Sunday, March 28, 2010
Palm Sunday
The door to our home and my office each have one of these on them. My mom and I made them...a lifetime ago. For the thousands of 'deaths and resurrections' since their creation, thanks be to God!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Pray for Them
If you happen to have a favorite pastor, remember them this week to come. Often during Advent and Christmas, pastors are remembered with cards, goodies, and gifts. Holy Week, while even more stressful and full, isn't often a time we remember our clergy. Be patient, offer some kindness, bring in some healthy snacks or an Easter card, basket or gift. (although, my personal suggestion is not to bring them the camo themed eggs/GI Joe Easter basket I saw at Walmart last week...that just might bring on more passion than any of us are ready for this Holy Week.)
And, make time to attend all these fantastic liturgies they are creating.
And, make time to attend all these fantastic liturgies they are creating.
Monday, March 22, 2010
My Week--A List Cross Off
*Attend Mops--didn't happen. Went to bed with a chill and woke up with a fever and other symptoms. Please note what remains to work on...oops. This is why one should plan a head a bit better.
text study for Palm Sunday
Benedictine Sr. Joan Chittister, author and lecturer, lives in Erie, Pa.
Into this mix of struggle and tension, of cultural divides and future possibilities, of global unsureties and dogmatic certainties, comes the sixth question of Lent. It is a simple but a searing one: Who will cry out?
"Rabbi, stop your disciples from calling attention to you," the Pharisees demand in this Sunday's scripture (Luke 19:28-40). There is another agenda here to be attended to, after all: theirs. Or "tradition." Or it is simply any present event "at which such a [fill in the blank -- conversation, action, question, request] is improper." Everything and anything but Jesus is on those agendas, in fact. "Gentlemen," -- you can almost hear the tone of voice -- Jesus says to those who want to ignore the greater questions with which he confronts them, "if these [disciples of mine] do not speak up, even the stones will cry out."
There are some things, in other words, that are so major, so world-shaking, so morally demanding that they simply will not go away, no matter how much we try to ignore them or damp them or nicen them up or command them away. They affect so many people that they will not be minimized. They are erupting everywhere and cannot be dismissed. They may be denied the public arena over and over again but they will not be smothered. Though, heaven knows, smother them we try.
But the flow of history moves inexorably on with each issue that is disregarded in one period rising even more violently in the period that follows. In every decade and in every country and religion, the woman's movement keeps reappearing. In every nation everywhere the plight of the poor is threatening the rich. In every part of the globe every year the ongoing loss of natural resources undermines the well-being of people everywhere. So, the question persists: Who will cry out if not you, if not I?
It is a shattering moment, this confrontation with the inevitable, in the middle of this 40-day retreat into the self. Just when it would be so much more comfortable to sink into the symbolism of Lent, we are required to face reality. Just when we would like to put it all down for awhile -- all the clamor, all the dirty business around us, all the ecclesiastical arm-wrestling, all the social issues -- and concentrate simply on the "spiritual" life, on "Jesus," we find ourselves in a crowd on the noisy, sweaty road to Jerusalem, caught between the Pharisees and Jesus. Caught between the keepers of the system and the word of God. Caught between the stability of the past and the painful beginning of a new future where, deep down, we know we hear the deniers denying him and mourners crying for his absence and the question hanging in the air: Who will cry out? Who will cry out? Who will cry out?
The honest answer, the smart answer, is "Not me." And many people say it. They walk away and abandon the church to its incestuous self where only those remain who profit from the structures or who dabble in the structures for whatever social or personal placebo it might afford. They leave the political system and ignore the elections. They flee the tough conversations in the family and the office in the name of "nice." They say they have "no time for politics" and "no interest in the church." They drop out on the way to Jerusalem.
But there are those others who keep on shouting, who keep on telling the story even to those with no ears to hear. Over and over again they cry out. But is it worth it? And does it work? Did the disciples on the road to Jerusalem make any difference at all? Well, look at it this way: It got our attention, didn't it?
So whose turn is it to cry out this time?
Into this mix of struggle and tension, of cultural divides and future possibilities, of global unsureties and dogmatic certainties, comes the sixth question of Lent. It is a simple but a searing one: Who will cry out?
"Rabbi, stop your disciples from calling attention to you," the Pharisees demand in this Sunday's scripture (Luke 19:28-40). There is another agenda here to be attended to, after all: theirs. Or "tradition." Or it is simply any present event "at which such a [fill in the blank -- conversation, action, question, request] is improper." Everything and anything but Jesus is on those agendas, in fact. "Gentlemen," -- you can almost hear the tone of voice -- Jesus says to those who want to ignore the greater questions with which he confronts them, "if these [disciples of mine] do not speak up, even the stones will cry out."
There are some things, in other words, that are so major, so world-shaking, so morally demanding that they simply will not go away, no matter how much we try to ignore them or damp them or nicen them up or command them away. They affect so many people that they will not be minimized. They are erupting everywhere and cannot be dismissed. They may be denied the public arena over and over again but they will not be smothered. Though, heaven knows, smother them we try.
But the flow of history moves inexorably on with each issue that is disregarded in one period rising even more violently in the period that follows. In every decade and in every country and religion, the woman's movement keeps reappearing. In every nation everywhere the plight of the poor is threatening the rich. In every part of the globe every year the ongoing loss of natural resources undermines the well-being of people everywhere. So, the question persists: Who will cry out if not you, if not I?
It is a shattering moment, this confrontation with the inevitable, in the middle of this 40-day retreat into the self. Just when it would be so much more comfortable to sink into the symbolism of Lent, we are required to face reality. Just when we would like to put it all down for awhile -- all the clamor, all the dirty business around us, all the ecclesiastical arm-wrestling, all the social issues -- and concentrate simply on the "spiritual" life, on "Jesus," we find ourselves in a crowd on the noisy, sweaty road to Jerusalem, caught between the Pharisees and Jesus. Caught between the keepers of the system and the word of God. Caught between the stability of the past and the painful beginning of a new future where, deep down, we know we hear the deniers denying him and mourners crying for his absence and the question hanging in the air: Who will cry out? Who will cry out? Who will cry out?
The honest answer, the smart answer, is "Not me." And many people say it. They walk away and abandon the church to its incestuous self where only those remain who profit from the structures or who dabble in the structures for whatever social or personal placebo it might afford. They leave the political system and ignore the elections. They flee the tough conversations in the family and the office in the name of "nice." They say they have "no time for politics" and "no interest in the church." They drop out on the way to Jerusalem.
But there are those others who keep on shouting, who keep on telling the story even to those with no ears to hear. Over and over again they cry out. But is it worth it? And does it work? Did the disciples on the road to Jerusalem make any difference at all? Well, look at it this way: It got our attention, didn't it?
So whose turn is it to cry out this time?
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Confession Friday--Take 4
I am that mom. The one who isn't totally available to help her kids because one hand is gripping a coffee cup. I hold the coffee for comfort. If I wasn't holding coffee it would be a water bottle...or food. It gives me purpose. It protects me and gives me "something to do" while I listen to people talk or think of what to say. It also keeps me awake.
But I am that Mom. The one holding a starbucks cup. I came to the realization a few weeks ago when I couldn't fully help EG up the escalator because I had hot coffee in one hand. I notice I can't always hold both of my kid's hands through a parking lot because I only have one free hand. The one a wee bit late for gymnastics because she had to run to get coffee before class. The one with stained fingers because the coffee has bubbled out on to her hand while walking. (while holding bags, kids' hands, keys, etc. AND said, coffee.)
On Wednesday, I added littering to my coffee sins as well. I brought a cup of coffee to the park, as I was finishing the coffee, one of the kids needed a boost up. The garbage can is a bit of a ways from where we were playing so I put down my empty cup on the ground and went over to go help them. My intent was to remember the cup and throw it into the garbage can.
As we were driving home later, I realized I never did take that cup back to the garbage can.
But I am that Mom. The one holding a starbucks cup. I came to the realization a few weeks ago when I couldn't fully help EG up the escalator because I had hot coffee in one hand. I notice I can't always hold both of my kid's hands through a parking lot because I only have one free hand. The one a wee bit late for gymnastics because she had to run to get coffee before class. The one with stained fingers because the coffee has bubbled out on to her hand while walking. (while holding bags, kids' hands, keys, etc. AND said, coffee.)
On Wednesday, I added littering to my coffee sins as well. I brought a cup of coffee to the park, as I was finishing the coffee, one of the kids needed a boost up. The garbage can is a bit of a ways from where we were playing so I put down my empty cup on the ground and went over to go help them. My intent was to remember the cup and throw it into the garbage can.
As we were driving home later, I realized I never did take that cup back to the garbage can.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Lookin' Good
Last week, while shopping at the mall with my kids, this very nice woman held the door open for us as we trooped through. I took note that she was smartly dressed and pleasant. We walked to our car. She walked the parking lot to hers. Just as I was getting EG situated in her car seat, the Pleasant Women drove by my car. She yelled out the window, "Excuse me." After a minute, I realized someone was calling to me. I turned around, preparing myself for "whatever" one would through yell through the window of a car at me. "Where did you get your jeans? They look so good on you." Internally, laughing (is she serious?), I shared the information and chatted a bit. She thanked me and drove off.
I can't pinpoint when it happened, but people stopped complimenting me in day to day life. I have to be honest, I probably stopped complimenting others, too. People seem to look at me oddly, or are suprised. I'm not sure if it is a geographic/cultural issue, my age, my stage in life...or, of course, I could (briefly) consider that there is less to compliment me on at this point in my life. For a brief moment I have to admit, "I sure ain't trying that hard any more." (While this story is about compliments on appearance, there are other things we could find to celebrate about each other as well.)
But surely there is something we could highlight about each other. I miss the days when my friends--or random strangers--complimented each other on a regular basis. Let's bring that back*. Take a look around, and throw someone a compliment...even if you have to shout it out the window.
*I do not, however, miss the Junior High 'fishing for a compliment' stage. "I hate my hair today." Translation: "I worked for five hours on these bangs, please tell me they look good." It is an annoying phase in a 14 year old; on a person 30 years or older it is just painful and embarrassing.
I can't pinpoint when it happened, but people stopped complimenting me in day to day life. I have to be honest, I probably stopped complimenting others, too. People seem to look at me oddly, or are suprised. I'm not sure if it is a geographic/cultural issue, my age, my stage in life...or, of course, I could (briefly) consider that there is less to compliment me on at this point in my life. For a brief moment I have to admit, "I sure ain't trying that hard any more." (While this story is about compliments on appearance, there are other things we could find to celebrate about each other as well.)
But surely there is something we could highlight about each other. I miss the days when my friends--or random strangers--complimented each other on a regular basis. Let's bring that back*. Take a look around, and throw someone a compliment...even if you have to shout it out the window.
*I do not, however, miss the Junior High 'fishing for a compliment' stage. "I hate my hair today." Translation: "I worked for five hours on these bangs, please tell me they look good." It is an annoying phase in a 14 year old; on a person 30 years or older it is just painful and embarrassing.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Friday Confession--Part 3
My first confession needs to be that I didn't confess last week. I thought about it. I didn't have anything that felt appropriate to confess. No one wants to hear my actual yucky, slimy sins, do they? No. No, you don't.
Today's confessional happened on Wednesday and can be filed under 'S' for sloth. I was preaching twice on Wednesday. I hadn't started writing my sermon until Tuesday night. I wasn't overly prepared. I don't usually do pastoral work on days the kids have school, so it threw a wrinkle in our day. (that can also be read: I had to shower and get all fancy for work on a day I usually wear jeans. Yes, I know..black pants and a collar shirt isn't exactly high fashion.) A wonderful friend of mine was coming to watch the kids. The house was a bit of a disaster. Now, this said friend has seen my house in all states. I have seen hers in all states. But she was coming to spend time with my kids, in my house...it wasn't going to be a trip to the spa, but it didn't need to feel like a field trip to the County Landfill either.
I got most of it vacuumed, the pee cleaned up in the bathroom (argh-boys) but the kitchen pans were still out on the counter. Lasagna was on the menu the night before...lots of pans. Instead of beginning to scrub, I took each pan and stuck it in back in the cabinet. Noodles encrusted and all. That's it. Should I have died, someone, probably my Grandma, would have found five pans covered in various degrees of soggy food, grease, soap and embarrassment.
I know...you are feeling better about yourself already, aren't you?
On a side note. My other confession should be that I broke my "no lunches out" Lenten discipline in the most offensive of ways. The kids and I ate McDonald fries. And, we had lunch with my parents. And today I am going out to lunch with a friend who is town. Other than that...we are keeping the fast. I know you were curious.
Today's confessional happened on Wednesday and can be filed under 'S' for sloth. I was preaching twice on Wednesday. I hadn't started writing my sermon until Tuesday night. I wasn't overly prepared. I don't usually do pastoral work on days the kids have school, so it threw a wrinkle in our day. (that can also be read: I had to shower and get all fancy for work on a day I usually wear jeans. Yes, I know..black pants and a collar shirt isn't exactly high fashion.) A wonderful friend of mine was coming to watch the kids. The house was a bit of a disaster. Now, this said friend has seen my house in all states. I have seen hers in all states. But she was coming to spend time with my kids, in my house...it wasn't going to be a trip to the spa, but it didn't need to feel like a field trip to the County Landfill either.
I got most of it vacuumed, the pee cleaned up in the bathroom (argh-boys) but the kitchen pans were still out on the counter. Lasagna was on the menu the night before...lots of pans. Instead of beginning to scrub, I took each pan and stuck it in back in the cabinet. Noodles encrusted and all. That's it. Should I have died, someone, probably my Grandma, would have found five pans covered in various degrees of soggy food, grease, soap and embarrassment.
I know...you are feeling better about yourself already, aren't you?
On a side note. My other confession should be that I broke my "no lunches out" Lenten discipline in the most offensive of ways. The kids and I ate McDonald fries. And, we had lunch with my parents. And today I am going out to lunch with a friend who is town. Other than that...we are keeping the fast. I know you were curious.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Mid-Week Lenten Series on Luther's Small Catechism--The Lord's Prayer
One of the hardest parts of my first call was introducing myself to the home bound members and those who lived in nursing homes. They were members of a congregation that had seen a fair amount of turn over through the years. For some of the people, I was the third, fourth pastor to visit them since they had moved to the nursing home. It was, understandably, difficult to keep me and my predecessors straight. It made for very confusing conversations. They would get stories about us all jumbled up together and I would have to weigh whether it was worth trying to point out which tales were about me and which belonged to someone else. And, of course, their stories weren’t always clear to them any more either. Because we had just met, I had very little to go by…one woman told me about her travels from the east and the restaurant she had started. Some weeks the restaurant was back in New York, other times it was in Fargo, where she lived now. Some days her stories were full of references to her four sons and other times she would rebuke me for asking about more than two. Our visits were often confusing and filled with uncertainty about what we should talk about next. That is until it was time to pray. Each and every one of my visits—no matter how confused or discombobulated our conversation—ended with a firm and solid reciting of The Lord’s Prayer.
This prayer that Jesus gave to his disciples in the Gospel of Luke is one of the first we teach our children. We begin praying it with them at an early age…for many reasons…just one of them being…there are some tricky words in there, there is a lot to memorize and learn. We all have a funny story of how a child misinterpreted the words…
We also teach it to our children because we are told to; first by Jesus.. “When you pray, say…” and then in our baptismal promises. This prayer is a foundational piece to our faith development. We teach it so our children will have something to pray on those days so crazed or dark that they can’t find words to form a sentence, let alone feel prepared to pray. But ultimately we continue to teach and study these precious words from scripture because of what I witnessed upon the deaths of my newly met parishioners.
Martin Luther, in his Large Catechism, reminds us that prayer is not optional, but vital to our living our best life…much like the 10 Commandments are. Luther writes to people who would have relied upon the prayers of Priests and other Holy Leaders, he encourages and demands that each of us take up prayer…
Therefore you should say: My prayer is as precious, holy, and pleasing to God as that of St. Paul or of the most holy saints. since God does not regard prayer on account of the person, but on account of His word and obedience thereto. For on the commandment on which all the saints rest their prayer I, too, rest mine. Moreover, I pray for the same thing for which they all pray and ever have prayed; besides, I have just as great a need of it as those great saints, yea, even a greater one than they.
Let this be the first and most important point, that all our prayers must be based and rest upon obedience to God, irrespective of our person, whether we be sinners or saints, worthy or unworthy.
So often people hope that God’s will looks something like winning the lottery…or at least like their political platform. Anyone who claims to know the mind of God and then offer up a prayer or commentary should be viewed from a distance. Claims that God’s will is to use tornados or hurricanes or earthquakes like a protester uses her sign on a street corner, to highlight displeasure with our lives, are misguided. Likewise, we should probably be careful when praying for God to help us find the best parking spot when rushed or outfit to wear to a job interview. (both honest to goodness, prayer requests I have heard.) It isn’t that we shouldn’t be in communication with God about our concerns—mundane, trivial or life threatening, but our Lord Jesus, him very self, only said we should pray for the Kingdom and that God’s will be done…he didn’t tell us what that would be exactly in any given situation.
If want to know God’s will, we need only to look to the cross. If we want a clear example of how God has worked and will work again, we look to the cross. And as we pray, we tell our stories about how we were dead, but God raised us. In any given situation we can trust God is working to bring life from death, suffering and sin. What that new life looks like, isn’t for us to demand, we only pray that it happen among us and that we be a part of that new life.
The world lives by the story that our lives are rushing toward the end and that death is the enemy we must avoid… The world tells us a story that all of suffering, confusion or pain must be resolved now through human effort, drugs, economics development, medical technology or else life is doomed.
Without a different story it is no wonder the world becomes violent and turns in upon itself…but when we pray the Lord’s Prayer, God’s story gives us the freedom to be patient, to take time. In praying we are given something good to do in the meantime, while we wait for temptation to pass, humanity to heal and the longing to cease. We refuse to let the powers of the world rush us into despair or false hope, premature conclusions or frantic busyness. We are encouraged to live lives that resist the powers of the world.
Anything real and Godly in this world usually takes the form of a relationship, it takes communal effort: it requires us to confess and forgive. Anytime we catch a glimpse of the holy it has required patience, community, time… all of these are skills that are not naturally taught to us by the world. But God and God’s Holy Spirit have not left us…the holy comes to us as we pray, or rather, as we pray…we become holy.
This prayer, that most of us learned as small children, this prayer that we recite again and again, we must pray it so that it becomes us. It must not become a work done to look holy or used as a password to gain entrance to God’s favor…We must pray a prayer, taught to us by Jesus, so that our lives may bend towards his. We must pray as God would have us pray…so that we live as God would have us live. We pray as God would have us pray. Amen.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Caught
Just moments ago, BB was in the kitchen snacking and watching Bob the Builder. I was in the office working on an upcoming sermon (and catching up on tv shows I had missed.) BB had been eating a variety of things in the cabinet. Goldfish crackers. Raisins. Pretzels. When he came in to ask me to change the video, I noticed that his breathe smelled 'minty fresh.' He also off handily mentioned that his tongue hurt.
Thinking nothing of it, I asked, "Did you eat some gum?"
"No." He looked right at me.
"Really, your breathe smells like gum. Are you sure you didn't eat some?" I continued to finish typing and arranging papers on the desk, before standing to change his video.
"No."
I didn't really care. Up until this point I wasn't accusatory or angry. But now I realized he was lying. (for some unknown four year old reason.)
I walked in to the kitchen, and saw an empty wrapper sitting by his cup of juice. There was no unwrapped gum anywhere...just a package of Extra sitting on the counter.
"Why is this wrapper empty? Are you sure you didn't eat some gum or put it in your mouth?" says I, again, remaining calm and casual.
"No." Pause. "I don't know why." and tears begin.
Now I get a bit more firm. "BB, you need to tell the truth. If you can't tell me what happened you need to go to your room."
He goes to his room and dramatic crying begins. I give him a minute and go in.
Calmly, I sit on his bed, "BB, I sent you to your room because you aren't telling me the whole story...that is a lie. I am not mad if you ate gum. I don't even care if you ate gum. I am upset because you didn't tell me the truth."
Very sad, earnest tears are falling as I say this.
"You can come out when you are ready to tell me the truth...but again, I'm not mad about the gum."
He's still in there.
Good grief. My husband and I don't even chew gum. It was left here by my parents (not blaming you, mom, just reporting facts) and I understand the allure of something new, but seriously, why choose this to lie about? Take note of how often I noted that I was calm about it. He had no reason to think he'd get in trouble. In fact, he fesses up with joy over all sorts of things he KNOWS he'll get in trouble about. "How did EG get hurt?" "I pushed her." "Why is that chair broke? "Oh, I jumped on it." Things like that he fesses up to in an instant and I thank him for being honest...but GUM? Gum is the one that he decides to lie about.
I'm trying to think of what else could have happened. But the evidence points to him. Sigh. Always a new learning opportunity...for me.
**Follow Up** He fell asleep and after waking up from a short nap, BB still wouldn't say much. He tentatively admitted to licking an existing wrapper. Who knows. After a brief conversation I realized the whole thing was over his head a bit and decided to let it go--mindful of how I react to him in the future. I don't like the idea of him lying to protect himself from his mother's wrath (or, grumpy face/stern voice, as the case more often is.)
Thinking nothing of it, I asked, "Did you eat some gum?"
"No." He looked right at me.
"Really, your breathe smells like gum. Are you sure you didn't eat some?" I continued to finish typing and arranging papers on the desk, before standing to change his video.
"No."
I didn't really care. Up until this point I wasn't accusatory or angry. But now I realized he was lying. (for some unknown four year old reason.)
I walked in to the kitchen, and saw an empty wrapper sitting by his cup of juice. There was no unwrapped gum anywhere...just a package of Extra sitting on the counter.
"Why is this wrapper empty? Are you sure you didn't eat some gum or put it in your mouth?" says I, again, remaining calm and casual.
"No." Pause. "I don't know why." and tears begin.
Now I get a bit more firm. "BB, you need to tell the truth. If you can't tell me what happened you need to go to your room."
He goes to his room and dramatic crying begins. I give him a minute and go in.
Calmly, I sit on his bed, "BB, I sent you to your room because you aren't telling me the whole story...that is a lie. I am not mad if you ate gum. I don't even care if you ate gum. I am upset because you didn't tell me the truth."
Very sad, earnest tears are falling as I say this.
"You can come out when you are ready to tell me the truth...but again, I'm not mad about the gum."
He's still in there.
Good grief. My husband and I don't even chew gum. It was left here by my parents (not blaming you, mom, just reporting facts) and I understand the allure of something new, but seriously, why choose this to lie about? Take note of how often I noted that I was calm about it. He had no reason to think he'd get in trouble. In fact, he fesses up with joy over all sorts of things he KNOWS he'll get in trouble about. "How did EG get hurt?" "I pushed her." "Why is that chair broke? "Oh, I jumped on it." Things like that he fesses up to in an instant and I thank him for being honest...but GUM? Gum is the one that he decides to lie about.
I'm trying to think of what else could have happened. But the evidence points to him. Sigh. Always a new learning opportunity...for me.
**Follow Up** He fell asleep and after waking up from a short nap, BB still wouldn't say much. He tentatively admitted to licking an existing wrapper. Who knows. After a brief conversation I realized the whole thing was over his head a bit and decided to let it go--mindful of how I react to him in the future. I don't like the idea of him lying to protect himself from his mother's wrath (or, grumpy face/stern voice, as the case more often is.)
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Brown Bear, Brown Bear, what do you see? I see GOLDFISH...
For the past week it has been party preparation time around here. I had great helpers. BB took the lead of theme and I finished off the details with the help of some great party planners. EG did actually pick her theme. It came from the book Brown Bear, Brown Bear...half way in, you see a Goldfish looking at you. EG likes the fish.
My Mom and Dad came by to celebrate with EG as she turned two. The following are some photos of the party. Now, mind you, the only guests in attendance were the ones who did the planning and work...a very funny experience.
The baking begins.
The cake...awe, the cake. It took on a color all its own. Blue is a pretty ugly cake color, but blue was the color BB requested demanded the cake to be. As the day went on, it became more green...we just assumed the fish swam deeper into the ocean bottom.
The table is set.
Placemats were placed.
This is something EG actually requested: goldfish crackers.
From The Pionner Woman, I tried her fancy mac and cheese. My Dad actually did the hard part and stired while I threw ingredients in and managed the heat level. (grin) He and I have made two meals together in the last four years...it is a hoot to watch and listen to us.
My Mom and Dad came by to celebrate with EG as she turned two. The following are some photos of the party. Now, mind you, the only guests in attendance were the ones who did the planning and work...a very funny experience.
The baking begins. 
Goldfish cookies...the cookie traditions lives on. Check back to BB's birthday in December 2009 for links to the cookie recipe.
The cake...awe, the cake. It took on a color all its own. Blue is a pretty ugly cake color, but blue was the color BB My Mom made the eyes for the fish. In the Eric Carle book, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, the goldfish's eyes are green.
Jello jiggles fish were a late addition to the menu. Again, you can guess who came up with the idea.
The table is set.
Placemats were placed. 
This is something EG actually requested: goldfish crackers. 
From The Pionner Woman, I tried her fancy mac and cheese. My Dad actually did the hard part and stired while I threw ingredients in and managed the heat level. (grin) He and I have made two meals together in the last four years...it is a hoot to watch and listen to us. I really liked it. Very rich. EG had requested noodles and cheese for her menu. I thought this might be more classy than Kraft Mac and Cheese...but the kids didn't each much of it. Sigh.
Happy Birthday, EG! You are the best two year old in the whole wide world. We love you so.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
You Have Returned
True to forum, BB took my disbelief and turned it in to his best friend. What do I know? The two have been inseparable ever since BB was about six months old. You'll note how well loved he (she?) is. We call the bear Bunny Bear. (or my name, The Cross Dressing Bear--which isn't as child appropriate.) They were inseparable until one morning about a month or more ago. Bunny Bear disappeared. Poof. He (she?) was gone. Vanished before our very eyes. All of our searching couldn't bring him (her?) out of hiding. Most of us, frankly, suspected that EG had done something with the bear, but we couldn't prove it, so we let it go. But we wondered. We searched. We torn open drawers and doors. Boxes of toys were tossed and turned in vain. Sheets were stripped, the pillow searched. We even turned over the dog's bed in the basement---far away from the last known whereabouts of Bunny Bear. But he (she?) was gone. And we began to live with that reality.
Sadder for me, was the fact my BB seemed ok. Once the initial tears passed, Bunny Bear was only mentioned once or twice a week, at bedtime. Part of me was hoping for more tears. More in consolable grief and pain. I wanted my son to be, well, more of a baby about the whole matter. I wasn't ready for my first born baby to give up his friend so easily. I wasn't ready for my BB to be all grown up and ready to face the world sans security blanket/bear.
So, I don't know who was more happy when I gave the search one last effort tonight.
I lifted the mattress off from his bed frame and we pulled out the drawers that slide under the bed. That's when I saw it. As the second drawer was pulled out, I noticed the worn chocolate patch of Bunny Bear's paw. Just a hint of possibility peaked at me. Could it be? I reached down and grabbed the paw...thrilled and amazed that we found him (her?). I was nearly in tears, BB was giggling uncontrollably. He hugged Bunny Bear and immediately jumped into bed to snuggle. BB also began to share with Bunny Bear how he (she?) had missed Pajama Day at preschool today..."But its ok, you can come with me next year."
I don't know who is more happy tonight, my sleeping son, or myself? Both of us content that the world is back as it should be. Little boys remain just that, little boys. Whew. I don't know about him, but I'm not ready for a world without Bunny Bear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)