"Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words when necessary." - St. Francis of Assisi

Isn't that a great quote? I love the idea of Jesus communicating his heart toward the people in my life, using me - my attitudes, my acceptance of them, my decisions to do the right thing, my joy that prevails and even grows through the medium of brokenness and pain. My decision to show love to someone not because I particularly want to, but simply because they need love.

Plenty of people have done that for me. They have been Jesus to me. And I'd like to pay it forward.

It's so different from pointing the finger at people, telling them how bad they are and how they should straighten up and fly right.

Not that there's never a place for confronting someone with the ugly truth. Knowing the truth sets us free, and truth can be ugly. But truth without love tears down. There seems to be so much truth-without-love thrown around by talking heads that claim to represent Jesus. Sometimes it makes me nauseous.

Uh-oh. I'm beginning to wax self-righteous - it takes one to know one, you know. I'm in recovery from that. Anyhoo, I'm just saying that I really want my interactions, and my decisions behind closed doors, and my pocketbook, to saturate my world with the fragrance of Christ. It's so much more seductive than bashing people over the head with my Bible.

The New and Improved Krysta's Brood! (New because there is actually new content, and improved because. . .well, it sounded good)

Okay, I'll admit it - in my frustration over being unable to pull together a visually stunning blog after two weeks of working, I stopped.

But I missed writing the random thoughts floating around in my brain. For me, writing is the process of unwinding a tangled yarn of ideas and emotions and winding them back into something ordered, something that makes sense. I never know quite what I think or why until I write about it.

Which brings me back to my humble little blog. Much has happened in the lives of Krysta's Brood in the past two months, just about all of it good. Being verbose and having a perpetual case of Mom Brain, I'll spare you all the gory details and pick some highlights:

1. We are buying a house! If you don't believe in miracles, let me share a bona-fide one with you: a single mom has kick-butt credit less than a year after her divorce. If this is not a Christmas Miracle, I don't know what is.

2. M&M gets to be a Munchkin in a professional production of The Wizard of Oz! Which is very, very exciting - although the fact that they did not comp us any tickets forced me to put $400 on the credit card to see my little Munchkin in action, putting a slight dent in the kick-butt credit.

3. I had a joyful Christmas. As those of you who have been through hard times may have experienced, the holidays can be incredibly painful. Christmas was the happiest time of my year growing up, but the past several years it seemed as though the Grinch himself had stolen my joy. I just wanted the stupid holidays to be over, so I could quit being reminded of just how far my family life had veered from what I'd planned. Ah, but this year. . . Joy, Peace, and Bliss returned in full force. God is in the Restoration Business.

Well. . . two of my girls are fighting over whose money was in the beaded purse one of them found in the dress up bin, so I'm going to go mediate before a Catfight ensues. In the interest of being a bit early for once, let me wish you a very Happy New Year!

-Krysta

Celebrating the End of Halloween Week

My friend Molly pointed out that Halloween used to be one day of dressing up and trick-or-treating. She says she's looking forward to the end of Halloween Week, when she can throw all the candy her kids have collected this week into the trash.

Amen, sister!

Something is seriously out of whack when we take an afternoon to reflect on all we're grateful for, offering up some generic Thanks in between bites of mashed potato; but we take a whole week to immerse ourselves in Dead Things and candy.

What if we took an afternoon for Halloween, and a whole week to meditate on all the good gifts we've been given? What if we took a week to deliberately offer our gratitude to the God of the universe, from whose hand all good gifts flow?

I'm as guilty as anyone of the imbalance. As a family, we don't do much for Thanksgiving, other than cooking rich food and making turkeys out of the outlines of our hands.

I'm always preaching to my kids about having an Attitude of Gratitude. Maybe if I practiced what I preached a little more, my kids would catch on.

Hmmm. . . .

Welcome to my blog!

a very brady christmas
Originally uploaded by SpacePotato

Welcome to Krysta's Brood - This Ain't the Brady Bunch

Happy 40th Anniversary to The Brady Bunch!
Originally uploaded by Roadsidepictures

Throw a Bone to a Techno-Dummy, Please!

I am good at a lot of things.

Figuring out computers is not one of them.

I have always found it frustrating that I cannot sit down with my computer and have a rational conversation about what I was trying to communicate, even though I inadvertently left off the extra backslash. The computer just doesn't want to listen. The fact that I did things imperfectly automatically disqualifies me from further consideration.

Reminds me of some annoying people in my past, whom I evidently need to forgive, again (moment of silence whilst I forgive aforementioned people, and aforementioned computer).

Okay, moving on.

Which is why my blog currently has no title appearing in the cute little header frame.

I've noticed that many of you out there have blogs that are just as cute as a button. I've also noticed that the headers on your cute blogs contain actual words.

Can ya help a sister out?

The 1st Annual 39th Birthday Bash

In a few short months I will reach the landmark age of 39, at which point I can no longer claim to be in my mid-30's.

Since the jolt of leaping suddenly from my mid-30's to 40 seems too abrupt, I thought I'd ease the transition somewhat, by hosting Krysta's 1st Annual 39th Birthday Bash.

Krysta's 2nd Annual 39th Birthday Bash will be held a year and two months from now.

I'm looking for ideas for a fabulous 39th Birthday Bash, and I'd be thrilled beyond words if you would post any suggestions that happen to pop into your brains.

Some ideas I've already ruled out:
1. Karaoke. I'm a HUGE Karaoke fan, but I don't drink, and somehow those two facts don't seem to mesh together well.

2. Inflatable Bouncy Things: After 4 kids, bouncing in any sort of a public venue is out, because at this point I am not willing to wear Depends anywhere, much less to my own birthday party.

Oh, and I should mention that I'm a tightwad who is saving ferociously for a down payment on a house - so the Big Budget Party will have to wait awhile.

That's it. Any ideas out there?

Someone has hijacked my knees

Over the course of my childbearing years, I've lost over 100 pounds of Actual Fat - not including the approximately 80 lbs. of baby/water weight that you lose within 2 weeks after the birth. I feel kinda proud about that fact.

Until I look in the mirror. Why am I still 15 lbs. heavier than I was before I got pregnant? That is discouraging.

On the other hand, the fact that I've technically lost over 100 pounds - though not all at once - helps me justify the strong temptation to pull money out of the kids' college funds to finance my tummy tuck. My kids are brilliant and will probably earn scholarships anyway, right?

Which brings me to my second topic of bodily discontent - my knees. Apparently, some middle-aged woman has broken into my house and hijacked my knees, replacing them with her own. I know this because the Fat Zone on my body has always ranged strictly from the mid-thigh up to the jawline. Everything in that zone has always been Fair Game, but my legs and ankles have always stayed blessedly slim. Thank God for small favors.

Suddenly, though, there are these lumpy, gelatinous blobs beside my knees. It is as if a portion of the lumpy, gelatinous blobs of my inner thighs jiggled free and slid down about 8 inches.

Except that my inner thighs are no smaller, so I know it has to be the Middle-Aged Hijacker Woman.

This stinks, for the following reasons:
1. Shorts and short skirts are no longer the good friends they once were.
2. It is too hot here much of the year to wear anything but shorts, short skirts, and capri pants.
3. Capri pants make me look shorter and squatter than I already am.

Which leaves me with a few options:
1. File a police report and hope they can find my Hijacked Knees.
2. Embrace my new knees (not a viable option at this point).
3. Pull out the P90X and get crackin'.

Sigh. Off to exercise.

Yesterday I heard a comment from a young mom with one baby: "I just don't understand when I see parents being rude to their kids."

Ah. . . I remember the days when I, too, couldn't understand the impatience and imperfection of the parents around me. I could respond gently and lovingly to my one year old practically all the time; why couldn't these other parents get their acts together?

Those fantasies of Perfect Motherhood began to unravel the day my 18 month old figured out her newborn sister wouldn't be leaving the premesis anytime soon. She also decided, that same day, that it was time to start practice being a Two Year Old, and the word "no!" and tantrums commenced. My sweet girl became more uncontrollable than she'd ever been.

The Uncontrollable factor has exploded exponentially since. And frankly, sometimes I don't respond all that well when things are not under my control.

Welcome to Motherhood: God's daily reminder that we are not in control.

At the height of the family craziness, when I still believed it was my job to singlehandedly fix my broken marriage and my kids' broken hearts, I was, to but it bluntly, Insane. I had it in my brain that if I could just control the people and circumstances around me, everything would be Hunky Dory.

Problem: I cannot control the people and circumstances around me. It wasn't for lack of trying, I can tell you that.

Someone said to me, "Krysta, there's a God, and you ain't Him. Let go, and let God."

I tried it, and you know what? It worked. God is so much better at ordering the details of my world than I am.

Because I know it's not my job to "make" my kids be a certain way, I'm a lot better at accepting them, and a lot calmer when doling out necessary consequences.

Not that I don't have my moments. But when I find myself beginning a Control Binge, I know what to do. Let go, and let God.

The Joys of Phonetic Spelling

Banana, who is five, is on a Spelling Tear. This week, her favorite activity is writing down the thoughts that float through her little brain. This is especially fun because Banana talks like Elmer Fudd, which is reflected in her spelling choices. See if you can decipher this one:

I aim soow icksidiud dat my toof is loos.

The accompanying drawing on this precious piece of paper depicts a sleeping, smiling Banana with backward zzzzz's coming out of her mouth, and the Tooth Fairy, carrying a wand and some money - a 10 dollar, 50 dollar, and 15 dollar bill.

Dream away, Banana. The Toof Fairy ain't made of money.

Banana is my baby. This is the last time I will be able to delight in the Phonetic Spelling Phase, which has always given me inordinate amounts of joy. I'm sucking the marrow out of this bone.

Pumpkin Farm Day!!!!!!!

Because I probably wanted to go as badly as the kids, I announced that today was Pumpkin Farm Day. There were no behavioral requirements.

Outings such as Pumpkin Farm Day are the places I get to sneak in my homeschooling, which I miss terribly, even though the kids don't.

I saw a real chicken lay a real egg. It looked dry from the get-go, which surprised me.

The kids had great fun letting the chickens peck their jacket zippers through the wire, at which point they yelled, "This chicken is pecking my zipper into a nub!" - a reference that will only make sense to a true Junie B. fan.

We chose our pumpkins from the pumpkin patch, went on a hayride, and fed cow treats to real cows - some of which had horns. Apparently lady cows can have horns, too, which I did not know.

I realize that the term "lady cows" is redundant. I'm using it anyway.

We also went through a Myrtle Maze. Apparently, some species of worm had destroyed their corn crop, and they got creative and planted Myrtle instead. I respect a person who can roll with adversity and come up with a creative alternative.

Tomorrow, it's back on the Hamster Wheel of school, homework, chores, activities, a sliver of Quality Family Time, and sleep.

Days like today feel to me like coming up for air.

Today was supposed to be Pumpkin Farm Day for me and the kids. Before I went out this morning, leaving the kids with Ace, I informed the little Anklebiters that two things had to happen by the time I got back: 1. Rooms had to be picked up, and 2. All kids had to be good listeners for Ms. Ace. If I got back a bad report on even one kid, Pumpkin Farm Day would have to be cancelled. Four little heads nodded solemnly.

Fast forward to lunchtime, and Ms. Ace's Morning Report. Two kids got a thumbs down.

I was so bummed. I'd been looking forward to Pumpkin Farm Day at least as much as them.

In the past year, I've gone from being a Homeschooling Mama to missing out on 35 hours of their week. Add in the weekends they spend with their dad, and you get one mom with Serious Kid Withdrawl.

Even when they are home, they don't necessarily want to spend every waking moment with Mom. They're no longer the Little Extensions of Mommy they were as infants and preschoolers. This is right and healthy. But it's left me feeling a little lost, now that they don't need me 24/7 anymore.

So when they didn't meet the requirements for Pumpkin Farm Day,it was so very tempting to give into their pleas that I take them anyway.

I told them, "I have to keep my word to you and cancel the trip." The two "good girls" cried -especially M&M, who had actually cleaned her brother's room in an attempt to keep Pumpkin Farm Day going. But everyone accepted it.

I hope that, by keeping my word to them today, I've built their trust of me and their understanding that actions have consequences.

I also hope that the weather's good tomorrow. I'm taking them to the Pumpkin Farm, good behavior or no.

Carpool Moms and The Superior Dance

I am a Walker Mom. My kids walk to school each morning, and I meet them at the side entrance every afternoon so that we can walk home together, sharing meaningful conversation about our day - and so I can make sure that 7 year old Dubya does not "accidentally" leave his little sister at school.

The Carpool Moms, on the other hand, wait in the carpool line and chauffer their little ones home each afternoon. Nothing wrong with that. But here's where I am totally stumped: there are Carpool Moms waiting in line for a solid hour before the final bell rings, in order to get a plum spot in the Carpool Line. I myself have been through the Carpool Line on occasion, and I happen to know that it takes approximately 20 minutes from the end of said line, to the point where the little anklebiters are fighting over who gets to go first through the minivan door.

So. . . there are people who wait for an hour each day, in order to save 20 minutes.

I'm flummoxed.

Some of them, perhaps, are women far less lazy than I, who are actually willing to chauffer their child to an activity that is not within a 5-mile radius of their front door. These self-sacrificing women actually give up an extra hour of their day in order to deliver their child to their class or practice promptly. To them I say, "Kudos, Supermom. You've got me beat."

But I suspect that many of them are like me - competitive women who really, really, really HATE sitting at the end of a line that is moving nowhere fast. For them, sacrificing five hours a week is a small price to pay for avoiding 20 minutes of torture, five days a week.

I have to admit, I've been known to giggle at these Competitive Carpool Moms, secretly allowing myself to feel superior.

Maybe I ought to drop the Superior Dance and thank the Good Lord that we live within walking distance of school.

Meet the Brood, Part I

Here's a Story
Of a Lovely Lady
Who is bringing up three very Lovely Girls
Two of them have Hair of Gold,
Mom's is Clairol
The oldest one's is Brown

Here's a Story
of that Lovely Lady
Who is busy with one son of her own
He's the Sole Male;
There's no Prince Charming,
Unless you count our Frog.

People see this Lovely Lady with her Children,
And they say that they have much more than a hunch
That this Lady with four children must be Patient -
Lady snorts and says, "This ain't the Brady Bunch!"

We're Krysta's Brood
We're Krysta's Brood
We're a wo-man, three girls, and one Small Dude!

Buh-dummm-buh-dummm-Bop-Baaaaaaaaa-bop-BAH!


P.S. We also have our babysitter Ace, who lives with us and who, in this analogy, would be the equivalent of Alice the Housekeeper - except that she's about 3 decades younger and never wears an apron or lace-up Granny Shoes.