaded with the photographic proof. Or maybe just trust in the all-sufficient grace, garnished generously with patience.

Pool Daze ...

Here's a snapshot from our morning at the pool with friends that just neatly encapsulates my three children.

Ian: Lining up at diving board to plunge into 15-ft waters with his buddies. Rinse. Repeat. (But you have to know that until a week ago, he was dead set against trying the diving board. Then one evening he and I were out for a stroll and he mentioned casually that he was thinking of trying out the diving board next time we went to Northwest Pool. Ta-DA. That's how we roll.)

Eliza: Quietly, piece by piece, making an ant house in the shade out of all the four-inch-long sticks she can find.

Caroline: Staggering the 40 yards or so from the toddler pool to the diving area, carrying Ian's friend Christopher's two large inner tubes, because she overheard him complaining about some kid using his inner tube and us moms reassuring him that the tubes were safe at the toddler pool.

And I was fresh off of one of those little mom-victories, so celebrate with me. My friend Teresa and I had been sitting at the edge of the [very large] toddler pool, gabbing away since I hadn't seen her in two months. Three of our kids approached us and started splashing us, and I must tell you that I am most certainly NOT a fan of being splashed at the pool. If I get wet, I want it to be voluntary, thank you very much. I think we both had the words "Boys, DON'T splash us! Go play somewhere else!" lodged in our throats, ready to spew forth in VERY FIRM tones, when we suddenly started kicking our legs very very hard and splashing THEM instead. Need I even say that they loved it? Our ensuing conversation with punctuated, at five-minute increments, with looking up and seeing our combined seven children, ages two to ten, visibly plotting at the other side of the pool, then converging on us for a splash fest. We'd kick kick kick, feeling the burn in our quads and the water on our sunglasses, until one of them yelled "RETREAT!"


We're still cool, people. Haven't become superfluous yet. We may not be quite the universe to them that we were when they were two and we were flawless, but by all appearances, our public still finds us to be quite a catch.