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. . . .
10.31.2009
10.30.2009
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?
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?
10.28.2009
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?
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?
10.26.2009
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.
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.
10.21.2009
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.
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.
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