Don't ruin my joy

Lately I've been very sensitive when it comes to my TV shows. I love reality TV. My favorites are:

I cry at least every other episode when watching The Biggest Loser. I want them to believe in themselves! And then I want to tell them that even being at your goal weight does not solve all of life's problems. But they'll figure it out eventually.

Anyway, I was watching The Biggest Loser (or maybe it was American Idol; as much as I love them, these reality shows all run together for me.  All of them generally have the same theme:  I was wallowing in mundane life, I got picked for this show, now suddenly my life has meaning and purpose.) last night when my husband came in to be with us. I say "us" because the kids were all in there with me. I could watch an infomercial on documentaries about the prehistoric era and they would all plop down and watch with me. They're just so happy to have the TV on. Sometimes I wonder if we're too strict about limiting TV time and then I watch their little eyes glaze over whenever it's turned on and notice how they can't complete sentences or follow basic instructions because they are so fixated on the screen in front of them...and then I decide we're o.k. on that one.

So the husband sits down, even though he does not love what we're watching. And I get anxious because he often makes fun of my shows. And then he of course says something trifling, but obnoxious...the exact words escape me now; I turn to him and tell him (in all seriousness) that he is robbing me of my joy in my TV show. I tell him it's no fun to watch with him criticizing.

 And now I don't remember his response to my protestations; all I remember is that later on in the show, one of the contestants starts getting whiny and Will starts mimicking her voice. And I say, "Well, she is being a whiner, isn't she?".  Justin immediately responds with, "Why are you criticizing her? You are robbing me of my joy in watching this show!  I am trying to enjoy this show!"

I had to laugh, because it was kind of silly.  You know you've crossed some kind of line into ludicrousness when you're getting offended on behalf of your favorite TV shows.

Shin Splints

I have blogged before about how much I enjoy running. I really do, especially when I'm in shape and can just zone out and not continually think, "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I should have bought one of those road ID bracelets so they could call Justin when they found my body."

The last time that I could zone out while exercising was probably this time last year.

Anyway, hope springs eternal in my flabby body as the weather warms up and the smelly sneakers beckon, and I was ready to get back into it. I started with my run/walk intervals, started eating better, started even losing a bit of the flab, and then a nagging pain in my shins began. And with every outing, it increased.

Fast forward to me at Walmart last night buying ice packs for both legs and then wailing in my long-suffering husband's arms because the shin splints were taking over my life. And I ate multiple cookies because I was so frustrated.

Do you know what the universally-acknowledged treatment for shin splints is? You ice them. And you stop running. In some cases (mine being one of them), you can't even power walk. You just have to quit until they stop hurting. You can bike or swim.

I can't fit into my bathing suit. THAT's why I was running. And I would bike, but my back tire has been off the bike for some time now. I thought I could change out the tube, but it turns out I don't know how. And I don't want to spend the money to get someone else to do it. Plus I don't even like biking. Cars all anxious to get around you, figuring out which gear to be in...bike shorts...yeah. No, thanks.

You get shin splints from
Not stretching properly,
trying to run too much, too soon,
Worn out shoes,
Running on hard pavement...
Check, check, check, and check.

So tomorrow we're going to Fleet Feet to buy some proper shoes. I will do a recumbent bike at the Y, then the elliptical when I'm getting better. I have agreed to stretch properly. And when my legs stop hurting, I will very, very gradually increase my mileage. I will run at Milliken or on the Cottonwood Trail. Or even on the treadmill, which I hate because it's inside but I love because I can watch mindless TV and run at the same time. I will not try to run six days a week. I will cross-train.

Shin splint vows. Now I just have to throw away those cookies.

Family Devotions

Last night as we were trying to have a little family Bible reading time, the kids kept being silly and making jokes.  They were warned that there was a time for laughing and a time for listening, and right now, they should be listening.  Everyone sobered up and got serious. 

Our lesson was on Genesis 3, where Adam and Eve have to leave the Garden of Eden because they had sinned.  God clothed them with animal skins to cover their nakedness (of which they were now mindful and ashamed) and sent them out of the garden, never to return.  Justin asked the children, "How is Jesus' death on the cross like the death of the animals whose skins covered Adam and Eve?"  (We are currently using Long Story Short as our family devotion guide).

Emma and Will both piped up with appropriate responses that Jesus covers our sins like the animal skins covered Adam and Eve's shame in nakedness, they both were sacrifices, etc.  Jack was silent.

Justin looked at Jack and said, "What do you think about all that, Jack?"

Jack thought for a minute and replied, "I wouldn't like it.  I wouldn't like to be naked or to be covered in animal skins."

I laughed so hard I cried. 

So much for serious family devotions.

We alll want a Family

Jack and I were watching a show today about estate sales, and at the end of the show, the guy who was selling his parents' belongings commented on how hard it was to watch things he had grown up with being sold and carried out the door by strangers.  He said, "I still miss my mom.  I still miss my dad."

We all want to be part of a family.  We want to belong to somebody, not slaves, but as sons and daughters.  When life is difficult, we want to turn to someone for help, we want someone who can make it "all better." 

I've been told that when your parents have passed away, something shifts.  Life just isn't the same.  I'm 38 years old, and I still look to my parents for advice.  Joys are not quite complete until you can share them with someone you love, and there are few people who love you quite like your parents.  My mom might add that as a parent, you never lose the desire to "fix things" for a child who is hurting, even when they are adults.  Your kids are always your kids; your parents are always your parents.

Have you ever wondered why you have this longing to belong?  Even though you may be estranged or distanced from your earthly parents, if you are a Christian, you are never separated from your Father in heaven.  When you become a Christian, you are adopted by God into his family (Romans 8:14-17).  You can tell your Father all about your joys and disappointments, and you can ask him for help (Romans 8:26-27).  He is always there, he is never too busy, and he loves all of his children completely. 

We need a family.  We can substitute facebook friends or civic groups or book clubs, but they can never be all that we need them to be.   Even our own parents can fail us or mess us up, but God never will.  He is always our perfect father.

"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are."

- I John 3:1

Friday is Pizza Night

It's a rainy super cold day here in Sparkle City.  A good day to stay inside.  I already ran outside (woo-hoo for me!).  It's really more of a wun or a ralk...runalk, perhaps?  I am a big fan of running/walking intervals.  Around interval 6 the dog started shooting meaningful glances back my way through the misty drizzle, but I told her to man up (dog up?) and finish it.

Let's do this thing, Boudreaux!  She was not inspired, but when you are attached to a person by a nylon lead, you do what they say.  For the most part.  Begrudgingly.

Anyway, Emma and I are going to a friend's house for a girls' movie night, but I am still making the sacred pizza dough for our never-forsaken pizza night.  Because 3/5s of our family will still be at home.  Justin cannot eat tomato sauce, so he gets his own special pizza.  The boys like pepperoni, and Emma is a plain-jane cheese kinda gal.

It takes a lot for me to get excited about making pizza dough, so here's my special secret ritual:

First, one must have a recipe.  How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman is my go-to for pizza dough.  I've tried others, but this one is the most consistent for me.  Which is saying a lot, because I lose count when measuring out cups of flour.  Was that five? or six?  Yikes!  It's always an adventure.  But he just says, if it's sticky, add a little more flour.  If it's dry, add more water.  This I can do.

 

Fleischmann's RapidRise Yeast - two packets because I double the recipe.   I can count to two usually, so I do better on yeast than flour.

Dough blade for the food processor.  I keep all of my food processor accessories in Jack's old lunchbox.  

 

Pizza dough in a flash!  Love a food processor.  But I just got mine for Christmas, so before I would always use the dough hook of my stand mixer.  Results were still good.

 

There it is, my little bundle of doughy happiness.  Now it has to rise in a warm place for an hour or two.  Good luck in this house I tell it, because my eskimo-blooded husband has made sure there is no warmth to be had.  In fact, our heating bill was less than it was last year when there were two people in their eighties living here.  He is very proud of that, but I say it just goes to show you what I endure every day in the arctic tundra that is our home.  Though now that I think about it, I'm the only one complaining.  Will wears shorts every day.  Maybe I should be quiet.

The warmest place in our house is a bed, but I would have much to explain if Justin came home to a bowlful of pizza dough snuggled up under the covers.  I have decided against it.

I'm trying to warm my hands over this candle.  I also wash the dishes a lot in the winter, because I can get the water super hot and then linger over every bowl and spoon until the circulation returns to my extremities.  OK maybe I'm exaggerating.

Music while cooking is one of life's little joys.  Plus the wooden spoons are handy microphones in case I need to belt out some Aretha Franklin while stirring.

Happy Friday everybody!

4:23 a.m.

A bright light wakes me up in the middle of the night.  It is the hall light outside our bedroom door.  My watch says 4:23.  My husband sleeps.

I get out of bed to investigate, and almost all of the lights in the house are on.  Did I miss something here?  I stick my head in Will and Jack's room, and there is Jack, rummaging through the dirty clothes hamper.  Will, in the top bunk, snoozes on, oblivious.

"What are you doing, Jack?" 

"I'm looking for some pants; I can't find any clean ones in my drawer."

I realize that he is getting ready for school.  I say, "Do you know what time it is?"

He looks at his watch and then looks up at me.  "I thought you just came in here to tell us it was time to get up!  You said it was 6:45!"

I shake my head.  "No buddy, it must have been a dream; it's too early to be up.  Let's get your pajamas back on."

He complies.  I go turn all the lights off and come back to check on him.  The faint glow of a flashlight shines through the blanket he has pulled over his head.  I pull back the blanket, and he wails, "I will never be able to get back to sleep now!"  I understand; I feel the same way.  I tell him to turn the flashlight off.

I climb into his little bunk bed with him and put my arm around him until he is almost asleep.  Then I whisper, "Good night, Jack," and go to bed.  I don't mind waking up for this.

It's hard to be Christian right before Bible Study

1:15 p.m. today...eat lunch...think about looking over Bible Study notes but opt instead to watch an episode of "Dear Genevieve" that I DVR'd.  Fabulous kitchen makeover.  But now it's 1:40, and I still have so much to do!

Time elapses...2:15...time to get kids - three different alarms go off (one in the bathroom) to remind me.  I am terrified of forgetting to get the kids.  Probably because my parents made it a habit to "forget me" when they went places.  One time my mom forgot to pick me up from soccer practice when I was in elementary school and the coach took me home with him and his whole family ate supper while I watched.  I'm not making this up.  Thus my current phobia.

Bring kids home...try to settle in with the book, but there are things to be signed, daily events to be discussed.  Hard to focus.

4:30  Realized I've been looking at the wrong chapter.  Panic begins to set in.

5:00 What's for supper?  I try to escape reality by calling my sister and asking her when she's going to have her baby (due date was three days ago).  Then I call my friend to ask her a question and we end up chatting until yikes!  It's 5:23 and I have to pick Emma up from play practice at 5:30.  Abrupt end to conversation.

5:45 Back home.  People will be at the house in an hour and fifteen minutes.  I begin to bark orders about cleaning up and yank frozen french fries, last night's roast beef, potatoes and broccoli out of the fridge.

6:12 Will asks, "Are you going to take Jack to practice?"  Jack's basketball practice starts at 6:15.  Yelling for Jack commences.

6:17 Justin takes Jack.  I bake french fries.  Try to finish printing the outline for tonight's study.  Do some dishes.

6:30 Justin is back.  Justin, Will and Emma eat supper while I walk around the house, yelling orders to Emma about the state of her bedroom.  Justin gets up from the table and says, "This is what you look like" and starts marching back and forth in front of the door to the dining room.  Every time he passes the opening, he says, "Clean up!  Clean up downstairs!  Stop talking to each other!  Listen to me!"  I would like to be mad at him, but he's right and it's funny, so we all just laugh.  I go back to the dishes.

6:40 Realize the upstairs bathroom is nasty.  Cross my fingers that no one uses it.

6:45 Coffee on, lights on, fire going...what am I forgetting? Oh, I pray.

7:00 Bible Study begins.