Easter Sunday

"I am the resurrection and the life.  He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die."

John 11:25-26

May your Easter be blessed with a little bit of beauty, a little bit of laughter, and a gob of God's love, forgiveness and grace in the middle of it all.

And may your house be as strung out on sweets as ours!

Happy Easter from the Wards. 

Toothless Grin

     I once had a friend tell me that when her first child lost his first tooth, she cried.  It was a sign that he had grown up.  I feel a little differently than her.  To me - it's when those two front teeth grow IN.  That's when they jump from I-look-like-a-sweet-little girl to I'm-on-my-way-to-a-tween.  That's when the real change occurs.  I think that's why I love this picture so much of Lydia. I was downloading Palm Sunday pics and came across it.  See that little tongue sticking out?  I had to capture it now, before my little girl transformed in front of me.  I've already watched Elijah sing "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" and I've seen them grow back as spaced out as ever.  He'll be ready for the awkward, I-need-braces stage soon.
    But Lydia isn't over the hump, not quite yet.  I can still call her my little girl, the girl with the toothless grin.

When Left Alone

This was NOT my grilled cheese -
but thanks to saucyculinarian.com for providing it 

Part One - Jen:
      Tonight I was left alone with the girls while Kenny took E to baseball practice.  And for those who don't know the Ward set-up, Kenny cooks, I clean.  I have this general phobia of meal planning.  I'm not kidding when I say this, it is not a joke.  When I am responsible for feeding my children, I get nervous, stomach churching nervous.  I don't know what to cook; I don't know how to cook it.  Believe me, I have tried.  With a recipe even, I just can't get the timing right.  And I feel very foolish admitting all of this, so be kind to me.
     Some people just know.  They can open up a fridge or a pantry, gather ten ingredients and thirty minutes later, wa-la, a meal is prepared.  I am in no way saying that I would let my children starve, but  this simple task becomes very hard for me unless I have spent the day thinking about what I will make, what I will need.  When I am left with the charge: make dinner, and I actually accomplish it, I feel like I deserve a medal.  But let me give you some perspective: the first time I took all 3 kids to the mall (ages infant, two and four) I also felt deserving of the highest honor.
      I got home from taking the girls to dance class expecting the planned Taco Soup to be stirring on Low heat. Unfortunately,  I got the text too late:  "Didn't have time to make dinner.  E and I are grabbing something on the way out."  Ugh.  I was already in the driveway so turning back to Subway was out of the question.  So, I put on my big girl boots, or I guess an apron would be more accurate here, and got to work.  The girls were adamant against Taco Soup so why make it for just one?  With no other meat thawed, I got to work on the only thing I could think to do besides Ritz crackers and slices of cheese (my own personal Lunchable) and made grilled cheese.  But I didn't stop there,  I even pulled out a Ravioli can (which I used to love as a kid but completely grosses me out now), popped that top off, and heated it up.  For myself, I heated up a hot potato and regretted not making that Taco Soup for one.
     I called the girls in who were out in the front yard hopefully not talking to strangers, and proudly presented my meal.  They weren't impressed.  Sure they wolfed down the Ravioli but wouldn't touch the grilled cheese because the bread was weird.  What?   Oh well, I wouldn't call my meal-making a success, but I sure did clean the heck out of those dishes.

Part Two - Lanie:

    After dinner, I sent a very Ravioli-stained Lanie to get ready for a shower while I did my infamous cleaning.  I heard her yell as she ran upstairs, "I've got it.  Don't come up here mom. I'll do it myself." Awesome. I figured she'd run around naked awhile and then finally I'd come upstairs and help her get started.  This gave me ample time to finish the dishes. The door bell rang so I was outside talking to a neighbor and I hear, Mom! Mom! Mom! so after it's obvious my neighbor can hear the screaming, I excuse myself and run to see what could have gone wrong.  Lanie has outdone herself.  She started the water, a bit cold, she shampooed her hair, soaped her body, but she forgot one thing - closing the curtain.  Water flooded the floor, the walls, my socks.  But she was so, so happy with herself.  I couldn't get mad. So I did what I do best - I cleaned up the mess.

Part Three - Lydia:

     While I was cleaning up dishes, while Lanie was flooding the floors, this was Lydia left alone. Responsibly doing her reading homework, sitting on the kitchen floor, sipping on 7-UP.

When did this happen?  When did they start growing up?

Except me, of course.  I'm still twelve and learning how to make macaroni and cheese, but whatever. At least some people in our house are exceeding expectations.

Creative Projects

Orville Wright  

Orville Wright

When I was teaching 6th grade Reading, I had this great resource that provided umpteenth ways to give a creative reading assignment that would trump all tired, worn-out book reports from the past.  I used this book regularly and gave my students options like:  Create a Wanted poster for your character; Make a shadowbox of the most important scene; Design your own newspaper from the time period of your book; Create a collage with clippings that explain your book; Make up a game that highlights your characters; and really I could go on and on and on some more.
     I loved it. I thought it was fun and figured the kids thought I was the coolest teacher ever since I wasn't requiring the traditional 5 paragraphs. To be honest, these great leaps into creative projects were also a lot easier to grade.  They either had it, or they didn't.  Even when I taught my sophomores, I continued to offer creative ways to turn in assignments and some of the kids truly went all out.  I had video's from groups that looked professionally made.  I saw shadow-boxes that were works of art.  I received collages that were the size of my chalkboard and full of color.  Of course there were the usual suspects who cared little about grades and obviously put in zero effort.  But I always, always had that one kid, or maybe two, sometimes three, usually boys, who were great in class but when it came to creative projects,  just put in enough effort to get the job done.  Their projects were fine. And based on the criteria, it was an A.  But I can tell they didn't LOVE this creative-making like I hoped they would.  And that always irked me.  There I was giving my students a chance to go outside the box, and they'd rather write a basic report from the point of view of the dog in the story.  No Crayola or Elmers involved.
     It just doesn't make sense to me, or it didn't make sense to me until recently.  I now have a different point of view, one of a parent whose child has one of those creative teachers.  In the past two years Elijah has had some great assignments, I think.  He had to decorate a shoe, make a mummy out of paper sacks, create a character out of a pumpkin, and this past week, make a biographical character out of a coffee can filling it with relevant items and writing an explanatory paragraph.  He chose Orville Wright. So fun, right?  I would have been all over a project like that, starting weeks ahead finding airplanes, and maps of Kitty Hawk and that's about all I knew about the Wright Brothers.
    Here's what I learned, besides the fun fact that the Wright brother's love of flying started with a kite, but I learned that Elijah doesn't fancy arty projects.  He doesn't want to spend the time.  He's the kid who would rather look up history and write a report.  He doesn't care about yarn hair or wiggly eye-balls.  He just doesn't.  I gave him some supplies and he did the project in a couple of hours.  I later gave some editing tips which he didn't like, but reluctantly made.  He's not one to linger or worry about his art.  If I mentioned areas that could be changed like adding a shirt or a tie,  he'd just say, "Oh, it's fine.  It's fine."  And while he hasn't gotten his grade yet, I know it will be just fine. He completed all the tasks and got as close to the original as he could.
      This creative project was a test more for me than for him.  While I love any chance to be artistic, and feel incomplete without that outlet, I have to hold my tongue that Elijah does not.  He's driven by activity and competition, not art.  He may never be the student who is passionate for collages or excited by shadow-boxes (and while I can't be sure, I would say that his dad probably wasn't either), but so be it.  We'll always have sports. And lucky for Elijah, around here, we kind of dig that too.
   

Froberg's Farm

 
    If you've picked one strawberry, you've picked them all.  Or at least it feels like it when you go to Froberg's Farm where every strawberry was ripe and red and delicious.  It's another one of those Spring Break trips that everyone in the area takes which is obvious from the hour long wait we had in a car line just to get to the farm itself.
        Once we realized our Saturday was not going to be as productive as we thought, we gave in to the car wait and just enjoyed the summerish weather we were given.  Or Kenny and I gave in to the wait, rolled our windows down and let the kids unbuckle and roam from window to trunk as they pleased.  And despite some frustrated, "Can we just go to Kroger and get strawberries?" cries from the back of the van, we persevered and finally found a parking place.  As a friend of ours commented, "we're happy that Froberg's is doing so well, but it's certainly not the small, quaint farm of years past." They've added a snack bar, picnic tables, whimsical strawberry face cut-outs and even made a cutesy shirt for sale so everyone will know you "had a Berry good day at Froberg's Farm."

       The kids and I make this trip every year, usually with our friends, the Grooms.  They were unable to go this time around, so Kenny got to experience it for the first time, which from the picture, you can see he was really into it.  He was a big help though- waiting in line for 20 minutes for sausage on a stick, holding Lanie when she fell and skinned her knee, carrying all the groceries, and taking pictures so I could actually be in one.  So he's invited back every year. 

  

   Now of course we have 13 pounds of strawberries. And thirteen pounds is a lot.  You can only make so many smoothies and strawberry shortcake.  So if you have any great uses for strawberries, please forward recipes.  If not, the kids are begging to have a lemonade & strawberry & cookie & garage sale and I don't think I have the energy for that.  

       

And if you don't have any great recipes, but just really want some free strawberries minus the Froberg Farm ritual, I can help you out with that too.  Just come on by - we're happy to share  - and it'll be a berry good day.  

 

From Memphis to Hot Springs

I know, I know. I've been a bit pre-occupied lately so very little writing last week.  And then Today was the big 1st day in the working world.  But because I don't want to make snap judgements about the  Jackson Library (until like maybe Friday), I decided to share some more vacation pics.

I don't have a lot to say about them because the Memphis to Hot Springs portion of the trip was typical - touring, walking, eating, swimming and sleeping in beds on awkward pillows not our own.  But thanks to such a unique place where hot water comes out of small mountains or large hills, depending on your opinion, and has turn of the century baseball history that I could read all day - it was very fun for us.  We only explored for one day which wasn't long enough.  In fact, we have semi-promised the kids that someday we would return to experience the ever-popular Duck Tour.  Or, a much less expensive choice would be to stroll them down the street to the man-made lake and see all the ducks we care to see.  It may not be the cool bus - boat combo vehicle Hot Springs had to offer, but the same end result - Ducks.


Because I have little to say, I'll leave you with some Elvis.  When in Memphis, Go to Graceland.  Mandatory.  We didn't pay a dime to see it.  We just stood outside the fenced in yard with the other cheap yahoo's and took pics.  That was all we needed.  To be honest, we don't love Elvis all that much.  Sure he was a great artist and have some great hip moves and changed the face of rock-and-roll, but he's not my guy.  Nevertheless, we felt compelled to go.  Missing it would be like going to Luckenbach, Texas and skipping out on the dance hall.  (That analogy may not be as helpful for you as it is for me.)

Enjoy the King of Rock, or my cardboard version of him.

GRACELAND - just close enough. 

 

Tennessee Friends and Travel Food

Pastor Rob, Kara, Julie, Bethany and Noah Harbin

     When we put together our little plan for Spring Break it included going to Memphis and visiting our previous Pastor and his family (see pic of the Harbins & older post about the day he told us they were leaving) who just moved into a new beautiful home there.  We really wanted to head over to eastern Tennessee so the kids could see real mountains, but time and money kept us closer to home.  Instead we took the long way home through Hot Springs, Arkansas where we settled for large hills.

        When we spread the word about our trip idea, a couple of families joined us.  So the Wards, Greers and Bremers all caravan'ed to visit our Tennessee friends at Faith Lutheran Church.

A very windy and cold day @ Faith Lutheran Church

    Our first stop was Baton Rouge where stopped to swim, get drive-through daquiri's, and spend the night.  We had this great breakfast spread in the morning at the hotel so we ate, a lot. Then we drove through Mississippi while Tomika (who is from the area) texted both families fun facts about herself.  "My grandma's house is at this exit.  My aunt's house is at exit 81, do you see the white house?"  Things like that.  We had our own personal Tomika tour. In fact when we stopped to eat, her parents drove the hour to meet us at Chick-Fil-A.  And I've learned that it doesn't matter which Chick-Fil-A you go to, there is always an older lady whose job is to just walk around and help clear tables, get you things that you're missing, and talk to babies.  I love it. I want that job when I'm retired.

      In Memphis, we stayed at a swanky hotel (thank you Bryant Bremer and all your Exxon connections) that ended up giving us a King bed for 5 people.  That was fun.
But what was really fun was walking down Beale street with a thousand young drunk folks who probably thought our group of 13 & 2 strollers were crazy and completely out of place.  And we were.  I counted maybe 5 kids out the whole night.  Apparently, blues and beer don't mix with fun kid outings.  We tackled it though, pushed those strollers, held those kids, and waited an hour for what everyone calls famous dry rub ribs (which apparently made our group very happy, but me not being a foodie, would have settled for a salad.)

        On Sunday, we drove to Collierville and walked into Pastor Rob's church service 3 minutes late.  It just wouldn't be right if we weren't a little tardy.  We spent the whole day visiting, eating lasagna, and eating seconds, and talking and eating some more.   The girls got manicures from the Harbin girls and thank goodness, Elijah finally had a boy to play with.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

        No one wanted to leave, but we made our way back to our Memphis hotel and tried another Beale street cafe where they had the "best tamales ever" or so it was advertised.  Then on the last day together, before we all went our different directions, we toured the Lorraine Motel where MLK was shot, and then ate famous Memphis spicy chicken (again, I would have settled for a vegetable, really any vegetable.)  Do you see any repetition?  We did a lot of eating. Poor kids - it was either chicken, grilled cheese or pbj.  Nary a fruit on the menu.

      And with our bellies full, we said goodbye to our small group.  And it was strange saying goodbye,  to make the rest of our trip as just the Wards. It's not like we wouldn't see these people in a week or less. It's just that the best way to get to know people, really get to know them, is to take a trip.  To hang out in a hotel hallway and talk till 2am while the kids sleep.  To wait for a hotel room, to wait for a table of 13 to open, to wait for a bathroom stall.  To learn food preferences, driving speeds, and who packed correctly for the weather (not us.) To take care of someone else's kid, to carry them, to swim with them, to play games with them, to take them to the potty, because it really does take a village.  And this trip took a village.

      I'll leave our Hot Springs portion of the trip for another day when it was just a table for 5 and no waiting and no famous food.  We ate, but we didn't EAT like our party of 13.

      Good times.

Elijah and All Those Girls 

   

Catching Up with a LONG List

The Catch-Up List (apologies for the length)

      I have a friend who regularly makes a Friday List and it's so smart.  It covers everything from random thoughts to weekend plans.  Instead of a half-baked story about the Rodeo intertwined with baseball stories, I decided a catch-up list, okay an essay, would cover all the non-writing I've done this week.  And since we are preparing for a very short Spring Break get-a-way, I thought I should get all of the good stuff in before our trip to Baton Rouge, Memphis, and Hot Springs took over.  I'm also fearful that once I start working - in ONE more week, the writing will go to the wayside.  Or maybe I'll be so enthusiastic about the new hectic Ward way of living, that I'll need the writing outlet just to vent.  We shall see.
Until then ...

OPENING DAY

    Writing about Luna and her cat funeral was all I could muster for last weekend's events, but there was so much more.  In between burying our feline, we had OPENING DAY of little league.  This year Elijah is in the Pee Wee league as a Rockie.  Now I have to search my wardrobe for purple and black.  If you want to get a feel for Opening Day in Pearland just read last year's post because it was pretty similar.  Except this year, we knew what to expect.  We knew that a parade at 9am on the first weekend of March would be freezing.   We knew to dress the girls in hats and gloves, and to bring snacks, and we knew that where we sat, we wouldn't really get to see the boys parade by anyway.  But we went, because that's what you do.  Also, we knew we wouldn't win the Silverado Truck raffle.  Sorry dad, I know you hoped you'd win.

LUTHERAN SCHOOLS WEEK

   
        Again, here's another event I wrote about last year.  I am beginning to see that our life is more cyclical than I thought.  I keep repeating the same stories.  But last year's was so happy, this year, not so much.  During Lutheran School's Week, the kids get to dress to a different theme each day.  Day one:  PJ's (no problem).  Day two:  Neon (again, no problem)   Day three:  Wacky Wednesday (Huge Problem).  I will have to agree with Kenny on this - we hate dress up days.  It takes the kids FOREVER to choose crazy clothes.  And even though I was smart and had them lay out the clothes the night before, the morning was a disaster.  Kid 2 fell apart.  It was all on account of her hair.  I fixed it like she said with about 10 pony-tails around her head.  Next thing I know, she's taking it all out.  And when we start rushing her and asking why, why, why did you take it out (and probably a little berating by her brother) and we need to go, we need to go, we need to go, she starts crying.  Poor kid - her sensitive nature is never going to withstand middle school.
      I wanted my pic of all 3 before we left for school. Didn't work out so well since she was in tears.
      But just so you don't think she cried all day, I dropped Lanie off at her class (tardy) and went back to Lydia's class, fixed her hair in a simple ponytail, apologized for the morning, and gave her a big hug.  She was fine. But the drama of the 30 minute drive or what I call a race-with-the-red-lights, oh boy.


R-O-D-E-O, part one

   I made a blanket statement last year in a post that attending the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo Carnival was something we didn't need to do every year.  It's crowded and hot and expensive.  But, I was really determined to take the kids to actually see the Rodeo, so they could see that the three week long event was more than a ferris wheel and some baby chicks.  While not great judgement on my part, I got the 1/2 price Wednesday tickets and after school, we drove down to Reliant, parked where the old AstroWorld once stood and made our way across highway 610.  I found out that we really didn't need to pay for our cheap tickets because the kids had the most fun watching diesels fly by underneath them, rolling down a suspicious hill that ran into the feeder road and riding 3 escalators to our cheap seats in section 636 where we watched real cowboys bull ridin'.  I did learn that bull-riding really stresses me out.  One guy got stepped on several times and medics had to rush him to the hospital.  Does that happen every night? It is not my kind of sport.

      Of course watching the bull riders gave me the opportunity to tell Elijah all about the 1994 movie 8 Seconds  about Champion bull rider Lane Frost.  Please tell me you remember that one -- with Luke Perry, from 90201.  Now you remember?


R-O-D-E-O, part two

After we realized the kids couldn't make it through any more Dierks Bentley songs (which for the record, I really enjoyed), we decided to leave.  I made the mistake of sort of promising that they would get to do ONE thing on the fairway.  This was before I realized the prices of tickets.  But, like the good man that he is, even though he highly disagreed with me, Kenny went to buy the 22 dollars worth of tickets so Lydia could ride the ferris wheel once, Lanie could go in a fun house for two minutes and Elijah could shoot two baskets at a chance to win a stuffed animal.  And it was already 10 o'clock.

I begged Elijah to do something else, but he couldn't be convinced.  I tried to tell him how disappointed he would be when he didn't make the shot and his money was gone.  I showed him the basket and how oval shaped it was and how tricky they made it.  We watched some men in front of us lose out.  But he was still determined.

And can you believe what we went home with?

 

That kid totally proved me wrong.  I love when that happens.
It's God's way of keeping me humble.


Sorry for the long, long post.  But if you made it all the way through, thanks for indulging me.

Have a wonderful Spring Break!

"It's fun to dig a hole, but not to bury the cat."

       First of all, a big thank you to those who gave us such warm words after Luna died.  In the last post I never really explained what happened  But Luna had run outside and we didn't grab her and drag her in like we often do at night.  Instead, I called for her to eat and she didn't come running.  Kenny went to get her and found what looked like a sleeping Luna in the road without a scratch on her.  He brought her in and of course, you can imagine my denial.  I wanted to take her to the ER vet immediately because she looked so peaceful, but she was gone.  Later, I told the kids that she just got the breath knocked out of her and she just didn't didn't have any more to live on.  It's just the weirdest thing.

       The most touching response came from a little neighbor boy, about 11-years-old who came up to me last night while I was unloading groceries.   Apparently, he was riding by on his bike Friday night and saw a white, fluffy cat in the street and wondered if it was ours.  I told him it was and how much we cried about her and he said, "I cried a little too because I love that cat.  She always came over to the park and played with us.  I'm so sorry."  Such a sweet kid to say that to me.

Funny, his response was so  much more sympathetic than the kids.  Actually, more sympathetic than Kid 1 and 3.  When we told Lydia, she cried, but not because she just loves animals but because I was crying.  Empathy comes easily to her.  But Elijah, not so much.  Here was the discussion that transpired  when we broke the news.

Mom:  Elijah, we have something very sad to tell you.
Elijah:  What, did Radley die? (He's a 16-year-old cat.)
Dad:  No.
Elijah:  Luna?
Dad and Mom:  Yes, and we're so sad.
Elijah:  Wow, Radley sure has been through it all. (Because Radley has now out-lived 3 cats we've buried.)
Mom:  Yes, he has seen a lot.
Elijah:  Can we get a dog?

Later, Kenny asked Elijah if he was sad.  He said he was, but he just didn't cry.

Lanie's reaction was similar.  When we shared the news with her, she had so so many questions but she ended with, "I didn't want Luna to die.  But at least we still have Radley."

The burial on Saturday was a family affair.  The girls helped dig the hole, found a dead worm and then gave it it's own burial.  We were very into funerals.  My favorite line of the day came from Lydia:  "It's fun to dig a hole, but not to bury the cat."  She is right about that.  In fact, double bummer when Kenny was digging the hole and he cut a cable wire.  It's always something.

But the funeral was nice.  They threw in a cat ribbon and I grabbed some cat nip.  We said a prayer.  I cried, which Elijah didn't like.  He never likes to see me cry.  If we're watching a movie and there's a sad part, and he hears me sniff a little.  He will get close to my face to see if I have tears.  He just does not like it.  Makes him uncomfortable, I guess.

But despite the half-hearted initial reactions, these past few days I've heard, "oh, I miss Luna," or "Luna used to always do that," or "Radley misses Luna."  We are all feeling it.

Since kids are resilient and don't know how to hold on to hurt, the big question has already been forced:

"So, when can we get a new cat?"

Geesh.

Devastating News

       Luna died tonight.  We are crushed.  Absolutely devastated.
       For the small amount of time we got to be with her, she completely won us over.  She was a beautiful cat, so regal, and with so much personality.  She wasn't a lap cat, but you can tell she liked us.  She wandered to whatever room we were in and would hang out on the side and watch us.  She curled up on the chair at night while we watched TV and took a cat nap.  Then, she'd follow us upstairs and sleep on the bathroom rug until morning.  She loved her food, growling like a dog if anyone got too close.  And she could stand on her hind legs longer than any cat I've ever known as long as there was a piece of chicken in your hand for her to grab.  She loved to chase things, especially leaves on a windy day. Oh, how she enjoyed being outside in the sun, rolling on the warm cement, and running up trees. Several times we had to fetch her down until she finally learned how to climb down herself.  She also loved to chase Lanie around the house and would dart from room to room like something was after her.   If you tried to pet her, she took that as play, and instead would fake bite your hand until you played back.   The only time you could get a good petting in was when she was in sleepy mode and then, tonight, I held her in a blanket petting her soft fur and crying.  It's the longest I've ever been able to pet her.

  We're so, so sad.  And I don't want to tell the kids in the morning.