New Address, New Look, Same Stuff

Hi Friends,

Matt asked me the other day what my dreams for the future were.  Before I could think much about it, I blurted out, "To get published," (articles, not books).   I guess that desire has been lurking in my head for some time, though hidden beneath layers of dishes and diapers for the past several years.  As I prepare to move overseas, I am re-inventing myself a bit, and one of those changes lines up with my writing dream and manifests itself in the virtual world.

I have a new blog address and a new blog look.  Essentially, I worked for four hours one day trying to recreate my current blog address (Lauraspen.com) to a new blog program (from Blogger to Wordpress), but discovered it would just be easier to come up with a new name and new web address altogether.  In August, when my year contract with the address "Lauraspen.com" is over, I will buy that name and have it all direct to the same site, but for now, you will need to re-set my address to:

http://www.lauraleighparker.com

If I were smarter or could pay to have a real web-guy do it all for me, I would avoid such confusion.  However, I am not and can't, though I am truly sorry for the hassle it creates.  I totally get how frustrating it is to switch over your favorites tab or your blogroll address.  I have put all the former posts from Cereal for Dinner onto this new site, so the content is the same, just the fonts and pictures a bit different. I am still working on transferring my own blogroll to the new site, and a few glitches need to still be worked out.

I can't tell you enough how I appreciate any person who takes a minute out of their day to read about our family here on these pages.  Your encouragement and comments and following (via Facebook or Google) spurs me to keep writing.  And that's a gift to me on so many levels. Thank you.

See you over at the new Laura's Pen where I have just posted about a lesson learned while in the hospice facility with my grandmother.   

Grateful,

Laura

P.S.  Oh, and if you are wondering why I stuck with my Southern roots and went with including my middle name in address, ironically there is already a "Laura Parker" who writes romance novels and claimed that web address first.  She's not me, I promise.  :)

No, I Have Not Been Kidnapped . . .

I haven't posted in seven days.  That's quite a stretch of quiet for me.  But I have some valid excuses:

**Both Matt and I both caught the Adenoid Virus (nasty throat-infections) and have been inside for the past five days--watching more movies than I care to count, eating lots of soup and trying to entertain children with as little energy expended as possible.

**Using my kids-occupied-with-the-tv time wisely, I have been reworking my blog into another site, which has cooler graphics and some fancier features.  I'll keep you posted and direct you there soon.   

**My Grandmother will probably be seeing the face of Jesus sometime today.  Because of her declining health, she was given 48 hours to live yesterday as she slipped into a coma.  My parents are saying their goodbyes as I write by her bedside in Hickory.  Cassie and I will fly back to NC tommorrow to help mom with the funeral, which is planned for Saturday, and Matt will be tasting life as a single dad for the week.

So, pardon the silence for the past few days and for the next few, too.  I'd be grateful for your thoughts and prayers for our family in the coming days . . .

Got Thirty Minutes?

If you are interested, below is the link to the sermon Matt gave this past Sunday.  He was able to share the full story of how we decided to move to Thailand and was able to challenge us all to love and follow Jesus sacrificially.  My favorite thing he said was, "Jesus did not die on a cross so that you could live a comfortable, easy life."  Spot on.  I also share midway through the talk about my own journey as a wife.  The first five minutes is our pastor sharing his insights about following a call from God, and Matt begins with sharing the video from World Vision which I posted in the previous post.  Hope it is a source of encouragement to you . . .

"One Life, Do Something" Sermon, The Parkers' Thailand Journey

One Life, Do Something

I wanted to post the video that Matt showed today in church before the sermon.  He was able to share about our journey to Thailand and about what it means to really serve those around us like Jesus asks.  On the tail end of a hard and busy week, the fact that he was able to share with power is evidence of grace alone.  Enjoy this video from World Vision which challenges us with the following,

You have one life.

Do Something.

I'll be sure to post the audio of the message in the next few days.

Ranch Hummus

Here's a super simple hummus recipe that I did this week for the family.  Since we are veggies-dipped-in-ranch fans, I added a packet of dry ranch dressing to the hummus.  I told the kids jokingly when I served it that the dip was "just like a thick ranch."  They didn't buy it, but they did eat it (well, at least a little.)  Lately, I have served raw veggies as "appetizers."  I find that if I put the veggies on the table before the meal when the kids are hungriest, they are more apt to eat them!

Ranch Hummus

In a blender or food processor, mix well the following:

2 cans chickpeas, one drained and one along with the liquid

1 packet dry ranch dressing

2-3 heaping spoonfuls of tahini (ground sesame seeds).  Tahini is pricey, but a little goes a long way.  It is high in fat and calories (bummer), but is super good for you (yippy).  If you don't have it, just skip it.

A few splashes of olive oil

Salt and Pepper (sea salt and freshly ground pepper is best)

Garlic (powder or fresh and minced, if you want)

Serve with raw veggies or pita chips.

Three Friends

Parker Family Christmas

Front:  Mia, Kelty, Shannon, Bryce, Chad, Kaitlyn

Back:  Matt, Ava, Laura, David (Papa), Cade, Cynthia (Nana)

We made so many memories with Matt's family over Christmas break.  The five cousins (ages 6, 4, 3, 2, and 1) played tremendously together.  I can just see Bryce and Kaitlyn and our kids becoming good friends over the years, and watching them play was one of the highlights of the trip.  We enjoyed the Parker-traditional sirloin tips for our Christmas evening meal after opening presents, and no one fought (too badly) over all the new toys.   Chad and Matt got to steal away for a mountain bike ride on another afternoon, and we were able to make a trip to the NC mountains to visit with the Smelser side of the family (also a blast) where we met another cousin for the first time, little Britton.  We hadn't seen many of those precious folks for several years, so it was nice to have time to catch up with them . . . and play games, of course, complete with prizes.  Connection with family is such a gift . . .

Cade "feeling the music" with his new "rock guitar" and Kelty's microphone.

Nothing quite like a Grandmother's hugs and love.

And some more favorites from the trip . . .

(click to enlarge)

. . . and Mom Got the Flamingo

Living a 24-hour drive away from family, the 10 days we spent over the holidays with our families in NC were precious. There really is nothing like family . . .

Front:  Kelty, Michelle, Grandma, Mom

Back:  Matt, Cade, Ava, Laura, Steven, Cassie, Amy, Will, Dad

Napping and Not Pictured:  Gannon

Quick Snapshots of Time with the Ragan/Abels/Stewart/Parker Clan:

1.  Dance-Offs in the Living Room, including a choreographed number to "Battlefield" by Amy, Kelty, and Myself.

2.  In true Southern fashion, shooting the ol' gun off the back porch at targets in the field behind the house.

3.  Smore's with a firepit and Christmas lights.

4.  Reading Amy's middle school love letters, including the now-famous quote:  "Please don't hate my gutes."

5.  Girls-Day Out.

6.  An epic meltdown from my kids on Christmas night.

7.  Playing with Gannon, our first cousin on my side of the family.

8. After gun-shooting, classic rummy, a fast spoons game and several rounds of "Time's Up", Mom took home the treasured Pink Flamingo  . . .

until the next family competition.

9.  A meal (that only took three hours to cook) from Julia Child's cookbook, thanks to Amy and Cassie.  And, yes, it included real hollandaise sauce.

10.  Squirrel-stories.  That's all I need to say about that.

The Sisters:  Me, Amy, Cassie

Some more . . .  Click to enlarge.

Each time I walk away from time with my family, I am reminded of how good it is to be known by a group of people who love you anyway and who will stick with you for the long-haul.  As I've gotten older, I see that no one is thrilled with your own kids like your own parents and siblings, and I have grown to appreciate how much I just laugh when I get to go home.  And that's a gift enough in itself.

Corrie Ten Boom: Earning the Right to Speak

I have been inspired this week by the words and life of Corrie Ten Boom and her family.  Enjoy this brief history of a woman who earned the right, through suffering and sacrifical love, to speak things to which we should listen. 

"Corrie Ten Boom and her family were Christians who were active in social work in their home town of Haarlem, the Netherlands. During the Nazi occupation, they chose to act out their faith through peaceful resistance to the Nazis by active participation in the Dutch underground. They were hiding, feeding and transporting Jews and underground members hunted by the Gestapo out of the country. It is estimated they were able to save the lives of 800 Jews, in addition to protecting underground workers.

On Feb. 28, 1944, they were betrayed and Corrie and several relatives were arrested. The four Jews and two underground workers in the house at the time of the arrest were not located by the Nazis and were extricated by the underground 47 hours after they fled to the tiny hiding place (located in Corrie's room).


The Ten Boom family members were separated and transferred to concentration camps. Corrie was allowed to stay with her precious sister, Betsy. Corrie's father (Casper), two of his children (Wilhelm & Betsy) and one grandchild (Christiaan) perished. Corrie was released in December of 1944.


These acts of heroism and sacrifice became the foundation for Corrie Ten Boom's global writing and speaking career which began after she was released. "  - Quotes and History taken from Good Reads

Many of the following quotes are taken from Boom's book, The Hiding Place.  I actually deleted several, but just could not force myself to delete any more from the list I found.  I hope her words inspire your day as much as they have mine:

"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength."

"Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God."

"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open."

"Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart."

"Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer is too small to be made into a burden."

"There is no panic in Heaven! God has no problems, only plans."

"And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world's healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives along with the command, the love itself."

"Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for the future that only He can see."

(The Hiding Place)

"There are no 'if's' in God's world. And no placess that are safer than other places. The center of His will is our only safety - let us pray that we may always know it!"

"Worrying is carrying tomorrow's load with today's strength- carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength."

"The tree on the mountain takes whatever the weather brings. If it has any choice at all, it is in putting down roots as deeply as possible." (Each New Day)

"Child, you have to learn to see things in the right proportions. Learn to see great things great and small things small."

"Mama's love had always been the kind that acted itself out with soup pot and sewing basket. But now that these things were taken away, the love seemed as whole as before. She sat in her chair at the window and loved us. She loved the people she saw in the street-- and beyond: her love took in the city, the land of Holland, the world. And so I learned that love is larger than the walls which shut it in. "

"Worry is a cycle of inefficient thoughts whirling around a center of fear.""

"If God has shown us bad times ahead, it's enough for me that He knows about them. That's why He sometimes shows us things, you know - to tell us that this too is in His hands."

".....joy runs deeper than despair."

"Don't bother to give God instructions; just report for duty."

"Today I know that such memories are the key not to the past, but to the future. I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do. "

"You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family."

And one final story of the wisdom of Corrie's father:
"And so seated next to my father in the train compartment, I suddenly asked, "Father, what is sex and sin?"
He turned to look at me, as he always did when answering a question, but to my surprise he said nothing. At last he stood up, lifted his traveling case off the floor and set it on the floor.
"Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?" he said.
I stood up and tugged at it. It was crammed with the watches and spare parts he had purchased that morning.
"It's too heavy," I said.
"Yes," he said, "and it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you.""

Have a favorite? Want to share it? Leave a comment.

Not Moving on Too Quickly . . .

I just read a post from Ann at Holy Experience.  It brought tears to my eyes and proved to be a beautiful reminder not to rush past the Gift of Christmas too quickly,even though January has arrived and the decorations are back in the attic. 

Enjoy.   Why the Babe Always Stays

On Being Enough

When I think of the needs that will be before me as our family moves to Thailand . . .

the college girls who will be away from home and needing a motherly mentor

the young girls who will need lots of hugs and smiles and English lessons

my own children's hearts and minds as they learn and live in another culture

the seeking women I'll meet--diplomats, tourists,buddhists, neighbors

I get overwhelmed.  Feelings of doubt and inadequacy creep in, and I begin to hear messages that "I will not be enough."

And as I was sitting in the quiet of the early morning today, I was reminded that this message is absolutely and irrevocably true.  I am not enough to all the needs that will be before me in the journey ahead.  But then in the same breath, I was reminded of an image a former mentor (Janet S.) told me once during my over-achieving, not-quite-in-the-cool-crowd high school days.   

She said, "Laura, God will give you the ticket for the ride when it's your turn to get on it and not necessarily before.  While you're waiting in line or across the fairgrounds at another booth, you won't have the ticket, but when the time comes, God will give you what it takes."
 
In other words, I can trust that when the gate to this ride of our Thailand adventure swings open, my God is big enough to "supply all my needs." (Bible, Phillippians, Chapter 4)  I can relax in the knowledge that I'll have the ticket when I need it, and not necessarily before.

And I hear a whisper, "Deep breath, beloved.  Don't worry about the roller coaster.  Just enjoy the popcorn stand for now, and trust Me to be enough for tommorrow."

Sweet.

Or really,
Salty. 

Thanks for being interested and for reading.

A Warm Salad

Tired of eating regular salads and needing to work off the seven pounds you gained over the holidays?  (Oh, wait, that's me,  not you.)  Anyway, check out this super-different salad we fixed this weekend at our house.  It takes a bit more effort than your average toss-it-all-together salad, but it's worth the extra ten minutes.  I had a version of it in a cafe in Asheville, NC, while visiting over the holidays.

Warm Salad

1.  Sautee mushrooms and onions in a bit of olive oil.  (We used half-package of sliced mushrooms and two sweet onions.)  We added a little sugar to the onions while they browned to make them a bit sweeter.  (You could also add diced chicken or cubed tofu if you wanted some protein.) 

2.  Heat up a good balsamic vinegarette in the microwave.  You can make your own, of course, but we just used Newman's Own.  The dressing needs to be warm, not boiling.

3.  When the mushrooms/onions are finished, you need to wilt the salad greens lightly.  We used spring mix, but spinach would work, too.  Take out the mushrooms from the frying pan, and put the spring mix into the same pan.  Put the lid on the pan to heat up the greens just slightly.  Really, if you do it too much they get really limp and start tasting bitter.  You just want the greens warmed (maybe 1-2 minutes on med-low heat).  You can add a bit of olive oil to the pan while you heat up the greens.  OR, you could probably microwave the greens to warm them, too, with a little water and a lid. 

3.  Portion the warmed greens on the salad plates, top with mushrooms/onions, warmed dressing, goat cheese crumbles (love this stuff), and croutons. 

Totally delish. 

Catastrophe on the Escalator

(click to enlarge)

Highlights of our expedition to the fancy-shmancy Broadmoor Hotel to gawk at the gingerbread houses and Christmas decorations . . .

1.  Having Ava and Cade get soaked at the Wishing Pool Fountain in one of the lounges (See picture above.  And, yes, that is our two-year-old's entire arm submerged in the water as she tries to steal someone else's penny).  And then having to walk around outside--wet--in 20 degree weather at night.

2.  And, as we walked around, dripping and in barely-matching outfits, feeling inadequate trying to corral our children amid wealthy people in evening gowns walking to very-important dinners.

3.  Spending 20 bucks on two hot chocolates, one coffee, and two cookies.  Really.  And that was everyone sharing everything.

4.  Trusting Cade with said-very-expensive hot chocolate while going up an escalator, amid said-very-dressed-up-adults-with-lots-of-big-diamonds.  Watching as Cade loses his balance, tries to catch himself with his broken arm, misses, and falls flat on his back, upside down on the escalator steps. 
Spilling said-hot-chocolate. 
Everywhere.

I'm afraid, once again, the Parker family misses the Norman Rockwell one's mark by just a teeny bit.
Oh, well, it makes for a funny story, and I reckon that's worth something.

Colorado Christmas

No, I have not been struck by a meteor,
nor have I been kidnapped by aliens,
nor have my hands been rendered typeless because of some rare skin disease . .  .

I just had Christmas.  (So sorry for the unwarned two-week blog-silence.)
We actually just stumbled home yesterday from two weeks with our families in North Carolina.  I will post more pictures of that time (as well as lessons learned along the way) in the next few days, but I wanted to put up a collage of our family Christmas here in Colorado.  We gave the kids each three gifts (We said, "If it was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for you."  I know, ba-hum-bug, but they're little and were still thrilled.)  We played games as a family (always a gift we give each year), ate cinnamon rolls (not homemade, of course, it's me we're talking about), stared at our 12-dollar ghetto-Christmas tree we bought last-minute at Walmart, and read the Christmas story of Jesus's birth.  That evening, we headed out to the Broadmoor Hotel to see the gingerbread houses and lights.  Gosh, I love Christmas--even if the cinnamon rolls are just Pillsbury.  
 

Click on the collage to enlarge the pictures.

Grateful for the Blindside

I hate asking for money.  For anything, really.  It's why I was a terrible Mary Kay Consultant and why I stink at selling cookies for girlscouts.  And yet, I find myself doing just that a lot over the past month--asking for "support" so that our family can move to Thailand and work there.  But I'm learning through this process of asking and receiving that blessing can blindside you in life just as much as tragedy and disappointment, and I must say I''ve been blindsided a lot lately. . .  

Like in the couple who hosted a candle-lit dessert tonight, the weekend before Christmas, so others could hear about what we'll be doing overseas.

Like the college girl who generously gave $10.

Like the former students, now graduates with real jobs and families of their own, who have jumped into this adventure with us by pulling out their debit cards.

Like the family who is choosing to give to our family instead of giving Christmas gifts to each other this year. 

Like the friend who asked so earnestly to know our prayer requests that she felt she needed to apologize.

Like the mom who gave the gift of babysitting when it was desperately needed at the last minute.

Like the precious friend who chooses not to cry when we talk about my leaving, so that I "won't feel too sad about it," and who donates her sewing skills to my shirts that need fixing saying, "Give the money you would have paid me to Thailand."


Yes, I am learning much about what it means to "raise support."  I'm learning that "support" is much broader than just finances, and I am recognizing that it can have a hundred different faces--faces that I didn't expect when we started this process. 

And for all that, I am beyond grateful for the blindside.

A Yellow Stroke

She paints her toenails, while I read aloud.  A rare moment with just my oldest girl.  I pause, to help pick out the perfect color--red is too dark, that purple too glittery, so we settle on the watermelon shade--and I broach the subject.  "Ya know, Kelty, we probably won't be here for the next dance recital, since we'll be moving.  Do you still want to take lessons?"  And the painting of the nails is forgotten in a passionate declaration: "I don't want to move to Thailand!  They won't even have ballet there!"  And I pause, and I am sad.  Because I know that what she says just might be true.  Life will be different this time next year, and a dance recital with a sparkly outfit may just not be in the cards.    Maybe ballet lessons will be one of the losses my six-year-old is asked to lay on the altar of her mom and dad's obedience and leading.  But, maybe not.  And I take a deep breath and say, "Well, honey, we're just gonna pray and ask God to provide ballet lessons for you, even in Thailand."  A small asking in the grand scheme of life, but a huge faith-step my daughter is being required to make right now.  And we move on, back to painting nails and reading, but I am left still thinking about that little interaction on my bedroom floor.   

And I am reminded that in moving, and in life, there is usually a stroke of darker hue next to the stroke of lighter color in any art worth noticing.  Because life is not all good or all bad at any one moment.  It's a mix-up of the hard and the glorious, a tangle of loss and adventure all in the same breath.  And its the tones of gray and black that force the bright yellows and pure whites to be much more beautiful than they would be on a canvas all their own.  Somehow the contrast is a deeply good thing.

But here's to praying that my six-year-old gets a yellow stroke instead of a black one in this particular area of one of her loves . . .  I am a mother, after all.     

The Polar Express

Enjoy these pictures from Kelty's first ballet recital last night . . .

And It Begins . . .

The hard work of moving

The first, of many, runs to Goodwill as we purge our collection of stuff that's been gathering over the past four years.

The Dress Rehearsal

Kelty had the dress rehearsal last night for her first-ever ballet recital.  She was a sparkly blue snowflake and was most excited that real make-up was required.  From the grown-ups who actually did pirouettes to the three-year-olds who shuffled on stage as little angels, the dress rehearsal was the place to practice.  To iron out the details.  To cue the music and figure out the lighting.  To give instructions about where to stand and when to enter.  And if a mistake was made that was big enough, the director's hand went up, the music was cut, and the dancers got a do-over--with more instruction, more practice, and more time to get it just right.

And watching the process of the dress rehearsal reminded me of a quote in a book I just finished last night.  It's a novel about the journey a young mom takes during her first year as a widow.  One of the quotes the author wrote really pierced me, and it has been circulating my heart over the past three days.  The main character in the novel had just blown it with one of her kids, missed their hearts and lashed out in anger.  And in the quiet of children sleeping that evening, she writes something like, "And I am learning that there are no do-overs.  Especially in the things that really matter."  

And it struck me as I watched my daughter dance last night that life isn't like a ballet recital.  There are no dress rehearsals, where mistakes are ironed out and where it's okay if you blow it, because you can always stop the music and try again.  And true, recitals are events that only take place maybe twice a year, whereas moments that matter surface countless times in a mere day, but it is still a reality that makes me want to:
kiss my husband more passionately,
stop cleaning and play pretend with my kids,
turn off the tv and talk,
embrace a move to a foreign land,
and hold my tongue when anger begins to creep in.

Because life doesn't give you do-overs.  And gratefully, our days on earth offer us many opportunities to right our mistakes, but here's to hoping I remember that today is not a dress rehearsal for something bigger or better in the future.  Today is it, and I better be focusing on the things that matter.

Thankfully for the budding ballerinas, though, the dress rehearsal does exist.  And for my family who won't get to see the real show tonight, here's Kelty's debut. . .

Kelty's Dress Rehearsal 2009 from laura parker on Vimeo.

For those in Woodland, Kelty dances with Dana's Dance, and we have been more than thrilled with this dynamic teacher who's studio is in her home.  You can find information about her at:  http://www.danasdance.blogspot.com/. 

    

A Bright Spot

Once again, I am left this Wednesday with a deep appreciation for my five friends who come over weekly to talk about things that matter.   And though our journeys are all unique, our discussions leave me feeling more inspired and more known.  Today we were discussing some of the stories Jesus told and were asking ourselves what he meant when he used the term "kingdom of heaven" or "kingdom of God."  Was he talking about a physical place in the afterlife or was he speaking of a condition of our hearts and the choices of our will here on the earth?  Is the 'kingdom of heaven' God's utopian ideal or is it attainable reality?  Excellent food for thought for this small brain.  Regardless, here's a little video I found on the topic.  Enjoy.

And Wednesday-ladies, thanks for being such a bright spot in my week.

Egypt: Pyramids and Mummies

Here are two super-easy projects we tackled last week as we read about Ancient Egypt from Susan Bauer's The Story of the World.  If you are looking for something to focus on for a few days in your homeschooling, go check out some books at the library about Egypt, and then try out the following two super-simple projects.

Sugar Cube Pyramid.  Use paintbrushes with white glue to make a pryamid out of sugar cubes.  Start with a base of five cubes across and five cubes wide.  The next layer will be a four-cube square and so on.  You can sprinkle sand from the sandbox on the outside and on the cardboard to give it a realistic look.  Also, as the kids are working, remind them that each of the cubes in ancient Egypt weighed the same as an elephant and that the Pharoahs built the pyramids as their own tombs. 

Making Mummies.  Dramatically act out the mummification process.  Choose one pharaoh to "die".  Scoop out his insides and pretend to put them in a jar (Priest Kelty dramatically demonstrating to dead-pharaoh-Cade above). 

Sprinkle salt on the pharaoh's "heart" (we used a plastic one) (obviously) to place back into the pharaoh later (This was to preserve the organ, since the Egyptians believed that in the afterworld the heart was weighed, and if it was light enough--good enough--that they would live happily in the next life.) 

Have everyone in the family go "mourn" for the pharaoh (they would mourn for 30 days while the organs/body got ready for mummification).  We enjoyed this part because we got to wail obnoxiously while the dead pharaoh had to try not to giggle.

Wrap the mummy with toliet paper (they used linen cloths--not sure if Charmin was around back then).

Place a mask carved as the shape of the pharaoh on the mummy (a.k.a. a paper plate with  picture of the child stuck on it).  This was so that the gods could identify who the mummy was when he arrived in the afterworld.

Carry the mummy to a pyramid (room, bed, couch) and surround him (in this case Kelty) with all of the king's finest things (stuffed horses, pink accessories), since they believed a person could take whatever was with them in their burial chamber to the afterlife.

There it is.  Simple and fun and memorable. 

Wish all my homeschooling days were like that. 

- 30

Nope, that's not a typo.

Yup, that was the temperature (with the wind chill factor) last night up here in the Rockies.

And, YouBetcha, the trampoline has been lonely (and the television has been very-not-lonely) the last few days in the Parker household.

Gotta love winter.

"Dodd is WUV"

Check out this short clip of Ava's first Bible Verse:
"God is Love." (from the book of 1 John)

Mac-and-Cheese Throwdown

I loathe grocery shopping--especially with three small children.  If I were rich, I would hire somebody else to do it.  If I were smart, I would leave the kids at home and go alone, but since I am neither, I continue to endure the self-inflicted torture weekly.   

Case in Point.  Last week as we were making our sprint down the aisles grabbing the red-labeled sale items, my four-year-old son decided to throw an attitude like a hormonal teenage girl.  The whining was warned, the rude comments cautioned, but it was the defiant dropping of a box of macaroni-and-cheese to the floor that brought the cart to a screeching halt.  And I don't consider myself the world's most consistent disciplinarian, but when your kid starts throwing mac-and-cheese in the supermarket because he doesn't like the picture on the box, you have to draw some kind of line.  And, so I pulled out the big guns--I took away the (gasp) free cookie.  I admit, its the bakery's free samples that provide the carrot I must dangle to navigate any grocery-store run, and my tantrum-throwing preschooler just lost his.

As I expected, wails erupted from aisle three.  Embarrassed, I quickly assesed my surroundings.  One lone audience member was casually witnessing our little family drama-- a grandmotherly lady with glasses perched on her nose and a list neatly marked in her hand.  She was calmly studying the noodle labels, and my motherly injured-pride began to arise from the ashes of my child's public meltdown.  I launched with full gusto into a speech about how "disrespect has consequences," and "discipline is supposed to hurt," and "maybe next time you will obey my warnings, young man."  And as we passed our peripheral-glancing witness,and as my son's protests quieted, I turned the corner, feeling accomplished, redeemed, like a mom that Dr. Phil would be proud of.

The Assault.  Three aisles and a full cart-full later, my six-year-old daughter began her assault.  She'd seen a stuffed animal bear that played music, and launched into her five-point thesis about why she needed to own it by the time we left the store.  Distracted, stressed, and ready for this trip to be over 45 minutes ago, we found ourselves at the bakery.  In front of.  The free cookies.  And the baby gets one in her pudgy hand and my six-year old debate-team member grabs one in hers, and I reach for just one more.  I reason the merciful, "He has been really good ever since the incident on the pasta aisle," and the practical, "Can I really handle a meltdown right now?"  And the hand that threw the mac-and-cheese now happily grasps a cookie in his hand, anyway.

And I start to head for the yogurt, when . . .

Busted.

Grandma with the list.

Staring at the lost cookie, now given.  Mouth nearly forming a "tsk, tsk."

And, so, I do what any respectable mother would--I pretend I don't see her and skip the yogurt.

Keeping My Word.   A group of my friends meet weekly to talk about the words of Jesus and how they apply to our daily lives.  And we are all from different faith journeys, but one of the commonalities we share is that we all recognize the rich goodness of Jesus's teachings.  And as I was kicking myself for the grocery-store-drama later that night, I was reminded of one of these powerful life lessons.  Jesus taught once, "Let your 'yes' be 'yes,' and your 'no' be 'no' " (Matthew 5:37).  Simple and powerful parenting (and life) advice, given many years ago on a dusty hillside.  And I realized that the cookie was not the issue that afternoon, nor was another woman's opinion of me as a mom.  The real issue, the place where I messed it up, was in not keeping my word.

And I will probably never see grandma-list-lady, but you can believe that I am going to quit with the empty threats and am going to start following through with dogged determination more.  I am going to try to make my words mean something, and I am going to make the consequences I give my kids to really stick--regardless of where we are or who's watching. 

You can also bet that I am going to start going to the grocery store alone.  I know my limits, after all.

Hot Tip for Pre-Dinner Craziness

If you are anything like me, the 15 minutes before any meal can bring out the worst in dear ol' mom.  Maybe it's that I am a rotten planner or a crappy organizer or an unmotivated cook, but the pre-dinner craziness gets me nearly every time.  The toddler tripping me in the kitchen, siblings fighting over who gets to lay out the spoons, one dish getting cold while the main course still isn't cooked through--this is my world around 5:30.  And the real kicker is that when I finally do get it all on the table, I realize two of the three kids won't eat it anyway, and have to hop back up to make  peanutbutter and jellys (Is it any wonder why we really do have cereal for dinner quite often?).  A few weeks ago, however, I discovered a brilliant plan to occupy my children while I scurried.  Yes, it created (yet another) mess to clean up, but they were quietly happy for at least 10 minutes, which I'll take any day, and all it required was a cup with milk and a straw.  Good times.

Kind-of.

Lessons from the ER: Foreign Objects

Though this lesson was not learned in the ER, it is a part of a continuing series of things I've learned from my son's broken arm.  You can read other lessons HERE and HERE.      

Last week at our doctor's visit to check on the healing of Cade's arm, a foreign object was revealed.  Something that should not have been there, most definitely was.  A bright metal object glared at us from the dull pictures of his bones.  Turns out the little guy had stuck a coin (actually a Thai baht from Matt's recent trip) down his cast, and it was lodged quite tightly against his skin.   The doctor immediately began making preparations to cut off the current-coin-holding cast and to replace it with a brand new one.  As the bill for this karate-move-gone-bad continues to climb higher, Matt questioned if it was even necessary to remove the coin.  The doctor responded with a resounding, no-other-option "yes."  Apparently, when the skin is tightly bound as it is when casted, a foreign object can cause the skin to fester, to become infected, and to harbor damaging bacteria. 

And, so, off came the cast,

out came the coin,

on went the second cast, and

up went our medical bill.

And, once again, I was struck by an adut life-reality in watching my child's physical one.  When foriegn objects are introduced into places they shouldn't be, destruction happens.  Foriegn objects like:

a third person in your marriage,

an out-of-control credit card into your finances,

a root of bitterness into a relationship,

an addiction into your daily routine,

gossip in your office breakroom.

When something that shouldn't be there is there anyway,  it's presence can prevent the healing process from taking place.  Like a coin that corrodes the skin in a casted arm, a foriegn object can cause great damage if left alone too long.

And, just like in Cade's story, the only healthy solution is to cut it out, throw it away, and start fresh again.  Because, in the long run, healthy skin on an arm is much more important than the money, effort, and hassle it takes to get rid of that piece of metal in the first place.  

What's Kept Me Busy This Weekend

At naptimes, in spare minutes while the kids are playing pet shopt, in the evenings when the house is quiet, I've been busy putting together this little promo video for Thailand.  And even though the fonts don't all match and some of the transitions are not my favorite, I am learning that sometimes "good enough" just has to be enough.  And, so, in an effort to put this project down and stamp "finished" on it, I published it and am posting it anyways.  It's about 5 minutes long and has lots of pictures and information about what we'll be doing at Breanna's House of Joy Orphanage.  Enjoy, friends.

  

Thailand Promo 2009 from laura parker on Vimeo.

"Not Excited Anymore"

"Mom, I'm excited about Christmas because the point is the presents," he says with hopeful eyes, thinking about a rock guitar and a new Hot Wheels track.
"Well, actually, " I declare, "the point of Christmas is that Jesus was born as a baby."
Face falls.  Eyes squint.  Sigh escapes. Voice hardens.  "Well, then," he huffs angrily, "I'm not excited about it anymore."  

And, no, I'm not freaking out that my kid wants Star Wars gear more than the knowledge of God walking on earth.  He is, after all, just four years old.   Actually, I thought it was pretty funny and very human.

The Plight of the Third Child. . .

. . . and having a mother who would sometimes rather take pictures than rescue.

A Thursday in November

We were able to spend Thanksgiving this year with some precious friends from Denver.  Just living in the States for four months now, this was their first "American Thanksgiving."  My wonderful friend Elinor and her two children Ethan and Hannah celebrated with us, as well, while her husband had to work (bummer).  Cassie did an amazing job cooking up all the traditional foods, and the rest of us did an amazing job eating them.

After stuffing ourselves with the meal, we walked to the park behind our house where the perfect snowy hill awaited.  It was the first time for our Denver friends to go sledding, and we had a blast in the warm sunshine with eight kids and two sleds. 

 

And a short video of one of the sledding moments . . .

And then, of course, back to the house for some pumpkin pie . . .

Season of Thanks

Remember our Tree of Thanks?  Over the past few weeks, it has gotten full of leaves, each declaring a gratitude.  Things like:

opportunities to be humbled

crackers

family

my Wednesday lunch friends

paper towels

date nights

Jesus

a warm house, though it's snowy outside

God's word

grace to make it to naptimes

Gratitude is a key ingredient to joy, wouldn't you agree?  I am learning that the more I choose to practice it--in my heart, in my prayers, and especially in my words--the more I get to eat of its fruit.

Enjoy this little Happy Thanksgiving from our family here in Colorado.  (And yes, I recognize that their outfits--sundresses and Star Wars pajamas with bulky snow boots-- are much more real-life than Norman Rockwell.  But, I guess I can be thankful for that, too.)

May your cup runneth over, friends--and may you recognize it--during this season of thanks.  Have a great, grateful Thursday.

Happy 24th!

My sister Cassie celebrated a birthday yesterday. I am amazed by the gift her presence is to us. She is going on almost two years of living here, and it has been such a good spot in our lives. I love her heart, her authenticity, her servanthood, her heart for God, her love of music, and her mad auntie skills.  She is beautiful, and I am beyond grateful to have built some treasured memories with her here in this mountain town of Colorado--my kids are gifted, too.

To celebrate last night, we did three very important things:
1. We replaced her Toms shoes, which were so worn there were holes in both toes.
2. We enjoyed The Blue Star, a hip restaraunt downtown.
3. We watched the movie New Moon.  (Yes, we did--along with all the middle-school girls who were squealing anytime any boy-muscles were flaunted.) 

Good times with the Bday Girl. Love you, Cas.

Appetizers

Appetizers.  The small tastes before the full meal.  The hints of the feast to come.  The rich bites that bring pleasure, yet still leave traces of hunger, of wanting more.  Creamy cheeses with stone-ground crackers, stuffed mushrooms full of garlic and herbs, fresh spring rolls with mint and Thai chili sauce--all messengers of the full meal that simmers in the kitchen. 

And Richer Appetizers for the Heart.  The clapping aspen leaves that mesmerize the eye.  A moment of peace.  The mountain view that takes your breath away.  Conversation with a friend that leave you feeling known.  Your daughter twirling in dress-up clothes in the kitchen.  The sigh of Contentment.  A kiss with your spouse that breathes romance.  A sense of wholeness.  A baby's laugh.  That music, that art, that beauy that draws you to something bigger than yourself.  All appetizers of more to come, of the Feast that awaits.

And to the Christ-follower who believes in the reality of heaven and the eternal redemption of broken things, the hope is that these glorious moments on earth are the mere echoes of the symphony we will enjoy in the future.  And though the appetizer is not the Feast, and should not be treated as such, the richness I taste now makes me long all the more for the dinnerbell to ring.    

"When I attempted . . . to describe our spiritual longings, I was omitting one of their most curious characteristics.  We usually notice it just as the moment of vision dies away, as the music ends, or as the landscape loses the celestial light . . . For a few mintues we have had the illusion of belonging to that world.  Now we wake to find that it is no such thing.  We have been mere spectators.  Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us; her face was turned in our direction, but not to see us. . . .  We pine . . .The promise of glory becomes highly relelvant to our deep desire.  For glory means good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowldegement, and welcome into the heart of things. 

The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last."

-C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

 A thanks to my friend Patty, who along with so many things,

taught me about the idea of the 'appetizers of heaven' in the first place.