The Big K

What’s round, can protect you from danger, yet put you in danger at the same time?

This quandary adorns my head as my husband and I boulder-hop, wearing more sweat than clothing, including my beloved hat.

“My brim is my friend,” I tell myself, as I nearly miss another foothold. I don’t want any more skin cancer, however, I don’t want to tumble down a mountain of 20150803_093042boulders.

We just dropped off our little boy—our youngest—at Kindergarten. His first day of new everything, my first step of letting go of my baby for the day. I can’t help but think of him as my brim keeps getting in the way. I could have kept him at home another year—I could home school my kids—they’d be protected from so many things that way…

But, from experience, I’ve learned that too much protection can cause a person to fall later on. I can’t keep them under my brim forever.

He was crying when we left. The teacher had to take him inside the classroom and we had to walk away so he could adjust to this new chapter.

Chapter One: The day Noah becomes a big boy.

A boy who will laugh and smile with kids who think boogars are funny too, coat various things with glue sticks, make friends, fight with friends…find the best ones to make memories with and maybe even stand by each other on their wedding days.

Do stuff without me, *sniff.*

When my hat keeps casting its shadow over my face, blocking the blue sky from smiling on me, I remind myself that my skin can’t take it. But I push it up a little bit so I can see what’s around me, because I’ve got to take a little risk in order to see where I’m going.

There it is—that glorious big picture.

20150803_092538
The wide open sky, the rise and fall of the horizon, the breeze across my forehead. There’s an island of rocks—it was our goal, but the water level is still too high to rock-hop over to its bank. I guess it has a mama protecting it too.

We could have told her we were friendly, but I understand. Maybe she’ll let down her guard in autumn.

It’s been a week now, and usually my son comes home and tells me how awesome his day was, but then the morning comes to find him in tears again. But he keeps going, step after little step, thickening his skin and finding out he can do some things without mommy.

His teacher walked him to the car the other day with a mountain of praise. “He’s doing well. He’s the only one in class who doesn’t say ‘I can’t’.”

Good job, big boy.

Shhh…

My littlest one started Kindergarten today, and while my manuscript is in the hands of beta readers (love you), I’m taking the week to reflect on the fact that my babies aren’t babies anymore, and I’ll now have exactly 3 hrs. and 15 minutes of solitude a day. Phew. It’s a marvelous stacation.

John and I climbed the boulders today.

John and I climbed the boulders today.

Even the boulders have caught on to the mustache trend.

Even the boulders have caught on to the mustache trend.

20150803_093909

Love living in raccoon country.

I’m enjoying the silence now. See you next week.

To Be A David

What would you think of as beautiful in your last season of this life?

I may take that question to work, where people go to live during this great transition. I learn a lot there, where most conversations revolve around family: theirs, mine, and whoever else has one.

Children are incontestably beautiful. They celebrate life in so many colors and

Am I not divinely beautiful?

Am I not divinely beautiful?

expressions, it’s hard not to look at them as canvases of the most divine kind of art. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to raise them—we don’t want to unintentionally shape a Monet into a Picasso if that’s not who they are meant to be.

Speaking of art—if my “ship” ever makes it through all the cactus and dust devils, bringing treasures beyond my expectations—I hope it’s full of art to fill my walls with. I can’t get enough—Impressionism, Renaissance art, Contemporary…maybe even an art studio of my own, because to me, life without art means a life without beauty.

At the retirement resort, there used to be a group of ladies who, at the first sign of a fire truck, would gather in one of the lobbies to watch the firemen walk by (unfortunately, they were usually accompanied by an ambulance). Young and fit people will always have an audience.

But really, when we reach that phase where our human side starts to peel away from the eternal—what will we remember as truly beautiful?

My daughter is seven, and in public school. She’s reached that point where she’s gaining that early foundation of experience. She’s a butterfly—sweet and quiet (at school), and full of color (strong-willed monkey at home). Her teachers would like to see her speak up more in class, speak louder—find her confidence. We do our best to build her up—we even signed her up for ballet where she can express her creative side within a group.

But a person has to uncover their light on their own accord.

When a boy in her class kept coming in without lunch, and worried about his parents “illnesses”, she found her voice, taking him to the lunchroom supervisors and asking if they would give him a free meal. For those of you who have never been shy this may seem like plain old common sense, but all those former and practicing wallflowers will recognize what a leap of faith this was for someone afraid to raise her hand.

This, to me, is beauty at its brightest. It’s reaching beyond our own comforts, switching on that stubborn lamp, and letting the eternal side shine through the human side.

King David, in his early years as a shepherd boy, was described as beautiful.

So he sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy, with bright eyes, and good-looking. And the LORD said, “Arise, anoint him; for this is the one!” 1 Samuel 16:12 (emphasis mine)

I’m sure he was made “good-looking” for a reason, but is that what made him “the one”?

When I look at Michelangelo’s David, I see the story of him—the slingshot, the strength of body and spirit—the shepherd boy who stepped forward to save his people.

The statue will eventually crumble, but the part of him that made him a legend came from the Divine.

What do you think is eternally beautiful? Tell us in the comments.

The Realm of Moms

Once upon a time in Wendy’s, a young mother experienced harassment of the most common kind. She sat with her three young children and happy meals, in what looked like a sea of white cotton candy—I’m guessing senior discount day—and a bored couple sitting side by side and facing her— judging her every move.

Her little boy, eager to fish his toy from his bag, spilled his entire box of chicken nuggets onto the floor.

The mother looked in the direction of the counter to her fully decked out table, to the little boy. She scolded him, maybe a little too harshly, but being a mom myself, I understand the dilemma. Does she leave her fully-loaded table, gather up her kids (she was out of sight from the counter, so she would have had to take her kids) and re-order the chicken nuggets or just share her meal with her son?

(Any mama or Nanny will understand how difficult a simple task

It's a glorious handful

It’s a glorious handful

becomes with small children.)

The couple who was fully immersed in her business decided the most helpful thing to do would be to tell the mom to go back to the counter and ask for more chicken nuggets. They didn’t offer any help, just their opinion—with attitude.

The mama decided to share her meal with her son—who refused to eat anything but French fries anyway—much to the disapproval of the nosy couple. The woman-half of the couple scoffed, took a swig of her drink and along with her husband, continued to stare and discuss the harried mom in front of them.

Selfish is the word.

And mean.

But it turns out that mothers of young children are in the highest category of stressed out people in the world (and all the moms say amen). Here’s a snippet from Randy and Nanci Alcorn in their book, Help For Women Under Stress:
“One doctor and stress lecturer has said that the most overstressed person in our society is the mother of small children. Our counseling experience, our family experience, and our conversations with many women confirm this.
Small children are takers. They require unceasing time, labor, and attention. They cry but can’t tell you what’s wrong, and when they’re old enough to talk they ask you the same question twenty-nine times in a row. They are delightful gifts of God, yes, but they demand and deserve more than you have left.”

Many people have asked me how I manage to juggle all that I do. I raise kids full-time (and have one of those awesome husbands that helps), write novels and do other freelance writing jobs, and when my husband is off work, I go from wrangling my kids all day to putting in a shift at my part time job. I drive home at midnight, literally slapping myself to stay awake. My son still gets up anywhere from midnight to 3am with nightmares, which means I do too. I’ve worked physically demanding jobs, I’ve worked in a school for troubled teenage girls, and I’ve scrubbed dishes by hand, in a small redneck restaurant (redneck as in the genuine thing…not the Hollywood version). And all I have to say is….

Motherhood is, by far, the most difficult and demanding job I’ve ever done. And those other things I do? Yes, they keep me busier than is probably healthy, but they also give me a break from the mommy stress.

In contrast to those who recognize my hectic schedule, there are those (like the couple who plagued my friend in Wendy’s) who have asked me: Is that all you do? Why do you look so tired?

Seriously, who taught you to poop in a toilet, people?

And for those of you that hold doors, and offer understanding smiles and patience to a mama when her kids act out in public? Bless you a thousand times.

Are you looking for a way to pay it forward? Help a mom today. Are you a mom? Tell us your story, give us your rant, or grace us with your advice in the comments.

Seeing through boxador colored glasses

We found our Bella at a local shelter. A delightful Boxador, she lavishes joy every moment she’s awake. Maybe it’s a gift unique to dogs, maybe we just don’t spend enough time practicing it, but lavishing joy is certainly a lost art.

All it takes for her day to turn from great to out-of-this-world-awesome is a lizard, or the morning, people walking in the door, or just being alive. Bella finds reason to celebrate from every angle.

Lizards, awesome! *Lick*20150620_142518
A dirt pile, awesome! *Bounce*
Morning breath. *Slobber kiss*

Frankly, she’s a breath of fresh air after living inside a human’s skin all my life. When I wake up in the morning, bed head and pillow creases across my face aren’t something I brag about, but to Bella? It’s the best thing ever!

Dogs can wake up with half their face smooshed an inch higher, and people think they’re adorable. They have no hidden agenda, political differences, nor do they fume over something that someone said they said that might be offensive that grows to something several people are saying thatmayormaynotbetrue.

Dogs just love us anyway.

Yesterday, my daughter said, “the house looks so different with Bella in it.” And she’s right—it does! Her delightful nature continuously points us to the good things—some of them we didn’t think were so good until she came along.

I believe God sent us dogs as illustrations to help us understand this:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things. Philippians 4:8
Even if they have bedhead and smell, because being able to wake each day to your families faces is lovely indeed.

 

P.S. It’s been a busy summer…I’m close to finishing my newest YA novel and would love a few more beta readers. Did you enjoy Faith Seekers? Do you like Christian YA fiction with that pushes the boundaries? If you’re interested in becoming a beta reader, contact me at srossbook@gmail.com. Have a great Monday!

Behold the Yellow Cup

About three decades ago, in the land of Yonder, an atrocity happened. Deep in play, running through our country yard of part grass, part goat heads, me and my two brothers were scarred for life. While in the midst of a game I no longer remember, our neighbor peed in his water cup. Our water cup—our yellow plastic, color of the brightest sun, water cup.

Being economically-minded, my mom thought some elbow grease and some bleach would do. She placed the yellow cup back in the cupboard.

Where it sat for YEARS, unused. It didn’t help that the cup happened to be yellow. For me, this color had been forever branded as the “ew” color.

I think my mom finally used it out of frustration—“we don’t waste”, she said.

“We don’t drink out of pee cups”, we said.20150615_084231

She wouldn’t throw it away, we wouldn’t use it, and there sat the most stubborn statement of all time, gathering dust in the cabinet.

Now that I have kids of my own, I understand the value of pasticware. It can withstand drops, punts, sword fights, rock collections and temper tantrums. When Costco displayed a beautiful, multicolored set of cups that looked like glasses straight from the colors on Claude Monet’s palette, we grabbed a box and nearly sang as we pulled them out, one by one.

Two of them are yellow.

One of the first things I did was serve water to my brother from one of the new yellow cups—just for my own entertainment. Heh.

But every time I look at those yellow cups, pee comes to mind. Why? Why, why why why? It’s been close to three decades, yet one offensive act from a neighbor has ruined yellow for me.
My kids don’t even like the yellow cups. I’ve never told them the story, but they must sense my revulsion when I go around it for any other color (even light green, which thanks to the 90’s craze about the color green, that color is (almost) ruined for me too).

But I don’t want to see the world through pee colored glasses, I mean, really, this is getting ridiculous.

So I started drinking from the yellow cups, and serving my kids drinks from the yellow cups (It’s like they’re learning my prejudices through osmosis). I must see yellow as beautiful again.

Time to train the brain. Yellow is sunshine, yellow is butter, yellow is jelly beans, sunflowers and Belle’s dress.

Yellow is the center stripe in the rainbow, the glint of gold, and is the best flavor in a package of skittles.

God made yellow and if anyone can take a yellow pee cup and make it into a lemonade cup, He can.

Do you have a reason why I should embrace yellow? Or maybe you have a similar story of your own? Tell us in the comments.

The Road to Greekdom, and Other Good Things

Since sugar has been named the super villain ingredient of all diets, my family has decided to cut down. It’s hard with kids, especially on our Harkins Summer Movie Fun Days. I let my two have a drink and a small bag of candy, which is still too much, but it keeps my son focused on the movie instead of turning the theater into his personal gymnasium. We’re working on an alternative.

But when they see the full popcorn/drink/candy/villain pack that many of the parents buy their kids, they think I’m denying them one of life’s greatest pleasures.

And the words cavities, illness, and tummy ache from planet Naseum don’t do much to placate them.

So we started with yogurt. I thought it was healthy—my son eats bucketsful of the 20150604_124252stuff—but when I actually read the sugar content, I nearly lost my Yoplait all over the kitchen. You could make sugar sculptures of superheroes eating the villains with the amount of sugar in one cup. So we’ve gone Greek.

It was a bit of a tough sell at first—I had to hunt down lemon meringue, Boston cream pie and pie flavors of all kinds to get them to eat it. But what motivated me to stick with it was my cousin. Recently diagnosed with leukemia, he cleaned the sugar and other “junk” from his diet, successfully lowering his white blood cell count. Motivated by this change, we’re taking one healthy step at a time.

After about two weeks of whining, they gave in and embraced the greek.

Then we took off for Disneyland, the land of regular sugar and more expensive sugar. Our hotel served a great breakfast, but they only had one kind of yogurt. That’s right; it was a giant bowl full of strawberry, sugar-dumped, disease-causing yogurt. But since we were on a rare vacation, I dug in, filled my bowl, and sat at our table with a view of Cars Land. Spoon to hungry mouth.

It. Was. Disgusting. I could finally taste the amount of sugar we had consumed day in and day out for years. It was like the time I switched from milk chocolate to dark chocolate, never being able to go back because the extra sugar in the m.c. makes me feel sick.

Should we do this with everything? I started thinking about the excess we surround ourselves with: dust covered stuff over all the shelves at home, over processed appearances (although we’re pretty good at keeping that to a minimum), food just as equally processed. I believe we’re consuming more hazards than actual sustenance.

This is the land of plenty, for sure. A great country, no doubt, but we’re all drowning in the additives.

I think good health is in shedding much of what we think we need.

My new goal, in between raising a family and working, is too take a good long look at our life, and really see what’s immediately good versus what’s everlasting good.

What about you? Have you stopped to reevaluate about the way you take care of your health? Tell us in the comments.

Oh Joy

Soon, we’ll be going to Disneyland. We’re going to step out of our worn-out work shoes and slide into our fun shoes as we shed our adulthood for a few days of wonder.

We will eat jelly beans.

We will ride roller coasters, and when our kids’ smiles stretch farther than they ever have, ours will stretch with them, because we’ll be kids too.

We’ll laugh, becoming drunk on sugar and freedom.tinkerbell

Our toes will tingle with delight in the haunted house, because unlike the horror that comes out of the TV news channel at home, the Disney version has a happy ending.

What work phone?

The only high-pitched tone we’ll respond to will be the whistle on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.

We will play,

play,

play,

All day, until the knots loosen their grips in our shoulders.

We will dine with a mermaid and embrace a mouse

And when we return to our house…

Our shoes will be wings once again.

The Magic Sandals

Six years ago, I found a miracle in Walmart.

Yes, I said Walmart.

In exchange for a beautiful, smart, perfect, precious daughter, my husband and I gave up all hope of having spare change. Or high fashion, sleep…dignity.

But we had our Princess, and she was worth it (still is).

Summer was blazing in like a beast and I needed sandals. I’d been wearing my “pregnant” sandals for close to three years, and was tired of the old lady footwear.

Chloe was eighteen months old which means she was allergic to sitting still and silence. Shopping was now a marathon event, and I knew to expect a toddler circus through. every. aisle.

So there I went, walking my ballet-beaten, pregnancy-stretched, flat, achy, feet into Walmart in hopes of finding an affordable sandal that would last me several years and bring comfort at the same time. Did I mention my eighteen-month-old came along to help?

I tried on a few, but my daughter kept running out of my sight, so I grabbed the ones that fit the best and dropped less than $20 at the cash register. I wasn’t overjoyed sandalsby them, and doubted those cheapies would last the summer, but with our budget, Walmart was THE option.

As soon as I strapped them on, God happened. I loved them. With barely a sole to stand on, they were comfortable. It was as if an invisible cushion materialized, and the strength of the Almighty Himself held those man-made straps together. They held my feet through another pregnancy where my feet stretched a half-size bigger. They survived a run-by-puking when I was hit by a severe bout of morning sickness, when my two BEST leather boots kicked the bucket.

After I had my son, most of my shoes had to be tossed, but those sandals, still size 8.5 with a thinning sole, still magically fit my size 9 feet.

God bless Walmart.

They carried my feet through seasons of financial hardship, races after busy children followed by miles of walking to soothe my babies to sleep.

Recently, I finally bought a new pair of sandals. My magical Walmart shoes lasted me as long as I needed them…down to the day. No fairy godmother can match God.

Do you need it? He’ll bring it. It may not seem like the right answer at the time, but He always comes through when life is one big bundle of crazy.

 

Have your own magical story to share? Tell us in the comments.