Insanity on a Wednesday

My sister called from a store the other day to read me a sign that she was standing in line to purchase. It said "Chaos, Panic, Destruction...my work here is done". We laughed because it is the story of our lives. Do you ever feel like there is anything you ever really do where at the end of it you say, "well that was easy". Or is it just us? Are we the only ones that live life a little more on the "frazzled side" than the "put together side"? I do this in everything. When I paint, when I make dinner, when I write, when I drive carpool...even in bible study I tend to over analyze, over think, over struggle.

All this frazzledness leads me to painting. I've been painting a lot lately and I love it. I love painting kid's stuff, nothing fancy, nothing trained, just basic kid's room kind of art. I don't know why I love it, I just love it. I have no real reason to paint, I just so enjoy the creating part of it all. But then the time comes when I'm done with the painting. My husband always says, "so what are you going to do with it?". I always look at him with this bewildered look on my face as if that is a dumb question and say "I have absolutely no idea what I am going to do with it". Is that normal? Cause I kinda think it's not. In a perfect world, I would give my art away as gifts to people, to friends. But then comes the over analyzing. What if they don't like it? Then what are they gonna do with it? I can picture them stuffing it away in a closet somewhere, and then as soon as they see me walk up the drive way, they frantically run through the house to go hang it up on a wall as if it had been there all along. Isn't that the most horrible thing you have ever heard?!? That makes my skin crawl. I couldn't do that to people. They are innocent of course, they didn't ask me to paint anything for them. So instead I just stack them in a corner of my house and let them collect dust. Which is okay because the only reason I paint is because I enjoy it so much. But then the voice of reason starts saying, "this really is too time consuming of a hobbie for you to just stack paintings in the corner, there is just really no point". So then I do the practical thing and go through a period of time where I put my paints and brushes away, close the door to my craft room, and I paint nothing. But here is the problem...I really want to go back in that room and paint some more. Do you think I should check myself in somewhere? Do you wish you hadn't just spent the last three minutes reading this post? I so like all you blogger friends of mine on the other side of this monitor that keep coming back :).

Friday Night Lights

My sister and her husband live the real life version of the television show Friday Night Lights. My brother-in-law was just named the head football coach in a small town that is serious about their football. Our entire family traveled to his game this weekend so we could watch him in action, and oh what a sight it was. He is the kind of coach that you would want your son to play for. He is intense, enthusiastic, encouraging, and just plain fun. He is the kind of coach that all football coaches should be, and we loved watching him. I had no idea he could jump that high in the air, that many times!

And when our family decides to do something, we do it right. We had shirts made for the event, the girls were "Barnett Babes" and the boys "Barnett Bubbas". It was so much fun.

And because it was Halloween, and because I made their costumes, and because they are so stinkin' cute, I just can't post this blog without showing you my pirates.

One more thing. We have the coolest friends of anyone I know. Have you ever seen a better "Mary Poppins and crew" in all your life? They all looked their part perfectly (the baby was a "spoonful of sugar")! I mean really, can you deal with that?!?!And then this friend I just have no words for...love it! If you have preschoolers that watch Noggin, then you know who he is.Happy November 1st friends.

I pity the first born

Sometimes I wonder why God ever thought it wise to entrust us with the life of a human being. I still remember every detail of when we brought our eldest daughter home from the hospital. The first time I left her unattended (on my first solo trip to the bathroom) I had a panic attack. What if she stops breathing while I am not staring at her? I also remember going into my bedroom and crying hysterically when my father came to meet her for the first time, and upon his arrive he informed me he had a cold. I secretly started planning her funeral in my head. Morbid, I know. Insane, absolutely. Neurotic, without a doubt.

First born children. I pity them. They are the guinea pigs of the bunch. We try out all of our crazy on them, desperately seeking what works and what doesn't. We pompously, yet politely listen to the advise of the all the ignorant people around us; and then walk away with our noses turned up, cradling our prized gifts from above, armed with all of our new found expertise that is only as old and mature as the child we are holding in our arms. I know it's natural. We all do it, at least I think we all do it. But there are days when I watch my first born in action and I feel guilty for doing it, for it's not her fault she was the first one out of the womb. She cannot help it that God thought that of the three children he would give us, she would be the one most capable of bearing the brunt of her parent's insanity. It's not her fault that we subconsciously train her to be in charge of everything, and then scold her for trying to take charge of everything. Can't you just see God up in heaven talking amongst the Son and the Spirit, "Well, which one do you think we should give them first? These two are gonna screw up a lot of stuff as new parents. Let's give them Ella, she's tough, she can handle it." And they were right...she bears the burden well.

Ella is the kind of girl I wish I was, I'm so glad she was born first. She is strong and confident, fearless yet sweet. She is full of fire and bubbling with life. She has the wit and humor of an 18 year old, in the body of a 7 year old...oh my the struggles. Most days I can't get enough of her, but by the evening I can't take anymore of her, but then I somehow still never tire of her. Ella has managed thus far to survive the flaws of her parents. Though I know beyond certainty we do not always do things the way God intended, He at least planned ahead of time for it. He breathed into Ella the life of a fighter, He knew it to be a character trait she would need to survive being born first in our family.

Do you have a first born child that you often convince yourself you are messing up for all eternity? Take heart friend, you are in good company.

Was he too proud or too prejudice?

Remember here when I asked you to help me name our new puppy? Well, deep down I had already named him and I was just seeing if anyone was going to give me the right answer. Not really, just kidding...kind of. As luck would have it, no one gave me what I perceived to be the "correct answer", and so I finally caved and let my cute carpenter name him what he wanted to name the dog: Ty. Are you ready for my confession? He is just not a Ty. I thought he might be a Ty and I thought that I could get on board and I thought I would be okay with it, but I am just not. I feel this weight on me every time I look at those big, distinguished eyes of his. It is as if he is pondering why I am denying him his proper title. Every time I call his name, I feel obligated to offer him an unspoken gesture of apology for calling him by the wrong name. He always wags his tail in forgiveness, but deep down he knows it too. It is just simply time that I admit "we" made the wrong choice. So because he is a dog and I think the damage will be minimal, and because I am the weirdest person I know, I am changing my 4 month old golden retriever's name to his rightful one. He will henceforth be known as "Mr. Darcy". And if you do not know who Mr. Darcy is, go order Pride and Prejudice on Netflix right this very instant. And if you are the smarty pants type then go read the book, but I promise that you will be denying yourself the pleasure of watching Mr. Darcy walk through the lingering, morning fog to tell Ms. Elizabeth "you have bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you "...seriously, rent the movie. And then you tell me that you too do not desire to name someone or something Mr. Darcy....I would change my husband's name if he would let me.

I blame the closets

Do your closets scare you? Mine do, especially my girls' closets. The lack of organization is extremely frustrating. Especially on Sunday morning when for once in my life I want to not be the last couple in a 2000 person congregation to walk through the sanctuary doors. It doesn't matter what piece of clothing that I am looking for in these two closets of theirs, it will be the one and only thing that I cannot find. And then the tears start.

Child: "these shoes feel funny"

Me: "I am sorry, I can't find the other ones, you'll be fine"

Child: "but they bother my toes and I can feel the line"

Me: "I don't care, stop whining"

Child: "but why does Ella get to wear a dress and the other shoes"

Me: "because she found her dress, and we cannot find yours"

Child: "but it's not fair"

Me: "life isn't fair, get used to it, stop talking and brush your teeth so we can go to church"

Child: "but I want the twirly skirt"

Me: "you are talking again, and I said no talking, in fact, no one is allowed to talk to me for the rest of the day"

Do you think these are the joyful hearts that God intended to walk into his house every Sunday to worship? I think not, and I am blaming the closets. So, though I told you in the beginning of this house tour that we were done remodeling, I am temporarily lifting that sanction and claiming this week as "let your husband break out the power tools one more time and build an efficient closet system for your kids before someone looses their mind" week. Say tuned...

Give me words to speak, cause I can't think of anything worth saying

One of our church's sweet pastors preached about Grace last Sunday. It was a needed word for my heart. How do we accept Grace? Do we say "Grace...but not for people as bad as me". Or do we say, "but Grace covers all....so I can go about life how I see fit". I love C S Lewis, and our pastor reminded us of his thoughts about what Christianity offers to a lost world that is different from other religions. "That's easy" Lewis says, "It's Grace".

From this talk of Grace, we moved into new years resolutions, and the absurdity of it all if centered around "self improvement". I laughed on the inside at this as I reflected on all the things in my life that I was going to do. Self is a dangerous thing, a scary thing really, a place I am so glad to not be anymore. A place where we go around and around and around until we fall from the dizziness and failure of it all. Which I suppose is all part of the plan. Lying face down on the ground is where God walks in a takes over. That's what He does best. He won't work with all our "self stuff", He won't get tangled in our agenda. But rather faithfully untangle it His way, if we will only just give Him our self mess. So why don't we change around the "new years resolution stuff" to center it around the One who actually sticks to what He says He is going to do? Won't that feel good! Give it, throw it, hand it over to "the One who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us" Ephesians 3:20 And then sit back and watch the God show.

For me, this resolution talk has stirred in me something I have been saying for years I can't do. And then my 6 year old memorized Luke 2 in about two weeks and I was put in my place. I could hear the heavenly laughter roaring at me as I sat humbled listening to scripture effortlessly roll off her tongue, and I knew what God was after in me. Memorization. There is a song by one of my favorite artist that begins with "Give me words to speak, don't let my spirit sleep, cause I can't think of anything worth saying". Don't you just love the truth of that? What do we have to say that is anything worth saying, if it is not of God? And what do we have to say that is of God, if we haven't learned His words? God doesn't use words casually, there is meaning and purpose and life in what He speaks. He wants all those things for us... meaning, purpose and life. He is waiting to hand it over. In fact, I think He can't wait to give it so that we can experience His greatness.

I will close with a story. Prepare yourself insanity. I will wait...are you ready? Our family has struggled with something that may sound bizarre to you, but for us, it is very real and has been a topic of many discussions where we ask each other "why does this always happen". It is nothing earth shattering, just overwhelming at times. The stomach bug. We only get it if we are going to be together for some major event or holiday. And then we proceed to pass it to everyone in the family. If there is a wedding, holiday, vacation, graduation, or just a weekend get together with family....someone will start throwing up withing 24 hours of the start of the gathering, sometimes even while driving to the event in the car. It is a bizarre phenomenon that we cannot explain, but have so many times over asked why does this always happen? Well, as scheduled my sister came to my house and brought with her the bug her children had had the week before, and then I started with the sickness right before we were scheduled to go to her house. I realize this is way to much information, stick with me. I pulled through and we decided to travel anyways. Two hours into the trip, my sweet Caroline goes white as a sheet and starts saying she feels like she is going to throw up. I flipped out, I called my sister and told her, and then the hubby and I started considering turning around. And then all of sudden God got a hold of me and I could sense He was telling me to stop rolling over in defeat with this. So we stopped everything. I told the girls to stop the "Barbie and Diamond Castle" DVD that was playing in the back, the husband put on some Travis Cottrell, we turned it up loud and started praising. I was done with accepting this. We sang "The Lamb has Overcome" and "Shackles", and we sang it like we meant it. Do you know what I mean? We sang it because there is truth and meaning in it. The Lamb did overcome, the battle has already been won, darkness has scattered and the Lion has roared! Are you getting me here? Then the next song was "Shackles", and I have told you before Ella's love for this song, we didn't have to ask her to sing loudly. Though Caroline was pale and nearing nausea, she hung in there holding her puke bag in front of her in anticipation, but singing even still. I would like to joyfully report that the color came back to Caroline and she never got sick. I would like to also say that God would have been no less worthy of such praise if she had thrown up the whole way there, He is still worthy. But in this instance He taught us a little something about His word, there is power in it, there is truth and freedom in it, and He wants us to memorize it, know it and speak it! So in His name, I resolve to do it, and because He has already won and overcome the battle, I know I can too. Care to join me?

Keeping it real

It's 9 AM and yes, that is sugar cookie. You can also call it breakfast. That's where I am right now...just keeping it real.

A figurine Christmas

Poor Tiny Tim. Every year I feel sorry for him as we pull him out of the box. It is not enough that he has a debilitating disease that causes him to walk with a crutch, but his hand gets broken off every year. This is a new Tiny Tim, the previous little guy was broken beyond repair last year.

Then there is Belle who sings "We wish you a Merry Christmas". There is no volume on her speaker. We have an ongoing debate as to which girl she belongs to and it often ends in crying. So now her home is in the family room where we can monitor her safety, the girl's bedroom just wasn't working out.

Baby Jesus is not photographed because he is currently missing.

A Psychedelic Christmas Swap

She stood so proud on the table; wings out as if she were ready to take flight, lighting up psychedelic shades of purple, green and yellow. She stood more glorious than the marsh mellow cookie jar with a Hershey kiss on it's head, yet she was overlooked. She stood next to the cowboy boot salt and pepper shakers, but still no one noticed her splendor. She stood in all her beauty next to the 1943 Santa cookie tin, but even still she was not chosen.

Why did no one choose her from the Christmas swap table? How could they not appreciate that she was so perfectly doing exactly what she was created to do? I suppose it was because her colors were too flashy, too ostentatious. Perhaps it was because they thought her gown too shiny and satiny. Perhaps it was because they knew she had previously been a gift from a man in the mafia, that she had likely been used to help smuggle drugs and that her dress at one time may have had illegal substances stuffed up inside it. Who can know for sure?

Whatever their reasons for overlooking this Beauty, she was indeed overlooked. No one wanted her at the Christmas Swap I attended last Sunday. So I brought her back home. Though she was ashamed, she managed to swallow her pride and light up in all her psychedelic glory on the bedside table in my girls room. They couldn't be more pleased, and neither could she.

A Happy Thanksgiving

We had pilgrims...

and food...

and ice cream scoops for servers....

We had cousins.....

and pretend nose picking....

We had biting...

and train rides...

We had Thanksgiving crafts...

and imodium...

We had blond beauties...

and turkey carving Nanas....

preteen boys that were surrounded by babies...

We had a tornado go through the playroom...

and singing, musical Papas....

We had kid tables....

and pea eating baby boys.....

Thank you Lord for the abundance of blessings you have poured out...

The Final Choice

Can you tell which of my children did not cooperate with our Halloween theme? We went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Finally on the actual day of Halloween, she choose to dress up as Ariel instead of Super girl....and she wouldn't even wear the $15 red wig we had for her either!

Team T

I have never thrown a birthday party for a little boy. Up until Thomas' arrival, we have been all about pink and tulle and princess crowns and glitter. All girl. Then this little bundle of boy arrived and threw us for a loop. Here are some pics from the little man's party...a "Team T" party. We all wore our "Team T' jerseys, and all of our numbers were the same, "1". I know, I'm weird. My sassy seamstress friend (who is a better friend than I am) stayed up with me until midnight sewing these awesome shirts...did I say that she is a good friend? She is a good friend!

Oh the curls!

We all had shirts.

Seriously, the tights!

How many mother's does one boy need?

One year down....

We love our little man!