Monthly Archives: March 2015

Music makes the world go round

Sackcloth and ashes

Yesterday, our family was dealt another blow in what seems to be a never ending litany of challenges. A little over a week ago, Sister had a one year check in (on a partial tear of her left ACL) with the orthopedic surgeon. I was unable to go, but I was not expecting the phone call I got afterward from my husband. Our doctor did not like the pain she described, ordered a second MRI, and asked us to return in a week.

For the entire week, I prayed desperately not to let fear rule my days. We only told a handful of people, until the night before our visit when I rallied the prayer warriors to flood heaven’s gates. Their response was immediate, bringing tears to my eyes. If you get nothing else from today’s blog, know that we are loved and know that we know it.

At first, our doctor was very happy to see her ACL was unchanged. It had not gotten worse which could have happened. All was looking really good until he spotted a small tear in her medial meniscus. His suggestion was to repair the tear which will require a six month over all recovery and rehabilitation process. What pushed me over the edge were his thoughts that while he was in there he should just make sure the ACL is not really in need of repair or reconstruction. If it is, then an additional surgery will take place and her recovery will be twelve months.

I cried. The doctor cried because he knows our story. My tough girl held back her tears. And my husband asked a bunch of questions.

For as long as I can remember, this sweet girl has loved the game of basketball, attending her first clinic at the age of three – just to be with her boys. Now once again, she will have to sit out while her peers are getting to play. To add insult to injury (no pun was intended there), she loved swimming, but due to a severe allergy had to give up swimming competitively. Because of the injuries she received to her shoulder in the bus crash, she was forced to choose between softball and basketball.

My heart was broken for my girl, who didn’t do anything to cause any of this. She has the heart of a competitor and a love for the game. My spirit was crushed because I know the uphill battle she is climbing, chasing a what now feels like an elusive dream to play at the college level. My soul was searching, pouring my heart out to God asking “Why can’t you just fix this?” For the record, this will push us over thirty surgical procedures in seven years for our children. I am thankful that my children are still here, but in my book that is about twenty-nine too many surgeries.

Outside of brokenhearted and crushed, I was simply mad. A WHOLE LOT OF MAD! Mad because this keeps happening to us. Mad because instead of support last year, what she had to deal with was a lot of rumors about her faking her injury to get attention. Mad because those rumors persist today. Mad because my children have to continue settle, because disappointment is a part of their vernacular. Mad because our big family vacation will have to deal with a child who cannot bear weight on her leg or our dates will have to be changed altogether. Mad because I now have to cancel all of the camps and clinics she had signed up to attend. I am sick and tired of dealing with plans B, C, and D. I just want to get up in the morning and not have to deal with changing every aspect of our lives because once again, we are in hospital and rehabilitation mode, where making plans and moving forward are really just plain tough.

Oh, we can do tough. If it isn’t in our DNA, it certainly is in our collective experience. Some days, I just want to do easy. I want to get up and not have the hurts of our story be so blasted time-consuming. I want to get up and fly by the seat of our pants, not worrying about medications, crutches, braces, and appointments. Yesterday was the first time I wanted to just simply quit. I wanted to jump on a plane, land anywhere there was a beach, and add my salty tears to the briny water.

When the doctor was crying, I said I remember when Sawyer was two and diagnosed with severe asthma after we found him blue and nonresponsive in the backyard. I thought that was the worst possible news we could ever receive. I COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG! All the days I played momma as a little girl never once did my imagination think I would encounter all of this.

But I won’t quit. My children deserve better than a momma who throws in the towel. I will resolutely stand on the sidelines cheering them on and working to help her get better. I am not promising what might happen to the next person who tells me that my children are faking it, but I will remember that pledge when I hear someone else talk about anyone with a hidden hurt. Trust me, there are millions of people who look absolutely fine on the outside, but who are dealing with invisible pain or loss every day. EVERY. DAY. I will figure out how to balance the needs of a surgery of one child mixed in with the graduation of another one. I will cry because that’s what mommas sometimes do when we know that there isn’t a single thing we can do to make any of this better outside of praying. I will pray A LOT, even when my prayers are ones of anguish, despair, rage, and bitterness, because even though I don’t FEEL it right now, I KNOW God has a plan for all of this. I will beseech everyone to pray that the lesser surgery is all that is needed, and I will cling to that hope. I will do my best not to let tomorrow’s challenge rob today’s joy, but that will take every last ounce of energy I have to do it.

But first, I will have to change out of my sackcloth and wipe away the ashes. Along the way, a big glass of sweet tea with extra ice probably won’t hurt either. Taking a little liberty here, it would help to remember that perhaps I was chosen to be their momma for such a time as this. (The book of Esther, chapter 4)

My little baller in one of her first basketball t-shirts (which of course, she had to wait until her brothers outgrew it).

Leprechauns: y’all going to make me lose my mind

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I should probably start off by apologizing for today’s title to my two most beloved high school English teachers: Mrs. Langemoe and Mrs. Gallagher. Although upon second thought, I think both those sweet, sassy women would get a pretty good chuckle out of my word choice. Today’s hijinks vexed my very last nerve, and I am not kidding in the slightest. Before I get into the sticky (and I do mean sticky) details, I should give a little background.

For years now, we have had a system for cleaning our house. One day every couple weeks, we clean our house top to bottom. Originally we assigned jobs for each person to complete. The jobs were getting done, but closer inspection revealed, not really well. After a LONG family chat, we decided to create a master list of all jobs to get our house spic-n-span, allowing each person to pick the jobs they most desired to do. This system worked much better, and after one task is crossed off the list, we keep picking jobs until the entire list is completed.

I don’t know if it is just the way my mind works, but I like things neat and orderly. My desire for a clean house is so strong that cleaning day is not thwarted by extra guests or unexpected playmates knocking at the door. One sweet boy seemed to have the uncanny luck to always have a sleepover with Reed on days that coincided with cleaning. He never once balked and always stepped right up to help out. My personal favorite was the time two brothers showed up to play with our kids. My answer stating my kids couldn’t play until the house was clean was met with a question asking if they could help speed up the process. I simply pointed to the list, and watched one brother pick up supplies to scrub toilets while the other grabbed the vacuum. Not bragging, but I am not sure Mary Poppins can’t top that story!

When the house is done, we always treat ourselves. Hot fudge cake in the crockpot is a perennial favorite, as is a trip to the ice cream shop. And yes, if you cleaned, whether I gave birth to you or not, you have earned the right to celebrate a job well done. Also, before anyone turns me in for child labor concerns, the entire process to dust, scrub, and polish our modest home takes less than two hours start to finish . . . or about as long as it takes for that cake to bake. But, I digress. . .

This whole long tangent is to explain my discovery this morning dealing with all things Irish and engineering. Over the weekend, Sal, the scientist extraordinaire, got busy perfecting her latest in the way of leprechaun traps. Little did I know that said trap needed some type of goo to help ~~snare~~ entice the objects of her affection. I went to bed, hoping and wishing that my little Irish girl would finally get her wish of meeting a real live leprechaun, but awoke to something much less desirable than order and decorum.

All of my dining room chairs were strewn about, the piano rolls which had been conveniently placed to form stairs to one of the ~~traps~~ fun times were kicked to kingdom come, Sal’s bedroom was covered in toilet paper, and finally, the “Fairy Party and Leprechaun Lounge” was tipped over leaking syrup all over our floor. Happy momma went to panicked momma in about 2 seconds flat. Apparently our leprechaun friends were lured to the lounge by the video on the pink tv (ipod) in which a fairy friend explained how much fun it was in there. Little did I know how much faeries and leprechauns are fans of maple syrup! Seriously, if that is how our tiny friends like to party, who am I to judge?

I am nothing if not a fan of imaginations; so, when I saw my girl’s intense examination of all her designs, I couldn’t be mad. I just simply couldn’t do it. Syrup cleans up (Thank you God above)! According to the miniscule note from our little Irish friends, we understand one of them did indeed get stuck and is now worried that every dry leaf and blade of grass from here to Ireland will be stuck to him. For that I am sincerely sorry, because wanting things clean is something I understand.

It took quite a while for my gang to uncover the whereabouts of the hidden treasure box which this year held gold wrapped candies and new Irish t-shirts. After the syrup incident, I am surprised our leprechaun friends didn’t wage war on my little (and big) engineers. Thankfully, they are much too noble for such pettiness!

As I was heading out the door, Sal wanted to share what she had uncovered about leprechaun traps in her ten years of experience. 1) any box used has been knocked over pretty easily. 2) any trap which involves falling into hasn’t been deep enough yet. Wheels of genius spinning, she was already devising a plan for next year. As a science teacher, I couldn’t have been more proud of her observations and thinking.

So to Seamus (again, terribly sorry about your coat), Finnegan, and O’Malley: Thank you so much for keeping her creative ideas flowing, even if, at times, it feels like I am going to lose my mind. But most of all, thanks for keeping her reaching for the ~~pot of gold~~ stars.

Cowabunga Dude

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Growing up, I was the only girl on one side of my extended family for many years. Then, they just kept bringing home one little girl after another for a lot of years. When it was just me and the boys, I learned to love a lot of things that my brother and cousins did. Do not get me wrong. I was ALL GIRL, playing countless hours of dollies dreaming of the day I would have a huge family, but I loved baseball, football, muscle cars, building things, and superheroes as much as they did. I am so thankful those conventions of my childhood are starting to break down.

The first weekend I met my future in-laws we took all the grandkids (one niece and two nephews at that time) to a petting zoo. I don’t remember why there was a petting zoo, but I do recall pushing the old umbrella style stroller with my little tow-headed niece down the streets of Leeds, North Dakota.

From the first moment, I was smitten. If I wasn’t going to marry this wonderful guy, could I, at least, keep these kiddos and this family? When I later learned that the oldest nephew loved a certain clan of superheroes, this news only solidified my thoughts of love at first sight. My future nephew’s favorite was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. For years, my sweetie and I would search high and low to find the perfect TMNT items for Derek’s gifts for Christmas and birthday. Whenever we would visit, we would watch the cartoons together. All these years later, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Master Splinter feel like old friends. I can never take a home-baked pizza out of the oven, and not think of one of the turtles wearing oven mitts doing the same thing.

Over the years, his interests changed as he grew and matured, and he is now a husband and daddy himself. But I never forgot about all the hours we would spend bonding over the latest way our favorite mutant reptiles would battle Shredder and his lackeys, Bebop and Rocksteady. Many times in my daydreams, I remember joy savored in the days long gone. So this last year I put my mind to preserving some of that joy by making a quilt for Derek and his little girl for his birthday and her Christmas present.

I thought this would be a great plan since our TMNT friends were making a comeback. Maybe if I lived in a larger area or maybe if I was a last minute gift planner, that plan would have come to fruition easier. It however did not. I could not physically find fabric anywhere. Rather than despairing, I called my sister (I dropped the in-law moniker years ago) and asked if by chance she had saved any of the bedding our boy had years ago. Not only did she, but she had just ran across it! As a busy mom of busy kids, knowing where something is located is a incredible feat in and of itself.

Words do not adequately express how thrilled I was when I got the flannel fitted sheet, but I will confess to being more than a little nervous. This worn flannel was a precious part of his childhood. I had a hard time cutting it into quilt squares. Once I finally mustered the courage, there was no turning back. I wanted the quilt to be cuddle sized for each recipient, and I wanted a simple design that exuded all things cartoon turtle. It didn’t take long to choose a fleece blanket backing with flannel squares in orange (for Mikey), red (for Raph), blue (for Leo), purple (for Donnie), and turtle green. The only difference between daddy’s and daughter’s quilts would be the addition of some denim squares in the larger quilt and a different sized quilt blocks due to the nature of the repeating pattern of the original sheet.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. ~Proverbs 31:13 (MSG)

While I love quilting, cutting squares is not always my favorite thing to do. I chalk it up to having tiny hands; so I did have more than a few helpers on that part. The piecing and simple tie quilting were all my handiwork and I loved every minute of it. What an honor to accumulate those three original nieces and nephews and to have added four more on that side of the family and five more on the other side of the family! My dreams of a huge family came true, and with that dream came more blessings than I can even count, including these two cuddle bugs for sure.

Thanking God today for all the little boys and girls in my life over the years, and all the great adventures they have added to my world! Cowabunga!

What they didn’t tell us about teaching

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There are so many things I love about being a teacher. While the pay is not always indicative of how much we educators pour our hearts into our students, the non-tangible fringe benefits are out of this world. The opportunity to see a student master a topic that previously caused them to struggle is amazing. To see a scholar tackle a problem in a new and creative way is awe inspiring. Watching your students grow into incredible people who are truly making an impact in the world is breathtaking. And then there is what happened at a burger restaurant . . . that completely caught me off-guard.

I recently took my university students to their first professional conference. Thanks to the generous work of a colleague’s grant and the devotion of the science department, outside of paying for a couple meals, my future science teachers were able to attend the two day event for free. After seeing the long lines at most restaurants, my little group decided to head to a “Five Guys Burgers and Fries” for our evening meal. When we got up to leave, I realized that a darling young woman whom I had taught in middle school and her significant other were also there. As my group was on the way out, I stopped by the table to say hello. When she introduced me to her beau, I was humbled by her word choice, “Jeff, this is Miss Stevens, my absolute favorite teacher!”

Wow! What an introduction! As my group loaded up in the van to return to the hotel, one of my students whom I had hoped to inspire with the energy and enthusiasm known as the Minnesota Science Teachers conference blurted out, “That was better than ever earning teacher of the year!” So true, my young friend.

Forming relationships with former students and their families is just one more endearing benefit to being a teacher. Last summer, I had the opportunity to put my crafting skills to work to help one such family. I had taught two of their children and was extremely close to their third and youngest as she formerly dated my son. Over the years, our families have transformed from colleagues (the momma is also a teacher) to close friends. The oldest of their children was getting married and had her heart set on a having a chandelier for her outdoor venue. The bride could not find what she wanted, and that is where I come in.

I believe all teachers would go to great lengths to use creativity and innovative ideas to help students make knowledge their own. I guess I could say the same about sharing my talents when someone needs help. Can’t find the decoration of your dreams? Let’s see if we can put our thoughts together and make it happen. (I tell my university students all the time that we cannot teach resilience, but we can sure model it!) After some initial brainstorming, the bride’s mom, sister, and I got down to business to create a chandelier to meet (and hopefully exceed) her bridal dreams. We spent countless hours shopping and crafting, but in the end, the finished product was more than worth it.

First we found the perfect chandelier to “up-cycle”. It may not look like much, but trust me, just like a struggling student, I saw its potential from the first moment I laid eyes on it at our local Habitat for Humanity ReStore.

Next we removed all the electrical components and spray painted it. The one thing we learned is that while Chicago may be the Windy City, it has nothing on southwestern Minnesota. We also learned you can get spray paint out of your good jeans, but that is a story for another day.

The next step was to add the flowers and greenery. A few trips to Hobby Lobby resulted in some of the best greenery, roses and faux hydrangeas to coordinate with the live ones that would be coming from the bride’s grandmother’ garden for wedding day.

The final steps were to hand string the crystal beadwork for embellishment and attach the solar crystal garden lights for the piece de resistance! Our hours spent pondering over beads in Michael’s paid off on the finished product. The lights came from our local big box hardware store.

The wedding was beautiful. The couple stunning as was their venue atop the Stillwater (MN) Public Library. It was such a picturesque evening with ideal temperatures, lighting, and fellowship. Oh and along with the bride and her brother, I had the wonderful opportunity to catch up with these amazing women, all of whom I had the joy of teaching. That, my friends, is a priceless treasure and one I will store in my heart forever.

A lesser known benefit of teaching is sharing your family with the students you adore. There have been countless moments over the years where that has happened. When going through the wedding photos with the bride’s parents, we stumbled across this jewel. My littlest has a penchant for catching the bouquet at weddings. She is in the pink dress on the left hand side. Notice her stealthy moves as she once again came away as the victor!

As school years are coming to the end, if you have the chance in the upcoming weeks to thank a favorite teacher (whether it be your own or your children’s), it will be a gift worth more than gold!

Getting down and dirty

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Not that long ago, I read a housekeeping blog on how to clean your front-load washer and dryer. What do you mean? The forced and mandatory clean cycle is not enough? Say it ain’t so, Joe! It always seems that pesky reminder message appears when I am dealing with Mt. St. Laundry and (No! Thank you very much!) I do not wish to run the clean cycle right at this moment. Thankfully, there is a by-pass mode which allows me to complete five more loads before having to run the cycle to clean the washer itself.

I would be lying to you if I said I had never encountered problems with my front loader before. My last set developed a distinct (Oh, shall we say used sweat sock) odor that no matter how many cycles of bleach, vinegar, or various washer-manufacturer cleaning supplies could not eradicate. A quick cursory look on the internet told me what I didn’t want to learn – mold! We had a serious mold issue in our tub which turns out is a known proclivity of front loading washers. When you have a child that is off the charts allergic to mold, this knowledge that her clothes could lead to anaphylactic shock was defeating at best. Short of replacing the tub, a costly expenditure to say the least, there was little we could do to remedy the situation.

We spoke to a technician who gave us some ideas of old fashioned remedies that helped for a while, before it became obvious we would have to replace the washer. When we bought the new set (another front loader) I did a ton of reading on how to prevent the mold build-up from happening again. Most information centered on not using commercial fabric softeners and using specific detergents for front loaders. All the forums highly recommended (as in Do not pass go and do not collect $200) never skipping the clean cycle on your front loader. Yeah, well tell that to my children who generate Mt. St. Laundry in the first place, and then need a specific shirt or uniform by dawn’s light. Where are the cleaning fairies when I need them?

After doing a little further research, I learned that just running the clean washer cycle was probably not enough and some other periodic cleaning would need to be done manually or should I say “womanually”. Hope springs eternal, and to be honest, I want to take care of the items God has chosen to bless my family. Not that many years ago, my husband washed his clothes in a bucket in the middle of a desert, when fighting for our country. A washing machine is a luxury globally, and even though the irritating reminder comes on at the least opportune time, I do want to take the best care I can of the old gal (Okay, really she is only a couple years old. I don’t want to offend her).

The process involves creating a mixture of half water and half vinegar. For the chemists among us, that would be a 1:1 ratio. Grabbing some paper towels and Q-tips is also very handy. Using the mixture you wipe down the interior tub and every available surface on and inside the washer. Then comes the part of cleaning inside the rubber seals on the tub and the tiny holes where water filters out. At first, cleaning the large areas just felt good and productive, but by the time I got to pulling back the rubber seals and digging into those tiny holes thoughts of “Well, I am sure glad I got a degree in advanced chemistry for this job” were at the forefront of my thoughts. Let me tell you people what came out on those cotton swabs was beyond disgusting. I liken it to what the cleaning lady saw after the birth of Reed when the doctors and nurses and my husband and my new baby left me lying there on the table because two of us mommas shared the same doctor in our small town hospital. I had the luck of delivering two minutes before the other gal. Rather than finish piecing me back together, there I lay waiting for almost an hour. The poor cleaning lady thought the room was empty and just came right on in to the shock of her life. Needless to say the gunk that came out of my washing machine was equally as shocking!

I do not advise cleaning your washer with clothes inside it. But it is a snow day in Minnesota and we are getting lots done around here! These are the offensive holes.

The longer I worked the more my efforts resulted in more hidden disgusting gunk being revealed. My thoughts were not pleasant and a whole lot of grumbling was going on. Then I was reminded of the time my lamenting about cleaning kids, dishes, and laundry resulted in my Mama saying, “Well, bless your heart. Isn’t it terrible you have all those things to clean?” Pretty convicting words!

Sitting on my laundry room floor surrounded by more yuck than I knew was imaginable; I began to examine my heart. How many times do I harbor the gunk of life and bring that with me to the throne room of God? More often than I want to admit. I want to bring my requests and my concerns – a laundry list, if you will – without cleaning out the yucky stuff first. It was a humbling lesson. A reminder from God what place I sometimes reserve for him in my busy day. Definitely not something I would boast about. Thankfully though, my God specializes in messy people. He loves us even we forget to clean out the dirt and have it hidden in all kinds of places. Instead of grumbling like me about misplaced opportunities, God has the crimson blood of his son which scrubs every heart clean and fresh as snow.

Even though that was seriously one of the dirtiest jobs I have ever done, today I am so incredibly thankful for endless grace for messy hearts and a washing machine that still gets the job done!

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