I do not need to tell you, do I, that the two of us prayed all through last week; actually, the four of us prayed because the girls have recently started asking God to give us a home and for wisdom about our home, too. Jeremy spent the week dreaming, describing and slowly dipping his toes back into the pool of reality, and I spent the week treading water in that realistic pool. Intrigued, yes. Wanting this to be Our House, yes. Hoping, no.

Last Saturday, Jeremy and I sat in the van and prayed again for wisdom while we waited for our realtor to unlocked the front doors of the yellow house. Then we walked through them. The pictures online had given me not even an inkling of what to expect. In fact, the pictures online had perpetuated my water-treading in the pool of There Is No Home For Us, but walking through those doors into the entryway and living room changed my perspective. Hope peeked through a tiny crack in the dry dirt floor of my dreams. I turned left and walked through the large archway into the nasty peach kitchen. Hope slipped her head above the crack so that she could get a good look at the kitchen and take note of what paint color might make those cabinets pop beautifully into view. I followed Jeremy through a second arched door into the dining room filled with windows, and hope's entire body jumped through the crack in order to stand firmly in the sunlight with me.

Jeremy and I looked at each other and smiled. We knew. Even if we had to compromise on most of the rest of the house, we knew. This was Home.

Jeremy, Hope and I joined hands and followed our realtor through the rest of the main floor. The laundry room had a mudroom large enough to accommodate a bench and coat/book-bag/shoe-collecting area. This is something that I have been wanting since I began dreaming of a house. The bedrooms told us exactly what role they would like to play in our family as we entered them. The one on the left side of the house would be an office and guest room. The front one on the right would be the girls' room. The back one on the right would be a playroom.

Upstairs, french doors led into the master suite. I actually don't remember much of the master suite except that the room was very large and contained several windows. The bathroom had enough room for a garden tub, but it was missing. The one thing I do remember was the large walk-in shower with double shower heads - another item on our dream list.

Because the home is in the process of foreclosure, it has been gutted by someone in order retrieve some of the value put into it. Many light fixtures are missing, and at least one bathroom sink that I can remember is gone. The flooring throughout most of the home will need to be replaced as we can afford it, but out of our entire dream list, the only two items not already in the home are a fireplace and a garden tub. Definitely things that we can compromise on or add in later.

The two of us did not say much while in the house other than asking questions of our realtor, but we made a lot of eye-contact. Each knew what the other was thinking. Six other homes on our list to-be-viewed that day forced us to keep our appointments, and Jeremy and I did not even discuss The House while driving to our other destinations. Another beautiful home on the list that day checked off most if not all of our dream list items, and Jeremy and I sat down at a local restaurant around two pm to eat lunch and talk.

In order to be fair to all houses involved, we set aside our feelings for the yellow house and created a pro/con list. Our choices were narrowed down to the house we wanted to build which incorporated almost all of our dream items and would eventually need a finished basement, the beautiful house on the cul-de-sac which incorporated a little more of our dream items and came completely ready with no later upgrades or work to be done, and The Yellow House which would require the most work (mainly decorative) to make it ours. Surprisingly enough, even with differing pros and cons for each house, the three were just about equal on our lists. We stopped to pray for the twelve-hundred-and-forty-second time that day, and when we raised our bowed heads and looked up at each other from across the table, we both knew. Together, we pushed the lists aside and said, "We only have passion about the yellow one."

We stared at each other, brains whirling. Slowly, peace and determination took over the thoughts. "Let's do it," I said firmly. "Let's go for it."

Jeremy continued searching my eyes, wanting to be sure I understood the risks involved in putting an offer down on the house. I understood his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Because the house is only in the beginning of foreclosure, so many red-tape requirements come first. Additionally, the file for the house has been lost in the United States financial system somewhere, and no one has been able to locate it. If we were to put an offer on the house, that offer would float out in la-la land until someone somewhere saw it and put it together with the missing house file. Once it hit that house file, several mortgage companies would have to agree, come to terms with each other and respond. Our realtor told us the process could take more than a year before we even heard back that our offer had been received, not even accepted or rejected.

In June, Jeremy's relocation benefits will expire. Building a house takes three to four months, so if we start in February, we can be in the newly built house by June and still take advantage of our relocation package. But if we spend time waiting to hear back on the yellow house, and then find out our offer is rejected or that someone else has made a better offer (and someone else HAS made an offer, we just don't know any details about it), our window of building time will go past our relocation benefits expiration date.

We knew all of this, and yet God gave peace. Not only peace but readiness to take action and steadiness to wait it out. "Make the phone call," Jeremy said in his deep take-charge voice that I love.

I picked up the phone and called our realtor. "We want to make an offer on the yellow house."

"Okay!" she knew already, too. "I'll do some research and get back to you on Monday."

To Be Continued...

Since moving to Indiana, Jeremy and I have spent most of our Saturdays either touring the insides of houses to buy, or driving around aimlessly, searching for land to build a house on. When our original six month lease on our apartment expired we did a LOT of praying. What in the world are we supposed to do, God? We looked for nice houses to rent, but none met our standards. Eventually, we signed another six month lease, not because we wanted to, but because we had no idea what else to do and time to make a decision had run out.

With the immediate rental decision made, we went back to focusing on permanent arrangements for our family. Buy or build? Build or buy? We finally settled on a small plot of land and a floorplan that we both are happy with, but still we hesitated to make the final decision to build. Something held us back. Something that neither of us could define. Just a lack of...something. (I actually tried to put a definite word into that sentence, but nothing I came up with was correct.)

Two Saturdays ago, on our way home from The Place With All The Meat, we took a wrong turn and ended up driving along a country road with beautiful homes dotted here and there. It wasn't unusual for the bright yellow FOR SALE sign by the side of the road to catch my attention, because whenever we drive our eyes remain trained to the front edge of yards searching for those signs that could indicate Home! Your Home Is Here. But what was unusual was my lack of interest. I didn't even point the sign out to Jeremy. The almost-decision to build combined with the lack of believing that Our House could really be out there had caused me to remain silent. We've looked at too many houses that did not like us or that we did not like. Houses and I speak the same language. We bond. Even the most deplorable of homes could sing and dance if given the appropriate love and attention, and I've been disheartened by all the housely rejection we have been going through. I stayed silent.

Jeremy spoke up. "See that sign?"

I nodded and followed the nearby driveway with my eyes, trying to glimpse the advertised house. The gravel extended more than a few hundred feet and divided the yards of two different homes. The brown house sat confidently in full view of the road, but only a corner of the yellow house showed itself from behind the trees.

"I wonder which house is for sale," Jeremy mused, "Wanna drive back and see?"

"Eh," I shrugged, intrigued more by the potential for adventure than by any hopefulness of finding Our House.

Jeremy checked his rear view mirror, then put Wynni in reverse and approached the driveway. All the way up the long drive we scanned the houses for clues that might show us which was on the market. We parked in the driveway of the brown house since it was first in line, and from the safety of our van we examined the yard, windows, front porch. Nothing told us that the home might be for sale, and I recommended that we leave before the owners came out to kick us off their property. As we turned around, Jeremy asked, "You want to check out the other house?"

"No, let's just go," I answered. The brown house had not inspired a feeling of home to me; I didn't expect anything more from the still hidden yellow house. We slowly headed back down the gravel drive, still wondering which home might be for sale.

Jeremy and I noticed the neighbor walking rapidly towards us at the same time. "Let's ask him," I suggested. Jeremy eyed the posture of the young man's advance and hesitated. "He doesn't look so happy to see us. Maybe we shouldn't stop to talk." He hesitated, his curiosity got the better of him, and he said, "Well, only if you do the asking. You're cuter." He winked at me.

Jeremy rolled his driver's side window down, and I leaned toward it and said in my nicest, politest voice, "Do you know which of these two homes is for sale?" at the same time that Mr. Neighbor puffed out his chest and said in a deep voice, "I'm a Marine. How can I help you?"

A tiny pause lingered while our words crossed each other in the air. Then the young Marine smiled and his chest became friendly-looking. "The yellow house is for sale. It's empty. You can go look in the windows if you'd like. I'm sorry for my big tough turkey act. The house you were just looking at is my dad's house, and he's been in the hospital for the past three weeks due to lung cancer. He had his lung removed this morning, so I've just come from the hospital. It startled me to see someone staring at his house." He smiled again.

Jeremy and I asked a few intelligent questions about the history of the yellow house and about the neighborhood. Our Marine eagerly gave us a lot of helpful information, and told us the Story of the House, and believe me, it is a Story. Just the way I like it with love and tragedy, heroes and villains and a bitter-sweet ending. Without even seeing the house, my heart began leaning towards it.

After a long conversation, our Marine returned to his own home near to his father's, and Jeremy and I turned Wynni around, pointing her towards the corner of the yellow house. We proceeded along the gravel way, passed the corner of the house and entered the circle driveway in front. Triple archways on the front porch drew our eyes upward and highlighted the dome-shaped window above the double front doors. A chandelier inside the house sparkled in the light. Jeremy gasped. "This is our house. Look, Missy! Look! It's our house!"

I understood his enthusiasm because in all of our dreaming, he had described this entryway right down to the visible chandelier many times in the past. I understood his enthusiasm, but I didn't share it, not completely anyway. His grand entryway is not necessarily my ideal. But, I noticed, with a few tweaks here and there... Yes, the entryway was acceptable, even desirable, or could be easily. After the tweaks, I could readily see the two of us sitting on the front porch, watching our girls playing in the yard. And speaking of the yard, I shifted my gaze to the surrounding land. Mature trees of various kinds pushed their way skyward here and there around the yard. A double-line of possibly fifteen-to-twenty-year-old trees marched along the northern edge of the property, the same trees that had blocked our view from the road. While Jeremy was tall enough to peek into all the windows, I was not, so I contented myself with walking around the perimeter and admiring the view in all directions. The yard felt like home. What a wonderful feeling!

Since our two girls had stayed buckled in the van, I returned quickly from my sojourn around the house. Jeremy took longer, peering into every window on the main level and into the basement. He came back energized. "Missy!" he practically shouted, "This is It. This is Our House!" His boyish, happy grin that I have missed for almost a year exploded from his face. "This is it!"

All the way home, and late into the night, he described what he had seen from the windows. He tried to get me to comprehend the layout, the wall colors, the kitchen cabinets. I loved his happiness; I loved his excitement; I loved the switch in our roles. Normally, I am the happy, dreaming, excited one, and he is the cautious, wisdom-filled, (dare I say it) GRUMPY one. (He would call it realistic.)

For some reason, I could not get my heart to hope. Yes, the yard caused me yearning, but I kept a purposeful clamp on it. The inside of the house would probably not tell me it was my home. We made an appointment to see it the following weekend.

(To Be Continued...)

We seem to be making headway in the belonging aspect of living in Indiana. I mentioned a few posts ago that we met up with three different people we knew in Walmart. That felt good. Coming from such a small town in Iowa where we knew just about everyone, the lack of stopping to talk during a Walmart trip has been a drastic change – a lonely change. Another drastic change was the fact that we used to get our meat from a local butcher shop. The missing butcher shop here did not affect me so much, but a small part of Jeremy’s manliness was taken when he found he did not have a place to get Manly Meat. At a recent Mom’s Get Together, I was told of a butcher shop nearby that sounded amazing. I knew immediately that if I could get Jeremy to that shop, he would feel instantly better about Indiana as a whole.

We drove there this past weekend and spent a couple HOURS examining all that was available in the specialty store. I bought some honey that had been collected just down the road, and Jeremy filled our freezer with Meat. On our way home, Jeremy couldn't express how wonderful it felt to have a Place Of Meat to rely on. What wonders Meat can do for a man’s outlook! It’s funny to me.

The girls and I on the other hand have been focusing on making relationships with other moms and kids. On Monday, we went to my friend Calle’s house where Liberty and Mercy played with Calle’s daughters – girls their own ages – while Calle and I hung out together chatting and laughing and having a grand time. On Tuesday, we three stayed home from Mercy’s Storytime at the library because Liberty’s milk allergy was causing her problems. On Wednesday, we attended Liberty’s Storytime (this is a new time slot for us), and I was able to introduce myself and have a nice conversation with another mom. That was very encouraging for me. In the afternoon, Calle and her girls came over for some fun, and that evening, I attended my Ladies’ Bible Study and sat next to a lady who I’ve spoken to slightly before. We got to know each other a little better, and she invited our family to her family’s house next Saturday for supper! She and her husband LOVE to play GAMES!!!! Another huge missing ingredient in our belonging feeling has been that we haven’t met many people who love to play games. I cannot wait for this evening! On Thursday (today), the girls and I went to the YMCA for an exercise class. This is the second class we’ve attended, and this time I felt more familiar. I introduced myself to a mom who I had seen at the library before, and we ended up going to McDonald’s Playland with our girls after the class. (You know what kind of restaurant would make a KILLING? A cozy café that serves healthy, hearty food and has an indoor playground. I ought to start one.) We also both signed up for something called the Mom Squad (the name just attracts me) which is a bunch of moms and kids who meet once or twice a week to play and talk. There’s no schedule or activities planned, although some days they meet at a park or a pool. Their next meeting is on Monday, and Ellie and I (my new friend from the Y) and her daughter and my daughter are going to attend for the first time together. Tomorrow (Friday), another friend I’ve made from church is coming over to our house with her little son to play with us, and Saturday evening Jeremy and I and our girls are going to the house of someone in our Sunday School class for a Mexican-themed class party.

Which reminds me, Calle was going to give me her recipe for White Chicken Chili. I’ll have to call her.

See? Belonging!

My pastor has started a series called "One Month To Live," and I've been doing a lot of soul-searching about that topic. If I knew I had one month left to live, what would I do differently? What would my priorities become? What actions and reactions would I monitor closely?

I started by examining my daily routine filled with diaper changing, nose wiping, silly giggling, book reading, house cleaning, potty training, no-no repeating, meal preparing, toy-share monitoring, husband feeding, friendly phone and email conversing, nap-time enforcing, and Jeremy conversing and cuddling. I assumed I would need to drastically change my way of life if I knew I was about to die, but after listing my daily activities, I realized not much could be changed without someone in my immediate family suffering because of it. The minute details of my day are IMPORTANT. Bottom wiping? That's serious business. No-no repeating? At least two future contributors to the world are becoming slightly more responsible and worth-while (hopefully) because of the training they are currently receiving.

Realizing that my activities could not be changed, I decided to focus on my attitude. Admittedly, there are times (especially early in the morning, or in the middle of the night) when my attitude does not point others to God. Most of the time, no one around me realizes it because I keep it to myself, but even that internal "I'd rather be sleeping" attitude is not the way I want to exit this world and stand before my amazing Lord. Something to work on.

I moved on to the various relationships in my life. There are people who refuse to speak to me, and there are other people who speak to me, but the relationship is gone or broken. I considered those situations, thinking, this definitely is an area that I should work on. Ephesians 4:3 says "Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." Hebrews 12:14a says "Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy..." I thought about it: what could I do to build or repair relationships with those people? And I discovered a concept that I did not expect to find. Freedom.

I have tried to rebuild or repair those relationships over a period of time, and my efforts have either been rebuffed or the bridges attempted have been set on fire from the other side through lies and manipulation when my back was turned. That sounds dramatic and finger-pointing, and I did not mean it that way, but the truth is, I have tried to live at peace, and even more -- to live together in love and joy. With my final month on earth, I do not need to work and work at a relationship that is not happening. That would be a foolish waste of time, but I should continue loving and extending grace in my heart.

I mentioned in a previous post that I am currently reading through the book of Jeremiah. Here was a guy who tried! And tried and tried and tried. He spoke the truth. He loved. He reached out. He cried over his people. But they would have none of it. When he stood before God, God did not berate him for the failed relationship. The parties responsible for that failure would be the parties who refused the Truth. Refused the Love.

Surprise entered my soul. Windows opened. Freedom walked in.

So far, I have learned two things:

1. My daily, sometimes boring, sometimes mundane, lots of times fun and just-plain-silly routine has vastly far-reaching results. Not a single action, attitude or facial expression is unimportant. I am fulfilling a mission!

2. "Make every effort..." means just that. God doesn't command the end result. He only commands the effort. There comes a time when the effort has been made. Keep an open heart, and drop the burden.

Did I say two?

3. If I had only one month to live, I would go to bed at the exact same time that Jeremy did every night. I would watch Star Wars with him whenever he wanted me to watch (unless I was feeding the kids or something equally important like reading a good book to myself or soaking in the tub.)

Hmm, maybe I should just stick with two!

I was going to end the post there, but another thought just presented itself: God doesn't tell us how much time we have left because He doesn't want us to burn ourselves out. If I knew I had one month left to live, I would spend every second possible with Jeremy, or on the phone with my relatives and friends saying goodbye and hopefully uttering amazing final words that could be quoted and passed down for generations to come! I would cut out my own needs like exercising or time alone to read or soak. I would do this because with only a month left, the need to be of sound mind would be less and less important. But God calls us to balance. Rejuvenation is an important part of an on-going life, and reading and bathtub soaking are an important part of my duty to remain balanced.

See? I should have been a salesman.

Our internet connection is down indefinitely. Oh the tragedy! In the meantime, if you are trying to contact me, please call. I will not receive emails for a while.

Oh, and you can pray some intercessory prayers on my behalf so that I survive this barren internetless wasteland in which I am living.

Jeremy just read this over my shoulder, and he suggested that I might enjoy my life in the real world where my two kids and husband live. :-) And I do...

It gives me something to blog about!

My Dad, the Dryer Whisperer, came to fix our broken dryer! Liberty helped.




Apparently, Grandpa made a big impression on Liberty. After my parents returned to their home, Daddy decided to check out the dryer, and Liberty informed him, "It's okay, Daddy. Let's wait for Grandpa. He can fix it." When Daddy informed her that he, too, was able to fix things, she shook her head. "No, it's okay, Daddy. We should wait for Grandpa. He can fix it."

In order to raise Liberty's estimation of her father, today I brought him a lamp with a burned out light bulb and made a big deal out of the fact that Daddy would fix it. Liberty followed me to Daddy with wonder in her eyes. Could Daddy really fix it?

Hooray! It's fixed! And Daddy is back to being her main hero...but Grandpa sure isn't far behind.

Liberty begs to go outside, but she never manages to stick with that thought all the way through the task of putting on her socks and boots and coat and hat and gloves. She gets halfway ready and then decides she wants to do something else.

So we ran races today. We started at the front door, and I yelled, "On your mark, get set, GO!" The girls took off down the hallway, rounded the corner into their bedroom, jumped onto and off of Liberty's bed, then raced back down the hall to tag my hand at the front door. Liberty won every time, of course, until Mercy realized the flawed pattern. Then she began stopping short at the bedroom door and turning around to scuttle gleefully back down the hall, giggling for all she was worth while Liberty continued on into the bedroom and over the bed. Amazingly, Liberty still beat her most of the time in spite of the shortcut. Usually, because Mercy giggled so much that she couldn't keep her balance and she would nosedive into the carpet, thus enabling Liberty to leap over her and finish the race while Mercy attempted to get back up.

During clean-up time, I collected a few of Liberty's Sunday School papers and held an impromptu Bible class. We learned all about the wise men following a star to find Jesus, and we discussed what Christmas is all about. Liberty regurgitated the lesson to Daddy later in the day, and she even made up a part about what sound camels make.

After the Bible class, we took the couch cushions and tossed them into a random pattern on the floor. The three of us then jumped from cushion to cushion yelling "Call Max" at every landing. I'm not sure who "Max" is or why he needed to be called, but it was meaningful and entertaining to the two youngest members of our band, so... CHEERS!

It reminded me of how my brothers and sisters and I would run in crazy circles outside whenever it rained and yell, "Call the fire! Call the fire!" I think that originally was "Call the fire department!" (because lightning had struck our house and it was on fire) but somewhere in there, one of the littlest kids couldn't say department, and we all ended up saying what the littlest one was saying.

There's a rabbit trail for you.

So this has turned into a somewhat random post, and that's okay with me. I'm feeling rather random today.

Liberty begged to "cosser" (color) her abc's, so I printed out a paper full of the alphabet, and she attacked it with her markers. I'm not sure why, but every time we do this, she only colors the letter O. We practiced the alphabet, and Mercy joined in vigorously. Have I mentioned that Mercy talks up a storm, now? Unfortunately, she's rather hard to hear since Liberty's usually around.

About an hour into naptime, I heard a small Liberty voice sing-songing, "Mommy, I made a mess. Mommy, I made a mess. Mommy, I made a mess." Turns out, she found a tube of Desitin and smeared it all over the walls and the doors and the carpet and her clothes and her barbie. When I opened the door, she immediately said, "Mommy, I'm very sorry for making this mess, and I want to clean it up, please. Please may I have a towel, please." I gave her a few diaper wipes, and she cleaned up every bit.

The neighbor kids came over. We played outside in the snow for about an hour before retreating into our apartment to build a fort with blankets and cushions. We popped popcorn because Liberty is convinced that popcorn warms her fingers and hot chocolate warms her toes. (I perpetuated the first myth, and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse started the second.)

Oh, speaking of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse -- we watched a lot of it while we were at Grandpa and Grandma's for Christmas -- Liberty has taken to randomly shouting out, "Kick! (quick!) Everybody say, 'Oh, Toodles!'" And then she points to the invisible Toodles who has just arrived, and she says with relief, "I'm so glad you're here!"

And finally when Daddy came home, we sloshed our way to Pizza Hut, where the sound system played bouncy oldies tunes, and our two girls chair-danced throughout the entire meal.

The End.

Did I mention that I've had a terrible cold since we've been home? Well, since before we've been home because I got sick while I was still at my parents' house. Yesterday was plain awful.

"You can say that again."
"Yesterday was plain awful, but that's not now."
"That's then!"

(I couldn't resist.)

(Can anyone name that movie?)

Where was I? Oh yes, yesterday was plain awful. All the fluid in my head decided to expand, and my brain didn't like that idea very much. A migraine grabbed me fairly early in the day, but I still had motherly duties to perform. Somehow, the three of us girls survived, and thankfully when Daddy came home, he put me to bed.

This morning, I ate breakfast for the first time in a while. I was actually hungry! And then I buckled down to business: a load of laundry, a load of dishes, two girls into the bathtub, mop the kitchen floor, vacuum the living room and dining room, organize the bathroom drawers, lunch time, another load of laundry...

Phone call to Dad: "Hey, Dad, I'm standing next to the dryer. Can you tell me what that noise might be?"

"That high-pitched grinding squeal of protesting pain?"

"Yeah, that. And it's not Liberty or Mercy."

"Sounds like your idler's off and the drum belt is out of place." He should be called the Dryer Whisperer. "It will get louder and more incessant as it gets worse."

"Okay, thanks, I guess."

It got worse. A burning rubber smell now fills the air, and the dryer is out of commission.

But like I always say, "Better it than me!"

I do too always say that.

We're back home in Indiana, and you know what? It's starting to feel a little more homey. During our first Back-At-Home-Walmart-Run yesterday, we ran into three different people that we knew. That was happy!

The girls and I have picked up a bad cold, so we missed storytime at the library this morning. That was sad, but maybe Thursday we'll be able to go. That would be happy.

The new Ladies' Bible Study starts tomorrow night!!!! That's happy! I hope I'm not still sick enough that I have to miss it. That would be sad.

It's snowing again. That's happy. It has snowed every day, all day with little to no accumulation and boring gray skies ever since I can remember. That's sad.

I finished reading Isaiah during the Christmas holidays. That's happy! And God did a lot of talking to my heart. That's happy, too!

I started reading Jeremiah. Actually, I've only read the introduction page that comes before Jeremiah starts, and it really encouraged me to faithfully obey. It talked about how Jeremiah would not be considered a success by most standards (he spent most of his life being ignored and hated), but the fact that he faithfully obeyed God by communicating an unwelcome and unpopular message no matter what the results were or what it cost him personally means that God called him a success. That's happy.

Daddy just came home!!!! That's VERY happy!

On Saturday, Mom and I braved the crowds and made a few returns/exchanges, but mainly we talked and talked and talked. And slid and slid and slid through the snow. We finished our day with wonderfully warm chips and queso at a Mexican restaurant.

On Sunday, Jeremy and I caught up with Uncle Jeff and Aunt Teresa and their grandkids, Elizabeth and Andrew, who are extremely adorable. Andrew immediately decided he and I were best friends and he stayed in my lap to entertain me most of the time.

On Monday, my sister Faith and I went shopping together -- searching for the perfect pair of snow boots for her. Liberty and Mercy came along to help decide, and Liberty's shopping skills came out en masse. She tried on every shoe in the store, and even draped a few around her neck using the connecting string that stores put on their pairs of shoes. At one point, she had three glittery pairs around her neck and one pair of green frog rain boots on her feet, and several fellow-shoppers stopped to comment on her lovely accessories. On the way home, the weather was bad enough that we needed to avoid some of the back country roads, so we chose a few that neither of us were familiar with in the name of Adventure. Whenever we came to a crossroad, we asked, "Do you know where that direction will take us?" Whichever way we were most unfamiliar with is the way that we chose, and we made guesses ahead of time as to where we thought that road would put us. A few times we had to backtrack to get back onto unfamiliar territory. We had a lot of fun laughing our way home, and once we arrived, we parked in the garage with the heater running and talked for hours. The two little girls fell asleep in the backseat, so we carried them in and tucked them into bed. Then we started exploring the internet for colleges! Can you believe it? Colleges for my baby sister! This is not right.

Yesterday morning, we visited Great Grandma and Great Grandpa, who oohed and ahhed over the grandkids and dished all the family gossip. And BONUS! Great Uncle Jerry happened to be at their house, too!

Then last night, Dad and I watched McLintock! a John Wayne comedy. (I didn't know he made those.) Yes, I laughed in parts, but only because it was so ridiculous, and I'll tell you, if Dad hadn't been there, I would have changed the channel very quickly -- to something on HGTV!) But Dad and I had a lot of fun laughing at the movie, and Mom and I had a lot of fun when the DVR'd film abruptly shut off about ten minutes from the end of the show. Dad's outraged cries of "WHAT? WHAT? HOW COULD THEY DO THAT TO ME?!" and then his frantic mathematical figuring of the time limits and the settings on the DVR sent us into gales of laughter. Frankly, slightly relieved laughter that the movie had ended, I must admit, but the truth is, I had fun watching with Dad, and just the memory of the unexpected end is causing me to laugh right now.

This morning, Mom and I played Wii Sports (and I beat her at archery! But she insists that I tell you she beat me at the airplane Dogfight. So, yes, she beat me. No biggie...I'll get her in the rematch, you know.) Then we planned the New Year's Eve party together. Everyone attending will be divided into two teams, and we've got the Newspaper Game, a vigorous round of kid's Memory, Four On A Couch and several other specific games waiting in the wings. We'll keep score throughout the night, and finish off with some Wii challenges.

It's going to be a PAR-TAY! I can't wait.

Mainly because my Jeremy's coming back!!!! Hurry, Jeremy, hurry! Your girls miss you!

I was going to close this post there, but Dad just walked up and asked me to hand him his stocking which was sitting on the other side of the computer desk. "Be careful," he warned, "it's heavy."

"Oh, man!" I joked after lifting it. "Are you keeping tools in here?"

He grinned and set it down on the desk in front of me, then proceeded to remove items: a small toolbox, a set of allan wrenches, another set of allan wrenches...

Only my Dad! :-)

I am blogging to you from my parents' EXTREMELY SLOW dial-up connection. We drove to their home in Illinois on Christmas Eve, and we've been here ever since, enjoying the fun and relaxation.

I have BEATEN, CREAMED, PULVERIZED anyone who has dared to play against me in Scotland Yard. TWICE. Poor Jeremy just can't stand it. He's now creating excuses for why I have won.

Smirk.

Since Jeremy has to work Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he and my youngest brother Pete drove back to Indiana in a snowstorm on Sunday. They're planning to return here on New Years Eve.

Last night at the supper table we all conspired to keep Uncle Zach from getting any food. He requested the large bowl of Taco Salad, and we passed it to him. He reached for the serving spoon just as Aunt Faith slipped the bowl and spoon out from under his hands and innocently served herself from it. The surprised look on Uncle Zach's face almost made my disinterested mask slip, and Mom snorted briefly then smothered it. Dad's eyes crinkled at the corners, and Liberty asked, "WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT HAPPENED?" She didn't want to be left out of the merriment.

Zach waited patiently until Faith served herself, then she slid the bowl over to him. I waited until his arms were extended before I pulled the bowl towards me, neatly avoiding his grasp. "Here you go, Liberty. Want some supper?" I said as I scooped salad onto her plate. Zach made a small choking sound in his throat. "Hey, what's going on here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Mom questioned innocently, but the laughter behind her voice gave her away. "Did you want some salad, Zach?"

"Yes," he stated with suspicion in his voice, "but every time I reach for the bowl someone else grabs it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Zach, I didn't realize," I said as I pushed the bowl towards him. He reached for it a third time, and then I remembered that I had not put anything on my plate, yet. I pulled it back towards me, evading his reach once again. "Oh! I forgot to get any for myself. Hold on a minute," I said sweetly. By this time, everyone at the table had failed to keep their laughter to themselves. Mom struggled to breathe; Dad chuckled, Faith squeaked, and Liberty kept questioning loudly, "What happened? What happened? What happened? What happened?"

Zach folded his arms and said, "Yeah, you're ALL turds, I hope you know."

Right now, Uncle Zach is playing hide-and-seek with Liberty and making thumping noises so that she can find his hiding spot. Unfortunately, those thumping noises have scared her, and she came running to me, "I hear something, Mommy!" I had to explain to her that Uncle Zach was probably making those noises, and she took off excitedly again in the direction of the sounds.

I think she just now found him! I can hear deep ROARS and high-pitched, laughing screams from the dining room.

It's good to be home.

Last week, Santa came to storytime at the library, and Liberty has not stopped telling people about it yet. This is funny to me, since we haven't made a big deal out of him before this, but even funnier is the story of our time spent with him.

Picture, if you will, a tall, slender man with a badly-positioned, flat pillow shoved down the front of his Santa suit. The suit was obviously created for a more rotund figure than his, and he held the back of his pants up as he walked into the room.

"HO! HO! HO!" his deep bass voice boomed.

The kids went crazy! "SANTA'S HERE! SANTA'S HERE!"

Even Liberty jumped up and down. (Well, it doesn't take much for that to happen, I suppose.)

Santa sat down on a tiny plastic chair next to a bucket full of candy canes. "Who wants to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what they want for Christmas?" he boomed.

Everyone but Liberty hesitated. She RAN from the far side of the room, took a flying leap and landed her bony rear onto his equally bony thigh. Even beneath the flowing beard his wince was detectable, and I winced along with him, knowing full well how those bones feel at that velocity.

"HOOOOOO, ho, ho," he groaned out, and some quiet laughter rippled through the moms present.

Liberty beamed at him. "HI! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"

"Uh, I'm Santa Claus," Mr. Claus regained his composure. "What's your name?"

"I'M SIX!"

He looked confused, "You're six?" He glanced at me for confirmation. I shook my head. "She's three. She gets her numbers mixed up."

"Oh, you're three?"

She nodded.

"And what's your name, little girl."

"I'M YIBBY GACE, AND SHE'S A SISTER. SHE'S MEECEE DANE," she pointed back at Mercy.

Santa looked at me again. "Liberty Grace," I interpreted quietly.

"Liberty," he boomed, "tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

"A CANDY CANE!" she beamed up at him.

"A candy cane?" he repeated. "Is that all you want?"

"A CANDY CANE."

"What else do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?" he tried again.

She pointed emphatically to the bucket of candy canes sitting next to his chair. "A CANDY CANE, PLEASE!"

"Well, here, what if I give you one right now?" he said as he handed one to her.

"OH! SANK YOU VEE MUSS!" she exclaimed in wonder. (Thank you very much.)

"Now," Santa adjusted her on his lap, "what would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas, Liberty Grace?"

She paused and looked at his face, apparently weighing his offer. Finally, she decided he could bear the weight of her request, and she announced happily, "TWO CANDY CANES!"

Laughter rippled again. Try as he might, Santa could get no other requests from her lips. He handed her two candy canes and decided he'd fulfilled his duty. The rest of the children were not so easily satisfied. One little girl even requested a puppy. (This girl happened to be his daughter, and he groaned before trying to talk her out of it. "Don't you want something else?" But she remained adamant.)

When all the children had finished sitting on his lap, the librarian handed him Twas The Night Before Christmas and informed us in an excited voice that Santa was going to read to us. Obviously, Santa had not realized ahead of time that this was part of the deal, and his "HO! HO! HO!" as he accepted the book was not so merry. In fact, it conveyed apprehension.

I was amused. I sat on the floor, smiling to myself, but the situation got even better.

Santa struggled to read the words. He read along just fine until he got to a word that he didn't recognize, and then he made something up. I wish, OH HOW I WISH, I could remember all of the substitute words, but the one that stuck with me the most is this line,

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,
And Mama in her kitchen, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap

Frankly, I think it's more realistic, don't you? I know I'm always in the kitchen preparing for the holidays when everyone else is in bed.

BUT WAIT, IT GETS BETTER!

Having completed his duties, Santa gave a cheerful "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!" to the room and stood to his feet. He unfolded his long, lanky frame from the tiny plastic chair and waved a white-gloved hand high in the air over his head. His red, velvety pants slipped down around his ankles, the pillow slipped out from under his shirt and hit the floor, and a collective sigh from the Mommas passed into the room.

"Whoops!" the librarian laughed as she collected the pillow and helped Santa pull up his pants. "Looks like Santa needs lots of cookies this Christmas, kids! Make sure you tell your mom and dad to let you leave plenty of cookies for Santa. He really needs them!"

We all laughed as Santa tightly gripped the waistband on his slacks, tucked the pillow under his arm, and headed for the door. "That darn Mrs. Claus," he muttered. "Always onto me about what I eat." He exited amid much applause.

Later he joined us (as a dad, not Santa Claus) and we learned that he had left his glasses behind since they didn't fit the theme of the costume.

That's why I still talk about the Santa visit, but Liberty just tells how she got TWO candy canes from Santa Claus.

I have a magically self-destructing house. Yes, I know there are little helpers named Liberty and Mercy who aid in the destruction, but there's more going on here than the usual messiness of a normal dwelling place.

For example: I did dishes just yesterday. Two dishwasher loads and one in-the-sink-by-hand load. Today? Magically, the sink and counter are over-flowing, and that's after the dishwasher load this morning.

The table? Yes, I vaccumed underneath it this morning after breakfast. I wiped it's surface down with a Clorox wipe. It sat beautifully waiting for the next meal to be served. And now? Now, spaghetti noodles litter the floor under and around it. Noodles that cannot simply be vaccumed away. Noodles that cling and require hands and knees on the floor and fingers to pry them loose from the carpet fibers they have been reuinited with after twenty years of laborious and determined searching.

My laundry hampers mock me. Overflowing with dirty clothes, even though I have washed and dried five loads in the past two days. It has to be magic, because I only wear one set of clothes each day. Jeremy only wears two sets of clothes each day. Mercy wears maybe three, and Liberty only twelve per day, so really, do the math. It's magic.

I'm ready to find a house that contains the opposite magic. One that resists stains even if your three-year-old purposely pours grape juice onto the beige carpeting. One that sanitizes dishes even as you are eating from them. One that washes, dries, irons and PUTS AWAY clothing immediately after the clothing is removed from a body.

Is that too much to ask? I don't think so.

Liberty has had only ONE accident all day today!

ONE!

Did you hear me?

Angels are singing. Oh wait, that may just be the Christmas song on the radio.

Either way, it's great with me!

Whew! I'm sitting at the computer surrounded by a destructed house, but it's a good destruction. Liberty woke up this morning at seven o'clock. I don't like those numbers. I tried to get her to go back to sleep until 8:30 which is our normal (somewhat) getting out of bed time, but she would have none of it. She was awake. She was hungry. She wanted an o-ola bar.

So I dragged myself out from under my cuddly comforter and away from my softly-sinking pillow. We got an o-ola bar (granola bar), and I explained to her how important today is.

Today is the day I have determined she WILL be potty-trained. (We've been trying for over a year, now.) Today is the day that I have in my possession Big Girl Panties which she will wear all day long. She picked out the most beautiful pair in the package of ten, and we started our journey. She confidently told me over and over that she would not potty in them. She would keep them dry. She would only potty in the toilet. She knew how to take care of them because she was a Big Girl.

The first spot appeared behind the rocking chair in the living room. New panties. The next spot appeared on the far side of the rocking chair. New panties. The third spot appeared IN MY BED and you know it was on my side, not Daddy's. New panties. The fourth spot showed up on the couch cushion. New panties. The fifth spot came during lunch. She crouched on her chair and told me urgently, "Mommy! I have to go to the bathroom! Uh-oh!" At least that one puddled in the wooden chair and was easily cleaned up. New panties.

And by the way, I counted that one as progress because she notified me. Don't you agree?

But, the day has actually been pleasant and fun. Mercy, Liberty and I had a tea party with their new dishes. Then we dressed up in fancy dresses and danced to Christmas music on the radio. After that, Liberty helped me put away the clean dishes from the dishwasher and she helped me dry and put away the dishes from the sink that I hand-washed. Then we stacked up the couch cushions and jumped off of the back of the rocking chair onto the pile. Both girls helped me put a load of laundry into the washing machine. I clipped forty finger-nails and toe-nails and painted thirty of them hot pink. (Mercy was too wiggly for me to paint them all.) While their nails dried, Liberty and Mercy sat at the dining room table and colored while I worked on laundry again. We ate apples, peanut butter, cinnamon graham crackers and milk for lunch, and then Mercy picked up ALL BY HERSELF WITH NO PROMPTING FROM ME each of the 48 color crayons that she had tossed from the table to the carpeting. We read books before nap time. Mercy requested AGAIN her favorite Elmo puppet book that Grandpa and Nonna gave her. My throat is not liking Elmo's voice and my carpel tunnel is flaring up from all the contortions that horrid puppet likes to put my fingers through. (He's a very active little guy.) But all in all, a wonderful, busy morning.

Now the girls are taking a nap, and I am staring at the mess in my living room. I could clean it all up and feel productive and peaceful, or I could sit and blog and preserve the memory of today.

I think I'll sit and blog. Preserving memories sounds like a noble cause, doesn't it?

And now I've come to the end, *sigh* so I guess I have to clean after all.

More wafts from our bathroom than just odorous molecules. Liberty is potty-training, and she takes a l-o-n-g t-i-m-e when she's sitting on her throne. However, she believes her verbal skills need practicing, so she faithfully practices every moment that she is awake, including the moments spent on the toilet.

I have heard more than one entertaining story shouted from the bathroom into the kitchen or living room where I am working, and I have been required to laugh, agree with and otherwise validate the long-distance storyteller.

But this morning's drifted words topped them all.

"Mommy!" came the expected little voice.

"What, honey?" I responded.

"I'm having stinks."

"Good!"

"I'm having a little stink for Mercy Jane."

I smothered a chuckle. "I'm sure Mercy Jane would appreciate that, Liberty Grace."

*Grunt*

*Grunt*

"Okay," she narrated a few moments later. "And I'm having a big stink, too."

I did not answer as I chased Mercy Jane and wrestled a sock onto her foot.

"This big stink is for you, Mommy!" She sounded pleased with herself.

How can I ever thank her?

Around 1:30 in the morning, after finishing last night's post, I climbed under my down comforter in the frozen tundra formerly known as my bedroom. I slipped a pair of knit gloves on so that I could hold my Bible without fear of frostbite, and I read the first part of Isaiah 49. The words spoke Truth directly to my heart; I took notes and everything, but my eyes kept crossing from exhaustion, so I put the Bible down and snuggled happily into my pillow.

This morning, I read the passage in Isaiah again just because it had spoken so eloquently to me the night before, and I was surprised and amused to discover that what I got out of it last night is not at all what the Bible actually says. I had transposed two words in my reading that completely change the meaning of the passage, so the notes that I had written in ink in my margins do not even make sense with the verses they are next to! I considered using white-out on my notes, but I'm going to leave them there. They don't contradict Scripture, and they'll be a great memorial for me when I pass this way again. Also, they make me laugh!

In other news, writing yesterday's post helped me define some items that are bothering me, and I realized something. This apartment is not too small for a Christmas tree. Almost everyone else in this complex has one. OUR STUFF is too cluttered.

So I made a drastic and risky move. I put the girls into the bathtub with their new dish set and deeper-than-usual water -- creating novelty, hoping to keep them occupied and unaware of my tactics. Then I silently crept to the living/dining room and picked up the entire full toy box, carried it to my closet and hid it in the far corner. I did not sort through it for popular versus unpopular toys *gasp.* Next, I grabbed the Big Wheel tricycle and several other large toys and took them to my closet as well. There was a close call on one trip when Mercy noticed a reflection of my armful of toys in the bathroom mirror as I passed. She stood up in the tub and whimpered to alert the troops, but Liberty poured some water on her head, and I was in the clear. The only items left in the living/dining room are their kitchen set, grocery cart, two cars and two small doll houses. The grocery cart basket holds a cloth bag with a few "food" items. Another cloth bag hangs from the closet door handle and contains their new play dishes. Two dress-up dresses also hang from the closet door knob. Even at their messiest, these toys won't be able take over my rooms.

Until I let the girls out of the tub.

So here's the deal.

I've been struggling with contentment, with patience, with joy (or the lack thereof). This vague uneasiness in my spirit creeps up on me, and I have very little time alone to sit and talk it out with God. That right there is probably my main problem!

1. People who are part of my heart are making decisions that they will eventually regret, and everything in me wants to step in and rescue. But I can't. I hate that.

2. God has put Jeremy and I at a place in life where we need to make some choices, but we're not sure what those choices should be. As a result, we stand here evaluating. I despise evaluating. ACTION! FORWARD! MOVE! (I truly am thankful that God has given Jeremy incredible wisdom and a talent for evaluation, but at times even that gift annoys me. LET'S GO, ALREADY!)

3. I'm sick of having my stuff in storage. We have no Christmas tree, no decorations, no stockings. Even if we did, we have no place to put them in this tiny, cramped apartment full of large toys. (Again, don't misunderstand. I'm thankful for the large toys that keep my children from climbing up the walls...most of the time.) And you know what discussion I had with myself yesterday? Why am I even complaining about this apartment. We have a place to live. It's perfectly fine. Many people don't, and I'm not wanting to trade places with them. In fact, if I did, I bet I'd be super-de-duper thankful for this place...and Barney intrudes on my thought-processes again!

4. Every fiber of my being cringes when I hear my husband second-guessing our decision to move. That, more than any other item, makes me want to scream in frustration. But even there I am thankful, because I have a husband who discusses his heart with me. I have a husband who values my opinion. We work together to make our decisions, and he trusts me with all of his thoughts and feelings just like I know I can trust him. That right there is enough to make me jump up and down with happiness. Ain't God good?

Are you feeling my mix of emotions? I'm happy; I'm impatient; I'm loved; I'm frustrated...I'm slightly pathetic.

I talked to God (briefly before all the interrupters caught up with me), and begged for help. Saturday night, He sent me this post to read. Sunday morning, He asked our Sunday School teacher to discuss Joy.

And here's what I have learned: I have to let go of my own expectations and trust God to do things His way in His time with His outcomes.

1. I expect my heart's people to do what is best for themselves, but when they make bad decisions that I cannot control, I have to trust God to love on them and reach their hearts -- no matter how long that process may take.

2. I expect to make good decisions myself easily and to keep moving, but when my forward momentum grinds to a halt because of life's situations and I have no idea which way to go, I have to trust that God will eventually open a pathway -- no matter how long that waiting period may be or what direction that pathway leads.

3. I expect my dwelling place to radiate coziness and good cheer, but when Christmas arrives, and we have no decorations and no place for decorations...seriously, is that the point of Christmas?

4. I expect Jeremy to be constantly strong and fearless, but that cannot be a realistic expectation. When doubt and fears assail...wait, there's a song for that.

Instead of leaving her bedroom after Night-Night Time, Liberty politely knocks on the inside of her door when she wants to get our attention. About an hour ago, I heard a quiet knock and then a tiny voice calmly but pitifully announced, "Mommy, I had a bad dweam. Please pray about it." My delay in responding prompted a second lady-like plea through the closed door, "Mommy, I need you to talk to God about bears and monsters, please."

My heart smiled.

I entered the room, and we prayed together. We prayed for safety and for restful sleep. We prayed for Liberty to understand that God is always with her, that He loves her incredibly (even more than Mommy does, and that is a LOT), and that she will know that she can always rely on Him for more than just bad dreams. I tucked her in, and went back to reading blogs. My relaxation time.

Just a few minutes ago, I heard a second knock and a request through the door. "Mommy, I need a bandaid. I have blood." She had picked a sore on her finger. She did not have blood, but I gave her a bandaid anyway and a good night kiss and a final tuck-in. "Liberty," I gently warned her, recognizing the bandaid ploy for what it was, "I'm not going to come in here again. If you knock on your door, I'm not going to answer. You need to sleep."

"Don't worry, Mommy," she confidently stated, "If I have a bad dweam, I will talk to God by myself. He can hear me." Then she smiled contentedly up at me and airily blew a kiss my direction.

Ninety-nine-point-eight percent of me is humbled and thankful that she and God can talk on their own, but a teeny, tiny part of me feels nostalgic for the time when Mommy was everything.

(Not "everything" as in midnight and three AM feedings, just so we're clear. I don't miss those days.)

We have a lot happening in our family life right now, and I would love to share the details. In fact, it would help me to get it all into print where it would march along in an orderly fashion so that I could pick out the brilliant thoughts from the erroneous ones. But I also value our privacy, so you, my dear internet, will be deprived of your reading privileges until we make some decisions. Sigh. I hope we make them soon. Patience is NOT one of my strong points.

So now that I have decided what I will not share, let me dig under my uppermost layer of thoughts to find something that I will share.

Oh! I know!

This morning, I declared today to be Ice Day, and it will forevermore and henceforth be a day of celebration in our household. Because I, the Vice President and Co-Founder of our household declare it so.

Our Mud Puddle has iced over! I took one look outside this morning and groaned internally. I dislike cold, although I like snow. I dislike being cooped up in this tiny apartment for the winter, although I enjoy coziness. I have not been looking forward to the seasonal change this year, although variety energizes me. I discussed this conundrum with myself as I stared at the frozen mud, and I made a decision. I WILL CELEBRATE!

I will celebrate it all. Everything that I love. Everything that I'm not so sure of. Everything that I dislike. We're gonna party this winter, the girls and I.

So I grabbed Liberty's and Mercy's hands and we danced in a circle singing, "It's Ice Day! It's Ice Day!" I put on some Christmas music, and we drank hot (warm) chocolate and popped buttery microwave popcorn. We sat in a cozy little circle on the kitchen linoleum to consume our Ice Day snack, and we laughed and tickled and spilled our way through it.

Happy Ice Day to you all!

We STILL have colds. What is with this bug?

Also, we are searching for a good house to rent.

And I'm tired.

1. House (almost) cleaned prior to Thanksgiving trip.
2. Dr. appointment for Mercy made (to see if she has an ear infection) prior to Thanksgiving trip.
3. Christmas presents wrapped (we're also celebrating Christmas during our Thanksgiving trip.)
4. Van needs to be emptied and vacuumed prior to Thanksgiving trip.
5. Laundry (almost) finished prior to Thanksgiving trip.
6. Suitcases need to be packed prior to Thanksgiving trip.
7. Give away leftovers in refrigerator prior to Thanksgiving trip.
8. Pack snacks for the car ride prior to Thanksgiving trip.

Jeremy arrived home from work early today with a Man Cold. His pall-bearers deposited him neatly into bed where he barely groaned out his last meal request: spaghetti.

I'll add it to my list.

So it has come to this. I never thought I'd say the word hate and library in the same sentence, but this past Thursday during storytime, Liberty's class learned how to make stone soup, a mixture of water, a stone and various donated ingredients. Miss Bobbie read the story while cooking the ingredients that we had brought from home, and she stressed the idea that ANYTHING can be included in stone soup. That's what makes it so much fun.

We moms had been instructed ahead of time to bring a half cup of any chopped vegetable that we had on hand. I thought about bringing carrots, but since I don't like cooked carrots much, I nixed that idea. Then I decided to bring an onion. I reached into the bag and touched something slimy. The bag and all of its contents quickly hit the bottom of the garbage can, and Liberty brought chopped potatoes -- as did most of her classmates. Thankfully, we also had celery, corn and macaroni in the pot. And the stone. It all tasted lovely!

Three days have now passed since our trip to the library. My plastic bowl cabinet is empty. My carpets are drenched. My stuff is missing.

Anything and everything has become an ingredient in Liberty's Homemade Stone Soup. Her latest batch included a medium-sized stone from outside, two beaded necklaces from Grandpa and Nonna, a plastic measuring cup (I reclaimed it), a fuzzy pom-pom, my hair clip, Kimmie's miniature barbie from McDonald's, two of my good silverware spoons (reclaimed), a plastic chain link, particles of what used to be a square of clean toilet paper, four animal crackers (I stopped her just before those met their watery demise) and Mercy's foot.

Mercy was not pleased.

But, it has kept Liberty quiet and busy for DAYS. That's where my love part comes in.

Only five more days til we see Grandpa and Nonna for Thanksgiving, and guess who's complaining about their ears hurting? Liberty AND Mercy.

We're eating oranges for supper tonight, and I might even buy some lavender oil.

Can you tell the packing is looming? My posts keep getting shorter and shorter.

That's from Goonies, right? I can't quite remember. UPDATED: My sister Charity has informed me in a slightly incredulous comment that the quote is actually from Star Wars.
Our pen-pal process is officially progressing! Lisa and I have typed several little notes back and forth, and we are now FRIENDS!!!

Woo-hoo!

PS> Liberty pulled out my Bible a few minutes ago and started "reading" it out loud. I asked her, "What do you know about Jesus, Liberty?" And she said, "He forgives me. A LOT."

Me too! Yay for us!

I know what you're thinking. Missy is becoming a pen-pal? Missy???? The one who never mails anything??? I feel sorry for whoever is on the other end of this deal.

Normally, that thought process would be correct, but this time, I've got a twist up my sleeve. (Did I just mix a couple metaphors?) I can't quite picture a twist in my sleeve. I pictured a slice of lemon or lime maybe. Then I pictured a corkscrew in my sleeve. Now, my sleeve is all tangled, and none of those convey the element of surprise and glee that I was hoping for. Although a slice of lime sliding down my arm would be a surprise and possibly gleeful depending on how hungry I was at the time.

Anyway.

On my hall in my apartment building, there are four apartments, one is ours, one is vacant (ooh, that word sends shivers) one belongs to Mandy and one belongs to Gary and Lisa (who my brain constantly tries to rename Larry and Nancy, figure that one out - cuz I sure can't! It's frustrating, is what it is. I always have to pause for an internal correction before I say hi.)

Mandy and Lisa both stay home all day like I do. Mandy just had back surgery and cannot leave her apartment much anymore, and Lisa has something wrong with her leg. She, too, rarely leaves her apartment. I visit Mandy on occasion, but her apartment is crowded with valuable glass objects and two small dogs that don't mix well with my toddlers. Lisa told me a while ago that she would love to have visitors, but she has a psychotic dog that forbids it.

So here we live, three women who would enjoy each other's company if it were possible. And I got a "bee-dea" as Liberty says. That's big and idea mixed together. WE CAN BE PEN-PALS!

I lay in wait for Larry as he passed my apartment door at lunchtime. Correction: Gary. See? I didn't type Larry on purpose. He just looks like a Larry. Strongly.

Pause. "Gary!" I called out, two smiling girls peered from between my legs, and L- Gary grinned at them. His one gold tooth reminded me of the fake policeman at the beginning of Home Alone. "Do you think Lisa would like a pen-pal?" I inquired eagerly.

Perhaps too eagerly. He looked suspicious. "What do you have up your sleeve, now, little girl?" he questioned me with a twinkle in his eye. (Gary's the one who I abruptly announced our cheese mishap to several months ago. Oh, maybe I never told that story on this blog. I'll have to remember to spin that tale for you another time.)

(And by the way, what is it with my sleeves today? They must look freshly stocked or something.)

I explained my bee-dea of taping notes to each other's front doors every day, and he laughed.

I do need to inform you that it gets tiring having one's ideas laughed at on a regular basis. I understand that some of the ideas that strike me are not done regularly by most people. I understand that the kinks of those ideas have been worked out in my brain before I present the finished product to others, and that they may not realize the kinks are solve-able. I understand that I've had a lot longer to dwell on the practicality of said ideas. But it sure would be nice to have someone enthusiastically shout, "YES! GREAT IDEA!" and then sit down to figure out how it could be most practically carried out, instead of laughing at me, and leaving me to sound slightly rushed and earnestly defensive when I explain why it really could work.

So.

Gary then suggested that we email each other instead of writing and taping written notes. He struck disappointment into my soul with such a cold suggestion. I should have just gone with Plan A which was to introduce my bee-dea to Lisa by leaving a taped note to her front door. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm got the best of me again, and I couldn't hold the idea in long enough to carry out that plan. I just had to share it with Gary since I saw him walking into the building.

I protested, albeit very minimally because I realized he was actually taking my suggestion fairly seriously, and I liked the idea that he was contributing, too. Also, I couldn't figure out how to explain to him how cold his idea sounded to me without looking very silly. Finally, I said, "Well, talk to Lisa, and see what she thinks about it all," hoping that her imagination, too, would be caught by the fun side of taping written notes. He agreed, and continued on his way home for his lunch.

About ten minutes later, Gary knocked on my door holding a sheet of notebook paper. My heart skipped a beat! My first note from my new pen-pal!

Gary teased Mercy a little bit to see her smile before he said to me, "Lisa wrote down her email address for you."

Sigh.

The bittersweet feeling of a messed-with bee-dea come to fruition in all it's cold, corporate spontaneity.

I sent off my first email a few minutes ago!

1. I usually ignore all of the quizzes on Facebook, but my sister sent one called "What Is Your Native American Indian Name?" Mine turns out to be "Sunny Stream - You are content and happy. Like a leaf that floats on the water, going wherever it may take you." I like the sound of that!

2. Jeremy and I were on the phone with my mom around midnight last night, and apparently I fell asleep. Today, Jeremy informed me that in my sleep, I told my mom she could have some apples if she wanted. After more questioning, I told her that she could not have any grapes because we're all out. At least I was accurate in my sleep: we ate the last of the grapes for supper yesterday.

3. I walked silently into the kitchen a while ago and found Liberty standing in front of the open fridge, deciding. I made a small noise with my throat, and in one smooth motion, she slammed the door shut and whirled to face me, an innocent smile decorated her features. "Hi, Mommy. It's nice to meet you," she politely said. Then she shook my hand and left the kitchen.

4. My daughters are growing up, but that was not in our original contract. I pulled it out this afternoon and examined it with my magnifying glass. It explicitly states that any children born to Missy and Jeremy are to start out at six months of age and/or able to feed themselves and sleep through the night, and to perpetually use cute baby-ized English and thought processes. They are not to grow more than two feet tall or be able to open doors, think for themselves, or tell me "Nussin'" when I ask what they've just been doing.

5. I just returned from Liberty's room where she has tied her new helium balloon from the dollar store to a wooden spoon to weight it down and then planted it on the floor of her carpeted bedroom. What a great idea! Except that she also watered it so it would grow.

Inhale deeply. Savor the aromas.

That's right, I just baked chocolate chip cookies. Ah, the heavenly smell.

Before that I gave the girls a bath and shampooed their hair. Nothing smells as wonderful as freshly washed baby hair. Unless it's a just-baked chocolate chip cookie.

Before that I made egg salad sandwiches for lunch (thus creating the need for baths). Mmm, the aroma of boiled eggs, still slightly warm, mixed with mayo and mustard and piled onto freshly toasted bread makes my mouth water every time. Nothing smells as wonderful as warm egg salad sandwiches. Unless it's freshly washed baby hair. Or just-baked chocolate chip cookies.

Before that I opened the patio door and crisp fall air rushed into the room. Crunched leaves, distant wood fire, cold. They all combine to make a uniquely FALL smell. Nothing smells as wonderful as Fall. Unless it's a warm egg salad sandwich, or freshly washed baby hair, or just-baked chocolate chip cookies. (Or Spring!)

Before that I changed Mercy's stinky diaper.

Oops, you inhaled a little too deeply.

I have been pondering Christmas presents for my beloved husband for several months now, about eleven to be exact, and it wasn't until thirty seconds ago that inspiration struck after I read this post by my friend Beth.

I know the PERFECT gift, and I CANNOT WAIT to give it to him!!!!

Let the Christmas count-down begin!

PS> It's top secret, so don't even think you'll get it out of me. You'll just have to be surprised like he will be.

PPS> Ooooh! I'm excited!

I am sitting in front of the computer right now when I should not be. There is too much to do, and I'm not doing it. On the other hand, if I don't Stop. Right. Now. I will lose my mind, and that would not be pretty. So maybe I should be sitting at the computer right now.

I can justify with the best.

Today...

Where do I start?

Yesterday, Liberty woke up whining (I love her). We rushed out the door to get to Mercy's story time at the library on time. Mercy dirtied her diaper on the way there, and I discovered her diaper bag had run out of spares. I almost had a car accident on the way. I pulled out in front of another car and never even saw it. Thankfully, that driver slammed on her brakes and pounded her horn.

Liberty stopped to collect dead leaves on the way into the library and refused to leave them at the door. I pretended I couldn't smell Mercy's diaper throughout story time. Liberty scattered her leaves all over the story time room and refused to pick them up. When we returned home, Liberty brought more leaves into our house. She then proceeded to rip them into tiny pieces and bury them between the fibers of the carpet. The chunks that she chose not to bury were spread all over the living room floor.

EVERY WORD THAT CAME OUT OF LIBERTY'S MOUTH WAS SPOKEN AT FULL BLAST ALL. DAY. LONG.

When Jeremy came home from work, we rushed out the door to get to the drivers license place in time. They asked for twelve kinds of ID (no, I never exaggerate), and one of mine is packed and in storage. I could not get a license. My car is not completely paid for, so they had to fax a title request to the place in Iowa that holds it. I could not get license plates. Jeremy missed one sign question too many on his drivers test. He could not get a license. We drove to the drivers license place in my car, so his VIN number was not able to be checked. He could not get license plates. We wasted our evening. I wanted to cry.

But you know what? My awesome husband took me to Cracker Barrel instead of back home for supper. (Maybe he sensed we could all die if I was required to go back home and face the mess that used to be called our living room.) And you know something even more amazing? While we were eating, someone from the next table came over and told us how well behaved our children were and what a great job we were doing.

Her seeing-eye dog helped interpret the sign-language she used to communicate.

I collapsed into bed around nine pm, an unheard of bedtime for me, and Jeremy rubbed my back until I fell asleep.

I woke this morning with a renewed vibrancy. Ready to tackle the day with joy. I even had a chance to spend some time with God this morning before the girls woke up, and I just knew life would be grand.

Liberty smiled when she saw me. We ate breakfast together. Mercy slept in. Yes, a wonderful day.

We dropped the car off at the shop for an oil change and a strange-behavior diagnosis, and Mrs. Sue gave us a ride home. (Her husband owns the shop.) We chatted pleasantly, getting to know one another, but Liberty decided it wasn't enough. She waited for a break in the conversation, then she said, "Mrs. Sue, this is Mommy," with her hand she formally indicated me.

Mrs. Sue bemusedly asked me, "Is she introducing us?"

I've been through this before with Liberty, so I smiled and nodded.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Mommy!" Mrs. Sue played along happily.

Liberty nodded solemnly, "Yes, and this is me," she pointed to herself. "I'm Yibby Gace."

Mrs. Sue shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Liberty Grace."

"And this is Meecee Dane. She's a sister."

Now, see? It's a good thing I took this computer break because I've made myself smile.

Maybe I shouldn't finish telling you about the rest of this morning that involved a video from the library getting stuck in the VCR and Liberty stringing the tape that used to reside inside the video all over the living room, Mercy having diarrhea in the bathtub and stopping up the drain, orange juice creating a sticky mess all over the kitchen floor, finding out that we are out of laundry detergent on a morning when Jeremy informs me that he is completely out of clean clothes for work and I have no car to pick up some more.

In fact, I won't tell you about it. I'm ready to get back into cleaning it all up. Send chocolate!

Liberty ran today. She RAN! This is the first full-out, long-distance run that I have witnessed since that virus attacked her in early September. She RUNS!!!

This morning, she told me she was a bunny rabbit, and she hopped all over the living room and hallway for the better part of an hour. I turned my back to work on something, (will I never learn???) and I heard the slap of bare hands and feet on the kitchen linoleum. The seal on the refrigerator door made a sucking sound, and I turned to see my bunny rabbit perusing the merchandise.

"Are you hungry, Liberty Grace?" I inquired, using her full name as she now insists.

"I not Yibby Gace," she rather indignantly informed me, "I'm a bunny wabbit." She waited for my apology.

"Oh. Are you hungry, Bunny Rabbit?"

"Yes, I need some cawwots."

"How does a nice bunny rabbit talk?" I prompted feeling slightly silly.

"May I need some cawwots, PLEASE!"

Good enough. "Be careful not to spill them," I said as I handed the package to her.

"I'm going to spill them onto my plate," she reassured me. She chose a green plate to simulate grass and poured a multitude of carrots onto it. I eyed the pile, decided that Chomper would love to finish off the Bunny Rabbit's leftovers and said nothing.

The little hopster is now on her third plate of carrots.

That's a lot of roughage.

I'm just sayin'.

Earlier this month, I put a pink streak and a blond streak into my naturally brown hair. I very much enjoy my new look; it's quite fun, and today, at the request of a couple long-distance friends, I decided to take a picture.

Three year old Liberty was in the midst of her afternoon siesta. One year old Mercy still kept me company, but she is the "easy" one -- quiet, compliant -- at least until she turns two. The timing seemed right, so my one year old and I headed into the bathroom together where I took this picture.

Note to self: Next time, clean toothpaste off of bathroom mirror before taking photos for the blogosphere.

Second note to self: Figure out how to work your camera settings.

Right about this time, I began to congratulate myself on a picture well-taken when I heard a splash from the toilet region.

So much for that "easy" label.

This morning, Liberty woke Mercy before light arrived in the world, and they decided to join me in my big bed. I hoped they would fall asleep again so that I could get just a tad more rest. Instead, they shared the pillow next to mine and wrestled playfully. Occasionally, an arm or leg would jab my side or abruptly smack into my face, ensuring that my dozing was fitful at best.

I finally gave up dozing and rolled to my side facing them. Mercy's head had landed near Liberty's feet, and her feet rested on the pillow next to Liberty's face. Liberty threw her arms around Mercy's foot and began petting it. "Aw, my doggy," she cooed. She touched a ticklish spot, and Mercy giggled. "Such a nice doggy, right Mommy?"

I nodded barely. One of my eyes remained shut.

Liberty continued hugging Mercy's foot to her cheek and caressing it. Then she connected her gaze with mine and proclaimed, "I love my doggy so much, I'm going to name it Mommy."

I have a foot named after me.

Hmm.

Should I be proud, or humbled?

Two little girls sit happily side by side on the living room floor. Two little heads, one light and one dark, bend over a plastic spoon and a Capri Sun straw, stirring something imaginary. Two little voices meld harmoniously together, discussing their project.

I open the shades on the patio doors, allowing morning sunshine to stream into the room. Suddenly, a noxious odor assaults my nostrils, and I wrinkle my nose unpleasantly. "Whew!" I say out loud, examining the two cute daughters sitting innocently before me. "Something stinks!"

One dark-haired little girl suppresses a giggle and takes off at a dead run, careening drunkenly through the living room.

Aha!

Potatoes bake in the oven. Pork chops simmer in their gravy on the stove. The washer beats a down-home rhythm while the dryer sends forth a wonderful, warm, clean-laundry smell that mixes homogeneously with all the others. Willie Nelson lazily croons "Old Buttermilk Sky" in the background, and Liberty proudly shouts, "Mommy, yook! I'm upside down!"

From my living room vantage point -- sitting in the old, soft, rocking chair my mother bought for me when Liberty was born -- a content powder blue sky and wispy puffs of clouds beckon me through the glass patio doors. The leaves of two trees meet up across the way, splashing gold-red and yellow-green together. The sun creates a perfect shadowy pattern on the wall of the apartment building across from ours.

Willie starts in on "Moon River." I glance towards my feet where Mercy grins up at me, the edge of a plastic five from the refrigerator door peeks between her lips. I fish it from her mouth and blow a quick raspberry onto her chubby right cheek. She giggles and then claps when she sees Liberty's somersault.

The cream and pumpkin neighborhood cat, Tommy, peers in our screen door and mrrows plaintively, willing us to feed him again. The girls both meow back at him and rush to the screen calling "Sitty!" They scare him and disappointedly call, "Come back, sitty! Come back!"

Willie switches to "To Each His Own," and my thoughts turn to my Own. I smile, remembering a conversation we had last night and begin day-dreaming.

Daddy will be home any minute.

Our library has a storytime hour every Thursday morning for Liberty's age group. (Storytime for Mercy's age group happens on Tuesday mornings.) Yesterday, our group met at the fire station instead of the library, and this is what Liberty learned. **Mercy is the child roaming the room wearing pink and a hood.

Yesterday morning, the girls and I drove to our new friends' house.

Well, I drove.

Liberty and Emma played dress up in "real pincess cose, Mommy!" [insert huge three-year-old grin here] while Amy and I took turns rescuing Mercy from the staircase and pulling her out of the lovely fall wreath that Amy had on a stand in her living room, and talking. Lots of talking.

Then Emma and Liberty decided to play the piano, and all talking ceased. No, that's not exactly accurate. All hearing ceased. The talking gave a determined effort at continuing. Until we saw Mercy dancing to the piano "music" and Liberty and Emma singing along with their pounding.

That's when the laughing started.

After all the traveling we did last month, I took a break from the blog to get my mind and my house back in order. Actually, the rainy weather and the tiresome schedule I had been keeping combined to put me into a slump. I woke up every morning and took care of the girls all day, but the get-up-and-go in me had got up and left.

I had a talk with God about this slump and my desire to get out of it, and He sent me a pilates video in the mail by way of my friend Brenda. Last night, I sat down with my dayplanner to figure out how my days should be organized in order to fit that workout into my daily schedule. Because I'm easy-going and flexible like that.

Speaking of flexible, I just finished my first session of basic pilates about fifteen minutes ago, and I now know that I will need to rearrange my schedule. The workout will have to take place DURING naptime instead of after. I thought it would be great for the kids to wake up from their nap and stretch and workout with me, but I didn't realize that Mommy on the floor equals children on my tummy.

They thought it was playtime, and boy, were they excited! Mercy squealed and lunged onto my tummy before I understood her intent, and Liberty followed closely behind. My instructor Mari on the video had told me to imagine her hand pressing on my belly button taking it to my spine, but I didn't need to imagine anything. The real thing had been forced upon me in my living room.

The good news is, I feel invigorated and healthy. You know, after that one session and all.

Oh well, I suppose it's all in the mind anyway!

I had such high hopes for that laptop, but alas, finding a wi-fi connection can be harder than I expected. Let me sum up.

I spent a few days at home with my family in Illinois, left the girls, and drove to my house in Iowa to meet the movers and close up shop. A crazy two days kept me busier than I expected. I met with some friends and had to cancel fun times with other friends, but I was able to accomplish the necessary tasks. I had some fun posts ready in my head, but everytime I sat down to blog them, my laptop refused to connect to the internet. This is sad because those posts were really funny. (I can say that because without reading them, you won't be able to contradict me.)

I arrived back in Illinois around midnight on Friday and have enjoyed hanging with my brothers and sister and parents. Mom and I recorded specific designing shows on HGTV and watched them together every night. I'm going to miss that a lot.

Pete and I are preparing to leave in the morning with the girls. The van is packed except for the playpen Mercy is sleeping in right now, my wall charger which is plugged in and a few odds and ends that need to wait until morning to be packed. We're meeting Jeremy at our apartment in Indiana and restocking the refrigerator for him in preparation for next week. Then we will all drive to Ohio to meet up with my whole family and Suzy's whole family for a joint birthday party for Liberty and Abraham. (Suzy is my brother Nate's wife and Abraham is their son.)

We'll spend the weekend there, and then the girls and I will travel back to Mom and Dad's once more. I have to make another trip to Iowa while Jeremy stays behind in Indiana, but after that week is over, we will finally be a family again. Happy all together, as Liberty says.

And now if you'll excuse me, Liberty is trying to listen to my heartbeat with Grandpa's tape measure. "Mommy! Turn around; I need to see your beat-beat."

PS> To everyone who has been calling and emailing about Liberty's health condition: thank you for loving us! She is doing great. Her spots are almost all gone; her fever has been gone for over a week now, and other than a slight tenderness in her knees and ankles and a reluctance to climb or run too fast, she is back to normal. Isn't God kind? :-)

My parent's house in the middle of Illinois cornfields holds such strong feelings for me. Last Thanksgiving, I wrote this post, and this morning that same peacefulness washed over my heart as I pulled back the crimson sheers covering each of the living room windows to let in the beautiful morning light.

I sat on the wide front porch and watched my children enjoy the sunshine, the tire swing, the trampoline, the apple trees, the sweet, corn-scented country air. Sturdy porch boards under my feet and thick rafters and beams overhead surrounded me with my dad's handiwork and symbolized the love and protection always available to me.

I thought back to the previous day's journey. The girls and I had encountered no less than seven road construction and painting crews between Inna-inna and Illinois. At one point, the traffic had crept along at a 10 mile per hour pace for three miles before we encountered a flagger holding a "SLOW" sign. I wondered if I should go even slower as I passed her.

We stopped three times in the first hour to change a diaper, to pick up a fallen baby doll and to rescue a very important blanket. Rather than risking getting lost, I chose to pull off to the side of the road instead of taking exit ramps and finding parking spots. During our twelfth pullover, a kind man knocked on our window and asked if we needed help. I held up a stinky diaper and said, "Not unless you want to dispose of this for me!" He laughed, shook his head, and beat a hasty retreat.

I took a wrong turn once and stopped for directions once. All in all, not too bad. The worst element of our journey was my full bladder. It wasn't until about three hours into our trip that I realized I hadn't made a plan for my own bathroom needs. I pondered my predicament for the next five hours sometimes more urgently than at other times.

But sitting on the front porch, enjoying Liberty's and Mercy's glee, the song of birds, the sound of corn rustling and leaves dancing, the easy breeze, and knowing the laughter and camaraderie of family was only an arm's reach away, I decided without hesitation that the full bladder, and the longer than necessary journey was definitely worth it.

The only thing missing is my Jeremy, and he'll join us here on Friday!