My Grandma Rose

As I flipped through old family photos this morning, I came across
a few that included my dear Grandma Rose. She passed away a 
few years ago, and losing her was incredibly tough. She had been
my last living grandparent for a while, but she was also my favorite.
She had a petite stature, wore a size 5 shoe, had a sparkle in her 
bright blue eyes, a constant upward turn to the corners of her mouth, 
an unconditional love for her family, and was the most selfless 
person I have ever met. 


At times, I still can't believe she's gone. I find myself wondering how
she made her scrumptious home-made mac'n cheese, and I pick
up my phone to ask her about it. Then it hits me like a two by four,
she's not there. I can't bring myself to delete her contact information
from my cell. 


The fond memories I have of Grandma Rose are really too many to
count. From amazing egg hunts at Easter, swinging on her porch
swing while watching birds accustomed to left over toast crumbles, 
listening to her many wind chimes on a breezy afternoon, raiding 
her closet for dress-up apparel, eating still warm cook and serve 
chocolate pudding, to even the obligatory dish washing duty after 
delectably delicious family dinners, each one is a treasure I will 
carry with me always. 


I didn't even mention the holiday Thanksgiving and Christmas
celebrations, and since my grandma had five children, twelve 
grandchildren, and sixteen great-grandchildren by the time she left
us to be with our Savior, you can imagine the organized chaos of it
all. There was a "kid" table and a "grown up" table set up in the 
partially finished basement of her 800 or so square foot home. The
adult table was really a ping pong table with a huge or multiple 
table clothes over it. The kid table was set up near the washer and
dryer and sat us younger grandkids quite nicely. I think I was in 
college before I made it to the adult table, and then it was only 
because we had extended family members who had moved out of 
state and didn't make it home every year. 


I love my family. I love the legacy of kindness and graciousness my
grandma passed on to the rest of us. I love the person my grandma
was and the values she never let go of. I loved her unwavering devotion 
to our Lord, Jesus Christ, and her generosity towards all those around
her. I want to carry on that legacy of love of our Lord and of our neighbors,
as she did so well. 


Although the reality of her absence is painful, the knowledge that she
lived life as she was called to and that she is enjoying her reward
in Heaven is a great comfort. I am thankful for the impact she had on 
my life and the opportunity that I now have to make an impact for 
good on those around me as well. 

Inspiration from an Uninspired Tuesday

What do you say when you feel like you have nothing to say?
You sit at your desk or on your couch and stare seemingly
mindlessly at a computer screen void of characters or thoughts 
and wonder what to do next. I'm sitting here, you think, at least 
trying whip up some sort of literary delight, something inspiring, 
something thought provoking. Yet nothing comes. 


This describes me perfectly this week. I've sat down many times
to write this post, but currently I feel completely unoriginal and 
uninspired. I'd much rather curl up with my Boxer-Schnauzer mix,
Hobbes, and dream the afternoon away. The soft sounds of strings 
and piano from my son's lullaby CD only encourage my sleepy state. 


Yet a writer must write, right? Despite how we feel or what we
may think, we must write, even if we think we have nothing to say. 
It comes down to self discipline. We all have God-given talents,
and we must exercise them. I don't know if practice really makes
perfect, but is sure helps. Because blogging forces we who are
aspiring authors to accountability with ourselves and others, 
I consider it essential to those of us attempting to break into the
literary world. It's Tuesday, I think to myself, it's been a week.
I have to write something... . 


Beyond the dullness fogging my mind I know there is more. Colorful 
creativity and playful prose are waiting for me to break through walls 
of mediocrity and melancholy, walls otherwise known at writer's block.
Will I succumb to these walls that attempt to intimidate? Not a bit. After 
all, a writer must write. 


Does anyone else ever struggle with brainstorming fun and interesting 
topics to blog or write about? How do you combat non-inspired times?

Hearing God's Voice: In the Ringer... Again.

Remember times in your life when you had to learn something over 
and over... and over again. I feel like I'm in a repeat wash cycle of 
life. Similar to how a washer with an agitator uses movement  to 
remove the unwanted from clothes, I'm irritated by events in my life 
that are causing an uncomfortable friction in my soul. 


One of the things God is teaching me is to hear His voice verses what 
I want Him to say. Last week I had a small possibility of going to a 
writing conference. I'm writing a children's picture book series that 
incorporates prayer into each story. So when I happened upon Writing 
for the Ages, a conference specifically for Christian children's writers, 
naturally, I was excited. The main feature that drew me to this conference 
was that it focuses on the the craft of writing, not on "how to be published,"
but simply writing itself. 


Don't get me wrong. Learning how to become published is important, 
and one needs to know the business side of writing. However, I feel 
like the stronger one's writing is, the better chance one has at achieving 
published author status. Let's not forget why we're blogging and networking, 
let's not forget out love of crafting a story so that it touches the hearts of 
those who read it.


I so wanted to go to this conference, but limited finances available, I prayed 
if it was God's will that He would make a way. Days passed, and I became 
nervous. I was having difficulty scraping funds together and securing 
childcare. After an emotional conversation with God last friday, I concluded 
it wasn't His timing for me to go this year. After a few tears, I felt peace erase 
my fatigue and regret. God is all powerful, omniscient, and above all good.
He wants what's best for me, and I must rest in that knowledge. Now this
week, I'm once more facing a situation where I must put my wants aside
and truly listen for God's voice to guide me, hence the rewash cycle. 
With His grace, I'll make the right choice. If I'm seeking His will, God 
won't lead me down the wrong path. 


As far as the Writing for the Ages conference, I'll be saving up to go 
next year (they're fairly certain they'll have it again).  I've attached 
a link for anyone who wants to save their pennies for next year
as well. 


http://www.navigators.org/us/ministries/gleneyrie/retreats/cornerstone/writingfortheages

Why Write for Children?

Why write for children? Over the last year or so, I've read from differing 

sources that children's books are on a decline and that writing for adults

is more profitable. So why branch out of my comfort zone of a part time

nurse and full time mom to write in a classification of books on a decline?

I love children. I love children's books. I love that one can create fun 

stories with morals woven through the fabric of fun plots and dreamy 

fairy tales. 

It seems cliche to say that children are our future, but I'll say it. Children

are our future! Reading to them from a young age, even infancy, benefits

them tremendously. I've read to my children before naps, bedtimes, and 

in between since they were small babies, and now they both love books.

It seems they are constantly begging me to read to them. Although, 

attention spans vary according by age and activity levels, even if 

you can only get a few lines in before your young one dashes off to 

chase dust particles ignited by sunlight, you've reinforced his/her love 

of books and reading. 

Reading children's stories is also a great way to reinforce morals you're

trying to teach your children, important stuff like sharing, listening,

courage and friendship. I want to read my children stories that 

portray these kinds of qualities, so naturally, when I decided to write

for children, I incorporated these favorable character traits into my 

stories. But one can't just fill a book with lessons of character, there

also has to be exciting adventures and far away places. 

Imagine being a child, what would you want to be? Where would 

you want to go? This is what I think about when beginning a new 

story. I run my ideas across my kids, as they are brutally honest, to 

be sure the ideas are winners. Recently, I've begun brewing ideas  

for new characters and scenes for my fifth story in my children's 

picture book series. I'm excited to start it sometime in the next 

couple weeks. The beginning of the school year is always a bit 

chaotic. Soon we'll be in a routine, and I'll carve out time for a 

new adventure. 

Familial Stress Relief: Silly Song Style

There are certain personality traits that are genetically passed 
down from parent to child, such as eye color, hair type and color,
nose shapes and sizes, and even quirky things like preferring to
sleep with your feet uncovered so they can "breathe," while other
interesting habits and behaviors are learned. Growing up, my
beloved mother would come up with the silliest, funniest songs,
seemingly off the cuff. Once I was into my teen years, I recognized
the melodies of my mom's silly songs while listening to our local
oldies radio station. Sometimes I thought my mom was being 
a bit too silly and crazy with the lyrics she'd come up with. Now,
being a mom, it all makes sense. 


What do I do when my toddler is throwing a fit and his lunch
across the room? Instead of pulling out my hair, which seems
to be shedding more and more every day, I make up crazy,
silly songs about carrots and toes or peanut butter on his nose.
Is my preschooler giving me that defiant scowl again? Don't 
scream into a pillow, just burst into lyrics from Oklahoma,
South Pacific, or better yet, The Sound of Music. 


Although there are times to respond sternly to misbehavior,
there are also times when crazy, silly songs are helpful to 
lighten moods of both parent and munchkin. My daughter has
already picked up this trick. When my toddler is upset about
something, she'll sing, "Animal crackers in my soup... ," which
usually calms him down. 


Yes, silly, made-up, crazy songs are a powerful tool in parenting,
but I must give a disclaimer. Once comfortable in this new method
of familial stress relief, one may go too far and find oneself 
using this technique in Target or the grocery store, sometimes
without even realizing it. This in and of itself isn't really harmful,
but one may find one's children attempting to disown them in 
public places. 


Do you have any quirky parenting tricks or funny personality
traits that you can see are multigenerational in your family?

The Nap Time Dilemma

This last week has been interesting. My role as Mommy has been tested 
in multiple ways from multiple directions, and I sit now watching hurricane 
coverage (being a huge weather junkie), completely exhausted, wishing
work would call and cancel me for the 7 - 11 "princess shift" I'm scheduled
to work tonight. Why so spent? 


I'll begin at the logical place... the beginning. Last Saturday and Sunday 
were great. We had my daughter's first "friend" birthday party with three
other adorable munchkins. They had a blast. The two hours flew by 
in a similar fashion to how our giant schnauzer/boxer mix chases rabbits 
through the back yard. Did you see that black streak go by? Thankfully, the 
evidence of whirlwind-like childish energy was contained to my daughter's 
bedroom. She had such a great time that she's still talking about it. 


On Sunday we had all the in-town family over to celebrate. Again Avalon 
had a wonderful time. She loves her extended family and is in heaven when 
we are all together. After the party I raced to a writer's meeting. My second 
ever and my first specifically for children's book writers. The meeting was 
helpful, encouraging, and informative. I was also able to give out some advice 
as well, instead being only on the receiving end. Looking back over the 
last eight months, I can see my growth as a writer, and it's exciting. 


On Monday, my husband drove to a neighboring state for work and just 
came home on Thursday. I dislike being alone, especially going to sleep
alone. When Jason's gone, I find myself staying up way too late, which 
usually leads to crankiness the following day. Through to Wednesday,
I was pretty proud of myself, then Thursday came. 


Thursday morning I had it good. Both my kiddos were at mom's day out
(what we call "school"). I went to Target by myself, did the dishes, and 
watched Rachel Ray. Thursday afternoon, Avalon decided to assert 
a new found independence, having reached the grown-up age of four.
Avalon usually has a hard time going to sleep, so my solution has been 
to sit in her rocking chair, reminding her to "be still" and "stop moving." 
Now, I know you're probably thinking Just let her stay up. She's four now! 
I tried letting her go without a nap for an entire week last month. It was
a disaster, and I think I acquired a few more white hairs by the end of it.


Usually my strategy of getting her to be still works like a charm, causing
her to slip into REM cycles within minutes. However, this day that wasn't
happening. She refused to be still, and despite all my creative incentives
and negative consequences, nap time never happened. After an hour and
a half, I found myself in tears after she matter-of-factly stared me down 
while ignoring my directions to put her head on her pillow yet one more time.


Knowing that the tears sent the wrong message, I went downstairs to regroup
and called my husband. Although he'd be home in a few hours, I needed
help then and there. He calmly spoke to the defiant one while I cleaned her
room out from distractions (a.k.a. new toys from B-day) and noticed she had
put the phone down so she didn't have to listen to her father. Who is this?
A seventeen year old in my four year old's body? I handed her back the phone.
Once their conversation was done, I retreated downstairs, found some 
chocolate, and prayed. 


Thoughts raced through my head such as I'm a horrible mother and Why don't 
I know what to do? A conversation with my older sister was extremely helpful,
relating to me what she had to do with her youngest during a similar phase 
a couple years ago. She had him take a nap every other day. What a great idea!


In a nutshell, my little girl is growing up, and amidst psychological minds games,
stare-downs, and full-out tantrums, I have to remember that growing up isn't 
easy, for parent or child. I need to allow her room to grow while still protecting 
her health, emotions, and sweet spirit. What a delicate balance. I definitely need 
God's help to be able to do this right. Today, Avalon and I talked about the 
every other day nap idea. She laughed and squealed with delight. Today's nap 
time was very different. All of her toys and stuffed animals are still in the hall, 
but with the knowledge that she'll get to be nap-free tomorrow, Avalon laid still 
and drifted to sleep within minutes. So here I sit, watching hurricane coverage, 
exhausted from the week, but with new found hope that the nap time dilemma is 
at least temporarily solved. Did I mention that James (22 months) screamed our 
entire time in Target this morning (forgot diapers yesterday)? But that's an 
entirely different story all together. 


For all of you on the east coast, be careful the next few days, and I'm praying
for minimal damage and safety for all who will be affected.

Scene: Disaster

Working the evening shift at a local hospital, I arrive home rather late.

Midnight on a good night, but in some cases I don't get home until

almost 1 a.m. like last night. Needing to "wind down" I had a snack

and watched a bit of TV, tucking myself into bed by 2 a.m. At 5 something

in the morning a thunderstorm rolled through the area with fierce 

thunderclaps that sent my almost 4 year old scurrying to our bed. 

Being quite the wiggle worm, I didn't really sleep until she told

my husband (who gets up for work super early) that she was going

back to her own bed. This was a first. I was mildly suspicious of 

her too-good-to-be true claim she that she was going back to sleep,

but in my sleepy stupor, I assured myself that all would be well.

Cut to 8:30 a.m. A little face appears in my blurred gaze. Her 

multicolored hands and arms hint to the disaster that awaits

me in the kitchen. "Mommy, I need help painting." Painting...

what? I snapped back into reality instantly and ran to the 

scene of the crime...  . Well painting really isn't a crime, okay

the scene of mayhem. A series of events unfolds in my head.

I see her erasable crayons and corresponding workbooks on

the kitchen table, but all the crayons have been stripped of their

paper wrapping and are broken into pieces from rolling off the 

table and striking the floor. Another coloring/painting book 

rests on the table with fresh paint staining the pages. The 

paint covers the table, and the kitchen towel is suspiciously

blue. 

How did she get all this stuff out of the locked art cabinet? My

eyes dart the art cabinet. The door is wide open; the magnetic

"key" lies on the floor instead of it's usual post on the fridge.

Water is trickling from the kitchen faucet. Her step stool is 

positioned so that she could retrieve a medicine cup to fill

with water for rinsing her paint brush. Yes, there on the table

was a medicine cup filled with multicolored water. 

Amidst the colorful chaos, stood my daughter, her angelic face

and hopeful eyes seemed to wonder what my reaction would be.

I forced myself to look at the bright side. The creativity was 

contained in the kitchen. Thank you, Lord. I simply put all the 
art supplies up, wiped up all the paint, and instructed my daughter 
that she is not to paint without me again. She quickly responded, 
"I'm sorry mom." 

After retrieving my youngest from his crib and making breakfast 
for my two darlings, I called my husband to report on the morning. 
The thunderous laughs from the other end of the line didn't do 
much to comfort, but I had to agree it was funny. I grudgingly 
chuckled and admitted it was a great story.