De-Tangling "Tangled"

Since I was pretty much catatonic after our yard sale Saturday, the girls and I hit up Redbox and collapsed onto the couch to watch Tangled. It had come recommended by a few people (see Danica's review here.) Have you seen it?

Y'all, I liked it. We all did, in fact. "Mom, I can tell you liked this movie, because I see tears on your face," Eliza commented with typical matter-of-factness, while wiping away her own.

I cry at every movie I ever watch, pretty much. Blame my mother. My daughter will be saying the same thing any year now.

I was a little miffed about the whole blonde-hair-turning-brown-when-the-magic's-gone idea. It just seems so old school -- and not in a charming-antique-shop sort of way. But our swashbuckling hero, Flynn Rider, saved the day by admitting to a preference for brunettes.

Afterward, I asked the girls, "So, Rapunzel and Mother Gothel have this little ritual where they say:
'I love you.'
'I love you more.'
'I love you most.'
...  do you think Mother Gothel really loves her?"

"No," Eliza answered with certainty, "She only loves her hair."

It occurs to me that my girl gets what millions of adults still do not. How many people grow to middle age never knowing that they're loved unconditionally -- and never passing that kind of love along?

For how many people does that pain color their view of who God is?

My daughter has moments of tender affection, and moments of knowing just which buttons [of her sister's, usually] to push. She still speaks a bit more slowly than average, and stutters over some of her words. She has days where she'll pick up a book and fly through the pages, and days where I despair of the reading fever ever taking hold. Most days she looks decently fetching in a color-coordinated outfit. Then there are days of head-to-toe stripes.

I have hopes and dreams for her, as with all my children. Some of them may come true. Some she may toss by the wayside, if only to test me a bit: "Do you love ME -- or just something about me that works for you?"

Here's what I hope she'll always know:
No matter what ...
I see YOU
and
I love YOU.

The Weekend Report

Hello, friends. How was your weekend? Here's hoping it involved more relaxation than mine did, because this Saturday was the collision of a) The Professor and our boy being AWOL on a Boy Scout campout, and b) our yard sale. How's that for timing?

I did the yard sale with two more experienced friends: Melissa and Tsh. I spent bits of weeks and days decluttering, sorting, pricing, tagging, consulting helpful posts like this one.

The night before, Tsh and her husband and kids dropped by, and we fortified ourselves with this scrumptious pavlova, which you should all run to your kitchens and make this very minute. I'm just telling you this because I love you.

How did the sale go?

Well, it may or may not have coincided beautifully with a near neighbor's well-advertised yard sale (we both used Craigslist ads and ample neighborhood signage).

We may or may not have all been scrambling to get our stuff set up, sweating bullets and foregoing breakfast while our first customers milled about.

Another neighbor/friend, walking by at that hour, may or may not have been pressed into service.

I may or may not have sold all my maternity clothes to the perfect customer.

We may or may not have found frequent use for our rusty Spanish.

Tsh and I may or may not have made the exact same amount of money, and it may or may not have taken us at least six brain-fogged, food-and-water-deprived, attempts to calculate our earnings. How many writers does it take to divide up a pool of cash? 

That amount of money may or may not have approximated $140, which means we may or may not have earned minimum wage for our labors. (But compared to donating it all ...)

My brother-in-law, ever faithful, may or may not have carted a truckload off to Goodwill after the sale wound down.

I know! The whole thing is just so shrouded in mystery!

But here's one thing not shrouded in mystery, because I know someone's going to ask. How did we keep our collective three daughters and one dog safely occupied for five hours when they weren't, you know, rendering entrepreneurial service or indulging in cooperative, independent play? Answer: A babysitter, then a movie. Over and out.

At the Farmers' Market

"It's tempting to reach for melons, red peppers, tomatoes, and other late-summer delights before the summer even arrives. But it's actually possible to wait, celebrating each season when it comes, not fretting about it's being absent at all other times because something else good is at hand." 

- Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life

"And the earth brought forth grass, the herb that yields seed according to its kind, and the tree that yields fruit, whose seed is in itself according to its kind. And God saw that it was good." Genesis 1:12

On a day when I wanted to throw my apron over my head like Susanna Wesley for a few minutes' respite from ...

"Mom, where is my pencil?"

"Mom, how come my pencil isn't sharpening evenly?"

"Mom, where did I put my book?"

"Mom, did you see me stand on my head?"

"Mom, why did you say that one word more loudly than the others?"

...

This moment was good. 

Tuesday Travels: Making Museums Fun

Truthfully, one shouldn't have to MAKE a museum fun. A museum stands on its own merits, don't you think? A well-designed, thoughtfully-planned museum appeals to visitors of all ages and takes into accounts that in order to learn, people -- especially little people -- must not only see and hear, but also touch. And sometimes, taste and smell.

We've been to a fair number of museums in our wanderings, and I thought I'd toss out a few tips for getting some extra mileage out of a couple hours in these halls of higher learning. Feel free to chime in with your own!

1. Set expectations low. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, when our kids are old and gray, swaddled in their crocheted afghans, they'll reminisce about how their parents always told them they were going to visit the Antique Teapot Museum. Substitute Antique Thimble Museum, or Moldy Beef Jerky Museum if you wish. Won't the real thing ALWAYS be better?

2. Surf the web beforehand for images from the museum's collection. Whether it's works of art or special exhibits, you're bound to find a few eye-catching photos to print out and let them peruse before entering the museum. Then, have them see how many actual pieces they can find in the museum to match those images. Basically, folks, we're talking about a visual scavenger hunt. And which paintings, sculptures, or arthropodic wonders do you think they'll remember most?

3. Talk about museum manners before you go in. Is this place no-touch, low-touch, or hands-on? And for sure, one can avoid running or shouting in the halls. Furthermore,  what will be their budget, if any, in that sticky morass known as the Museum Gift Shop?

4. Leave early. Yes, you may want to see one more Monet, or watch one more historical newsreel, but 'tis a far, far better thing to quit at the first sign of ants in the pants, while the kids still think this museum pretty much rocks.

5. On the way home, play Three Truths and a Lie. See how much everyone remembers -- including yourself! Here's an example from last week's jaunt to one of our city's hidden gems, the George Washington Carver Museum. Anyone spot the lie?

• George Washington Carver came up with over three hundred uses for peanuts. 
• George Washington Carver never lived in Austin. 
• Juneteenth is the celebration of slaves in Texas receiving their freedom. 
• Juneteenth is observed on June 16th. 

Multitude Monday XVIII: Jellybeans

On a jaunt to the neighborhood grocery this morning, we decided to get our craft on and make a salt dough map of Russia. Let's call it our enriched geography curriculum. The kids were quite sure that we needed some colorful candies from the bulk bins to mark important Russian landmarks.

As is often the case, I could feel my crafty vision crumble around its edges, yielding reluctantly to the greater good of a child's enthusiasm for a project.

A store employee slithered up behind me. "What nice manners!" she cooed, beaming at my children. (Yes, I checked. There were no other children present in the entire store, so she had to be referring to mine.)

"Oh, th-thank you," I stammered, wondering whether she'd missed one of them squealing to the other just minutes before, "Let's go look for SAMPLES!"

 She grabbed a scoop, plunged it into the jellybean bin, and proceeded to dump three cupfuls into my hand and waltz off with a grin, leaving me to deal with three sets of grasping paws and jellybeans dripping onto the floor.

I was annoyed. Why do adults insist on giving my kids candy without asking me first? I'm talking strangers here. Even if she HAD asked, right out loud in front of the kids, she'd be setting me up to look like the Grinch, like Willy Wonka's dad in that goshawful Johnny Depp version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, if I said, "No, thank you. My kids do not need more candy and food dyes at this particular point in their existence."

But as we left the store, Caroline said gleefully, "Mom, that lady is the kindest store-person I have ever met. Isn't she just so kind?"

Okay, big picture, here. While my teeth are on edge about the presumption of a well-intentioned stranger, my daughter has learned that all it takes, sometimes, is a simple gesture to fill someone's cup brimful with joy.

Thanking Him for more simple things (more jellybeans, perhaps?) today ...



181. The way my youngest's cheeks smell vaguely of peaches when I kiss her first thing in the morning.

182. A friendly librarian who says, "Aw, happens to the best of us," while I glumly write out my fines check.

183. Roses in our yard with a whiff of fresh raspberries.

184. Green lights.

185. A real, live, actual JOB INTERVIEW scheduled for the Professor next week! After eighteen months of knocking on doors, a knob finally seems to be turning. And it's here in Austin. Prayers please?

186. A certain old, dear friend whom I see far too little these days, but to whom I can text the following: [Avert your eyes, male readers]
                          "Just attempted to go bra shopping. SO DEPRESSING. Nothing makes me want to go home and polish off an entire cheesecake like a futile trip through Victoria's Secret"
                    ... and immediately receive a totally empathetic response.  Team AA, we stick together.

187. Yard sale prep putting our clutter on a crash diet.

188. Cool mornings with the symphony of mourning doves.

189. All the awesome experiences our fellow worshippers share with us on Sunday mornings.

190. A boy begging for his sister to bunk with him. A sister cheerfully claiming the top bunk.

191. Listening to my kids describe their dream houses to each other.

192. Teenagers who inspire by coaching younger kids through the guts and glory of the AWANA Games.

193. The times when the dishes do get clean in the dishwasher.

194. Delicious dinner (recipe here) and pavlova for dessert with friends around our table.

195. Unexpected finds, so humble in the dustworn path.

Winner! Organized Simplicity

We have a winner! This was tough, because I seriously wanted to give a copy to every single one of you. Thank goodness for the Random Number Generator!

Jill Keuth, who calls herself "a clutter nightmare" --- you win! (And Jill? I mean this in the nicest possible way -- you're apparently in really good company. :-)) Email me at dillerh at gmail dot com to claim your prize. Happy Monday!

I'll be back later today with Monday's gratitude post. Thanks for playing, everyone!

Giveaway: Organized Simplicity for YOU

Let's cut to the chase here. I own this book, love it, and want you to own and love it too.

Here's what sold me on the book when I got my sample on Kindle:

"Simple living is a buzzword in our postmodern culture, and concepts like frugality and going green are trendy. They offer smart moves toward a healthier planet and healthier families. But the basic problem beneath these trends is that they feel like they ask so much of us. These ideas ask us to move into a world that feels impossible for everyday families who still want to participate in Little League, and who don't really want to live off the grid."

Then, a few paragraphs later:

"If we can't do all these things [wear all-organic clothing, eat only from your garden, sell the car], where does that leave us? It seems like we need to completely redefine simple living. Let's take some time to define what realistic simple living looks like for you. There's no need to forsake the suburbs for the farm."

Does this author understand where we live, or what?

(Full disclosure: The author is a super-duper nice person and a friend, so I can vouchsafe for her being a genuine person who does indeed understand where we all live. In my case, quite literally!)

After reading this book, I had a much better grasp of what simple living really is, and felt empowered to declutter the things that don't add peace and joy to our home and schedule. Guess what? Your version of simple living will be different than mine. It's not about how crunchy you are. You can still wear mascara and shave your legs. You don't have to abandon your house for a yurt. It's about, as Tsh says, "living holistically within your life's purpose" -- where your choices bear witness to who you really are, and who you want to be.

Want a copy for yourself? Just leave a comment between now and Sunday, April 10, at 11:59 p.m., and tell me this: What's the most cluttered place in your house right now?

I'll start: My bonus room, which is accumulating detritus for our upcoming YARD SALE (inspired by the book). But let me assure you, there are plenty of close seconds around here. See also: Bedroom -- boy.