Keep Your Crown On

Women wear many hats. Some of us are wives. Some are mothers. We are all daughters, and many of us are sisters. We work in hospitals, board rooms, and bathrooms. Some of the time we soar like eagles. Other times, we fall flat on our faces.

And when we do, the world is quick to put a dunce cap on our heads.

The cap may say different things. One time it may say “Failure.” Another time it may say “Loser,” or “Stupid,” or “Worthless.” But ultimately the world is telling us that what we do is more important than who we are. And, even if we don’t admit it to anyone, much of the time, we believe that lie.

But God has a completely different hat for those who have been adopted into His family.

Ephesians 2:11-19 (NAS) reads (in part), “Therefore, remember that at one time you Gentiles (italics added)…remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. (bold and italics added). But now, in Christ Jesus, you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who has…broken down the…dividing wall of hostility…so making peace, that He might r4econcile us both (Israelites and Gentiles) to God in one body through the cross…for through Him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God. (bold and italics added)

For those of us who have been adopted into God’s family, as members of God’s household, we are princesses! The world can no longer define us based on our performance. God defines us by His!

But, when the world pulls out the dunce cap, it still fits. The choice then becomes, which hat are we going to wear? Which reality are we going to live in? What are we going to choose to embrace?

So much of the time, it seems, we choose to accept that dunce cap! I definitely do - far more often than I’d like to admit. Actually, as I type this, I’m wearing a cheap imitation tiara because I’m really struggling with the dunce cap labeled “Failure.” I feel like one. People I love have been disappointed in me, so “Disappointment” is blazoned across that cap, too. And, in my kitchen, the dirty dishes are breeding faster than I can wash them (of course, I’m not washing them right now…I’m typing on the computer, lol). It is easy to accept the hat the world wants to force on our heads. That is a choice I face every single day.

The truth is, though, no matter what else happens, no matter what hat the world tries to force on my head, that tiara is still there! It is always there. And it isn’t perched on my head because I deserve it. It has been placed there by the very Creator of the universe.

What I do with that knowledge can change everything.

And, the question becomes, will I keep my crown on, or not? 

Having put that cheap, plastic imitation tiara on my head has helped. My focus is not on my failings, but on my true identity. And as I focus on that, everything comes into perspective. I disappointed someone; I’m not a disappointment. I failed someone; I’m not a failure. I am so much more than a composite of my performances. I am a daughter of the One True King, and that says it all.

Yes; we did that on purpose...

Little man has discovered the toilet paper. Even with close supervision, he will somehow figure out how to grab the end of the toilet roll and run (in his halting little gait), toilet paper trailing behind him. I'd say our consumption of toilet paper has doubled greatly increased!

So, I decided to take drastic measures; I took the roll of toilet paper of the toilet paper roller! But, I forgot to tell all my children. They have been trained put the roll of toilet paper back ON the roller. Oops.

As my children have begun to understand my plan, the consumption of toilet paper decreased slightly. It has only decreased slightly because well-meaning guests continue to put the toilet paper back on the roller! I think I'm going to tape a sign just above the empty toilet paper holder, saying "Yes; we did this on purpose. Please do not replace the toilet paper roll." At this point, I'm not sure if we should go on to explain why, or simply leave it to their imagination. Or, perhaps I should post a photo of the little man making his get-away instead.

Scaling Mt Never-rest

Laundry is an ongoing challenge in a family of ten. Although, if I were to be completely honest, laundry was difficult when mine was only a family of three. But, I digress. In the interest of humoring others who may (or may not) share my challenge, this is to give you courage to scale the heights of Mt Washmore, Mt. Foldmore, pushing all the way to the very top of Mt. Never-rest, the highest height of motherdom.

The pile is what won't fit anywhere else.
The laundry sorter is full, the blue hamper in the  middle of the page is full.
Laundry is getting out of control!

Here is my exploding pile of laundry, and the photos just don't do justice. Although the pile looked huge when I cowered at its base, somehow it shrunk between the basement and the computer. So, you'll have to take my word for it; the pile is was HUGE. Later, I'll post some beautiful pictures of what it looks most of the time, when Mt. Washmore hasn't recently erupted and Mt. Foldmore is under control.

You are probably wondering, what did I do? How did I manage to so effortlessly scale the heights of Mt. Washmore? Well, the honest answer is, I didn't. My children did. Ah yes, I've learned the art of delegation. I'm mastering it, you might say. Each child is responsible to start and fold at least one basket of laundry a day. And, since we have an extra large capacity front-loading washer, each basket is at least two regular loads.

Though my children don't necessarily enjoy helping with laundry, they all understand the concept; you don't wash, you don't wear. I didn't really know how to do laundry when I left home. Somehow my clothes were always clean when I needed them, and every once in a (great) while, my mother would call me to come help hang Dad's work shirts when the buzzer buzzed on the dryer. Beyond that, laundry was a mystery.

You can imagine my shock, horror, and fear when I realized I must scale the heights of Mt. Washmore, on my own, regularly! Then, just when I was beginning to get the handle of Mt. Washmore, Mt. Foldmore erupted, explosively, all over my house! Adding to the craziness was the arrival of a new baby girl, complete with spit up and dirty (cloth) diapers. Suddenly I found myself at the base of Mt. Never-rest, quivering and quacking. It looked insurmountable, overwhelming, and beyond my ability to comprehend.

But, thanks to a few tips from other "climbers" I noticed the hand holds, the small steps that could be taken, and the ropes that would catch me when I fell. My favorite "rope" is the laundromat. Yes, the infamous laundromat, where you can wash and dry countless loads of laundry, all at once, and get them folded on tables specifically designed for that purpose.

It has been quite some time since I've resorted to taking all my clothes to the laundromat, but knowing that option is available does bring comfort.  In the end, though, my biggest piece of insight is, just keep swimming. Laundry, like dirty dishes or stinky toilets, never goes away. It just keeps being generated, day after day. And, as a very wise woman once told me, when the laundry piles and dish piles and chore piles finally go away, I'll miss the children who helped create them.  Until then, I'll keep climbing.

The problem with dinner in the freezer

I recently delivered baby number seven. With so much practice, I was finally able to accomplish my lofty goal of getting some meals made ahead of time.

In anticipation of needing dinner when I had better things to do, I dutifully laid out the recipes, purchased the supplies, and had a power-cooking marathon with my very wonderful and very helpful older daughters. Long before the baby arrived, my freezer was filled with tasty casseroles and pre-made lunch treats just waiting to be pulled out and served to hungry children.

There is, however, a caveat to this success story.

To be successful serving dinner when it is in the freezer, you must take it out of the freezer before mealtime. More than once, when it's been time to put dinner in the oven, I've realized that dinner is still in the freezer. Hungry children don't enjoy eating frozen food that is designed to be eaten hot. You can pull said dinner out of the freezer and soak it in hot water in a vain attempt to get it thawed in time to actually serve it before breakfast. Or, you can simply pop it in the oven in hopes that perhaps it will defy the laws of Murphy and get hot all the way through. Unfortunately, neither option is very successful. I know. I've tried. Maybe next time I'll leave dinner in the freezer and serve breakfast instead!

No More Almond Rocca

Having been a mother for more than 12 years, and as the mother of five very energetic girls, you'd think I'd have figured this out by now. Alas, I'm only just beginning, and even so have MUCH to learn. Especially when it comes to caring for my son. This 13 month old bundle of energy has an innate ability to get into things no matter what I do to protect either him or what it is I don't want him in. Case in point; the litter box.

Bootsie has been part of our family for more than nine years. She has survived more trauma than a normal cat should have to endure, and she has done it with grace. We love Bootsie. But, as she gets older, certain parts of her life are becoming worth protecting a little bit more. So, I found a great little box that (in theory) is suppose to be great for cats AND keep little tikes out. Like I said, that is a theory. In reality, it doesn't work!

This morning, as we were taking care of breakfast (leftover pancakes instead of our staple oatmeal) Caleb walked into the kitchen with a knife and a spoon. The knife was immediately deposited in the garbage by my 10 year old daughter. Noticing the swift movement, I inquired as to the reason; little did I know how much I didn't want to find out. "The knife was covered with cat poop so I threw it away," came the animated reply. A quick check of the spoon proved that it, too, had been used for foraging into the previously-assumed-to-be-childproof litter box as well. The evidence was not only on the spoon, but also on clothing and hands. Though it appeared Caleb was chewing something, thorough investigation proved fruitless. Visiting the laundry room, where Bootsie's litter box is, was not so fruitless.

Caleb had, somehow, managed to propel his small body on top of the litter box, after procuring a spoon and knife (from our picnic supplies) and balanced precariously on his belly (with his feet OFF THE FLOOR) while reaching his hands, the knife and the spoon into the deposits left by our cat. YUCK!!!!!!!!! After checking with a doctor friend about the health hazards of consuming cat poop, and having to chuckle with her at the antics of my young son, I was able to clean up the mess and block, for the time being, any pediatric access to the litter box. My friend's parting piece of advice; never give Caleb almond rocca!