Privileged Childhood

I will be the first to admit that I had a privileged childhood. I'm not talking about exotic trips to foreign countries (unless you count the sand hills of KS), meeting dignitaries, and eating in the finest. I grew up in Southeast Kansas. Now before you start rolling your eyes and imagining the totally flat plains of Western KS filled with tornados, you have to get past that - to the rolling hills and woods, rich history, and the people. While growing up, my grandmother lived across the street from us, we knew everyone in town (and I mean this literally), the post-master knew us by name, we could ride out bikes in the streets, we could be gone for hours walking the hills and there was no need to worry. We had country churches, rural fire departments (just about everyone belonged to this), party-line phones, and socials that almost everyone attended. If you did something (as a child), your parents would know before you even get half-way home. Okay, granted that this was not paradise, but there are so many things that I wish my children could experience. One thing I wish they could experience is buying groceries. Okay, before you start wondering if I ever take them to Wal Mart or Price Cutter, Let me give you an idea of what I'm talking about in a realistic fiction story I wrote in 1986 when I was in college. I'm sorry it is so long, but I could not edit it down without losing part of the story.

The Post Toasties Encounter

She was an old woman and lived in a small run down house near the edge of town in which I lived. All country and small—town people have seen such old women, but no one knows much about them. Such an old woman comes into town driving an old beat up Falcon or Chevy, or afoot carrying a brown paper sack, or pedaling a three-wheeled bicycle with a full basket behind. She may own a few hens and have some eggs to sell and brings them in a basket to take to the grocer. There she trades them in, getting a pound or two of sugar and some flour.

I remember the first time I saw her. My mother had sent me to The Store to get some cereal and rolls. The building served as both grocery store and post office for our small community. Here, on sultry afternoons and chilly winter mornings, the townspeople would gather to learn of the latest news and gossip. An old ceiling fan created soundless whirlwinds, as lights swung from bare electrical wires, their cords occasionally slapping one's face. Dust gathered on the cans of vegetables, fruit, and baby food, as crickets played their fiddles in hidden corners. The huge refrigerator, with two glass doors, was filled with chunks of ham, baloney, and longhorn cheese, ready to be sliced. Boxes of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry swirl, ice-cream sandwiches, and pudding bars drew eager customers on hot summer days. The center aisle held Wonder Bread and cookies, within easy reach of small children. At the front of the store, by the cash register, encased by a glass window, were jars of candy. Tootsie-Rolls Sweet-Tarts, two-cent bubblegum, lollipops, and multi-flavored suckers tempted the children who viewed them. An old Pepsi machine stood waiting by the door, filled with Mountain Dew, Pepsi, RC Cola, and 7-UP.

I was standing on a wooden strawberry box, on my tip—toes, reaching for a box of Post-Toasties when I saw her. Between the low stocked shelves, I stared, as most children do, at the humped back before me. The blue cotton dress hung loosely about her diminutive body and her white tennis shoes were dirtied by country road walks. Her stomach resembled a bowl of pudding, shaking slightly with each step she took. Her face was tanned and wrinkled from the many years of labor. My mother had told me about Mrs. Olga Crawford countless times, and each time, in my mind, she had grown more like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. I watched her small, frail body shuffle around the end of the aisle, near the boxes of Vivid, Tide, and Bold stacked precariously against each other. She wasn't at all what I had imagined. Instead of a wicked witch, I saw an elderly woman who resembled a grandmother figure.

Once again I reached for the cereal when a hand rested on my shoulder. Startled, I whirled around, and to my horror, came face to face with Her. "Dearie, don't you need some help?" Her Swedish—accented voice crackled with age as she spoke to me. Lifting me from my perch and setting me on the wooden floor, she reached for the box, and handed it to me. As her wrinkled hand touched mine, warmth flowed. "You're Mrs. Wilson's vittle gurl, aren't you? My, how you've grown. I had a vittle gurl like you, long, long ago. She looked so very much like you, innocent and voung. Yes, she was vust like you." She caressed my long mousey hair as she spoke, sadness plaguing voice. "Promise you won't do what she did, girl. Nay, she's no longer what she used to be. She doesn't even come to see me now. won't you come and see me?" She had a gentle touch about the way she stroked my hair. Patting my head, she chuckled at my silence and round wide blue eyes staring up at her. Shuffling away from me toward the postmaster to collect her mail, her silver hair, which was tucked carelessly in a bun, danced in the summer breeze.

I watched as she descended the brick steps to her old robin-egg blue Falcon. It backfired as she started away, and an old bloodhound, disturbed, lazily stretched before resuming his nap. Running outside, I watched in amazement at the disappearing car, my jaw slack. Dirt rose in small clouds as she slowly drove away.

Part 2: Post-Toasties Encounter

Self-imposed punishment of a young adventurer

With tears in his red-rimmed eyes, he trudged into my room, like a silent martyr, placed his treasured possessions on my bed and left. I glanced over to see what he placed in the midst of the mound of ever-growing laundry (because at this age, ALL possessions are treasured).
"Connor, can you come here for a moment and explain this to me?"

Those of you that know my youngest son, Connor, know that his most prize possessions are his Indiana Jones fedora, his rope (aka the whip), and his Groucho Marx glasses/nose (I think he forgot the Bubba teeth).

Eyes still brimming with tears and sorrow etched on his face, he explained that he was putting himself on restriction because he got in an skirmish with Claire. With the most serious look on his 9 year old face he continued - "I have also grounded myself from TV, the PS2, the computer, and playing with LEGOS for a week." I listened in amazement. Where has this child been my whole life? Is this really MY child?

Moments later I had to laugh when he brought in his brown woven belt and asked "if it was a good one to receive the whipping with". Mind you, I've never used a belt to spank my kids, but a wooden spoon is my choice. To which he proceeded to try to "whip" the belt back over his shoulder in hopes of getting close to his small, but padded hiney. I have to tell you, I've never seen anything like him or this moment before. My other two children have NEVER asked for punishment nor attempted to SPANK themselves!!! I was so tempted to laugh, but how could I? This child of mine, teetered on the brink, and I could not push him over with such disrespect of his thoughts. How could I dare respond? I gathered that precious boy in my arms and gave him a hug, to which he gave me one of those butterfly kisses on my cheek. I do not understand this child, but I love him yet, still more.

Last night, as I was telling him goodnight, his small voice broke the darkness with a question - "Mom, tomorrow night at 2:42, when we have game night, will I be able to play games?"

I have been so astounded by this seemingly simple act. How many times have I messed up (okay I'm not asking you to write in with a list of these) and not taken it to my Father, but waited until He had to discipline me? Better yet, I'm so thankful that God uses my children to remind me that though it feels like I've really blown it and cringe, waiting for the punishment, I rather feel His gentle arms around me, comforting me, and extending the hand of Grace.

Now if I may borrow from Paul Harvey for the rest of the story: If you happen to drive by my house today, I'm sure you will see my dear Connor, with his rope and fedora, running through the yard or swinging from the basketball goal in some amazing adventure, living in Grace.

Matthew 18:3 (New American Standard Bible)
3and said, "Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.

Psalm 103:13 (New American Standard Bible)
13Just as a father has compassion on his children, So the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him.

Romans 6:14 For sin shall not be master over you, for you are not under law but under grace.

Websters defines grace as: disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency e: a temporary exemption

Flour on my Face

Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousand of miles

and all the years you have lived. Helen Keller

When I was growing up, I used to watch my grandmother make homemade chicken and noodles, bread, and other goodies. My earliest memory was when I could barely see over the table. Sometimes when she wasn't looking I would snatch a small piece of egg noodle from the mass as they were drying on the table. I remember when I was in Jr. High I asked her for her dinner roll recipe. She just looked at me like I'd just asked to her fly to the moon. "Child, I don't have it written down. I just take a handful or two of flour, a pinch of salt, some ..." I watched in wonder. She wrote it down approximately what she thought. I've never had the nerve to use her recipe yet. Both of my grandmothers were excellent cooks. My grandmother Wilson would get distracted and forget to take the pie out until it was almost burnt. "Lauwdy! My pie's a burnin! Run and open the doors!" she would say. I can relate to that! My most precious memories of them took place in the kitchen. If you were to visit my kitchen today, you would see the apron she wore most sitting on a shelf and some of her tools (egg beater, grater, meat tenderizer, etc.) scattered around. I guess something I aspired to do when I was younger, was to be a good cook. I've come a long way from when we were first married, but I'm always on the prowl for something new or maybe improved on what recipe I have. My poor husband just moans: "Can't you just fix it like you did last time? Can't you just write it down or use the recipe written?" I love to cook and more importantly I want my children to know how to cook and bake. I love to "wow" my kids and encourage my kids to try cooking. I've had all my kids in the kitchen with me at different time helping me cook and the older two can successfully prepare meal by themselves. The youngest love to help me make hamburger buns or pizza dough. I must say I love cooking and baking. I used to have a bread machine - back in the 90's (the late 1990s not the 1890s!), but found I loved getting my hands in the dough, feeling the texture change and the smoothness evolve as I knead the dough. I love the smell of the bread or dish as it permeates through the house and sometimes you can even smell it outside if the windows are open. A few months ago, a friend from church gave me her bread machine to use and I used it once before giving it back. I missed the feel of the bread while I kneaded. I felt cheated by letting the machine do it for me. A few months ago I had to laugh when I made chicken tortellini dish and bought the tortellini instead of making it from scratch. My youngest decided (before he tried it) that he didn't like it because it wasn't from scratch! O Bother! Next time I'll just throw flour on my face and hide the package! Maybe I should have scattered a few chicken feathers around the kitchen and let them think I killed the chicken as well! I remember when we were first married I would call my mom in Kansas or Dave's mom for a recipe and just hope that I could make it taste somewhere close to theirs. I remember spending an hour or so copying their recipes when we would visit. I don't use their recipes much now, but have filed them for safe keeping. Something that I started doing for my children a few years ago was to record my children and family's favorite recipes in a Word document on my computer. It has grown steadily through the years and from time to time the kids will ask: "Mom, this is great! Are you going to put it in our Recipe Book?" Someday, in the not so distant future, I'll have to print that book and give it to them as they leave the house. Who then will I cook for? Who then will I "wow" and experiment on? Not my meat and potato hubby! No, I guess we'll have to start inviting people over for dinner. Okay, now before you think I'm a Martha Stewart or Betty Homemaker, I don't cook full course meals everyday, nor do I know how to decorate. My home will never grace any part of a decorating magazine nor will my cooking secure a spot on Food Network. If you come to my house be prepared for a not so spotless floor, dust on the shelf, and flour on my face.

If you come to see us, come any time, if you come to see my house, please make an appointment! When baking, follow directions. When cooking, go by your own taste. ~Laiko Bahrs

He married me out of revenge

Leviticus 19:18"Don't seek revenge or carry a grudge against any of your people. "Love your neighbor as yourself. I am God.

Don't we look young in our engagement picture? This week we celebrated our 18th Anniversary of the day we joined our hearts.... Sounds romantic until you know why we really married.... he married me out of revenge.

To be honest, I can't remember when I first saw or met my husband. He was just one of the guys in our Campus Christian group ( http://www.naccm.org/ccpittst ) at the university we attended.It was great group of friends, guys and girls, from all walks of life, brought together by our belief in God and Christ. We were a close, yet very fun loving group. - We spent a lot of time not only in worship,prayer, and encouragement, but we
all loved good clean fun! We were always on the look out for each other, never knowing if our vehicles would be mysteriously decorated during the night, put up on blocks, if we would be bombed with water balloons, or just out for a coke with friends. Many of us married within the group, were in each other's weddings, celebrated new babies, jobs, etc.

He was one of the nightguards in the co-ed dorm I lived in my first year. Suffering from insomnia and wild roommate, I spent a lot of time in the study room late at night. Simple conversations about everyday life, family, studies, and Campus Christians. We soon discovered we knew some of the same people, though we were from different states. We had instant history, friendship, and fun. I'd leave Hershey kisses or a note in his mail box at the Campus house where he lived and he'd leave me the daily comics under my door when he worked.

Then it happened. Omininous notes started appearing with my comics, and my car got 'waxed'. Was he a closet stalker? No, he felt sure I had trashed his room (labels off of soup cans, confetti, etc) while he was at a football game and he told me he would "get even" ºÜº someday. Neither of us admitting anything, we continued our chats and spending time with each other in group settings. Sadly the end of the year brought his graduation. He moved to Memphis and I moved into an apartment with a Christian girl from the group. I missed him, our talks, and our friendship. We started writing and when he was in town, there was always something to do with the group and our friendship grew. I knew that he really liked me when he gave me his calling card number, but we kept the letters coming.

We had both been praying about where to go from there and talked about goals and stuff. Dave knew he had to talk to my Mom and brother before we could talk about getting married and a visit with my brother in the turnip patch resulted in consent to ask me to marry him. On Oct. 13 (yes it was a Friday) in the early evening hours beside our favorite park bench, the man of my dreams bent down to pick up something in the dirt and came up with a diamond ring. There I was in a ratty pair of sweats and hair pulled in a pony tail with my jaw opening and closing like a fish gasping for water. Seven months later I graduated from college and then married my best friend. He never really asked me out on a date until after we were engaged. We just always hung around together with our friends and family

What about the revenge?? When we got married and I opened up his pantry door to make dinner, what I saw gave me cause to laugh - he had saved those unmarked cans just for me! Revenge was sweet that day! Since then, I've had a goal to be the best wife I could, I've failed miserably so many times, and grown in our 18 years. Have I finished growing and learning? Not hardly. Will I fail again? Probably. Should I stop aspiring to be a better wife? Not really.

"If you don't have a plan, then you plan to fail."

Our minister once told us "Turn off the noise in your life so you can hear what God is trying to tell you." What is it I hunger for and how much of that is really just a bunch of noise? Is it a a clean house, time with family, money, position, health? I guess what I really want to aspire for are relationships. Relationships not only with my dear husband and children, but ultimately God. May I aspire to grow in Him so that I may be a better Mom, wife, and friend.

Psalm 97:11: Light is sown like seed for the righteous and gladness for the upright in heart.

Galatians 5:22-23 says But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23gentleness, self-control;

Missing Claire

My dear daughter comes home today from church camp - again. Last week, she went to camp as a camper with her brother. Oh the stories they had to tell and the excitement at going. I'm not sure they were ready to come home just yet, but they did. I think they both grew in the short time they were gone. Claire was so filled with excitement - she seemed to glow with it. While we were standing there waiting for everyone to unload their stuff from the trailer, she already had her form out for me to sign for her to return with Connor as a CIT (Counselor in Training). At this point, Connor still likes his sister, and thinks spening time at church camp with her would be great, but remember that he is still just 9! This last week she asked if she could go back to church camp for Jr. High week to help cook in the kitchen!!! I can't wait to hear all her stories of how it went.

I am amazed by this child of ours. I'm not sure why I worried so much about her when she was growing up. The middle child, smashed between two active, rambunctous boys, a girl none-the-less - I worried that she would somehow be the "forgotten child". I probably don't tell her enough, but I'm so thankful for her. Born just 13 months after her brother and weighing in at a mere 10 pounds, she has been a delight. Caleb called her Taire when he was little and she called him Brudder.

We have educated Claire at home, starting our 7th year this fall, in which she will enter the 9th grade. For the past two years, it's just been Claire and I. We have a daily rhythm of life and i miss her when she is away. I often call her my "right hand girl" and I love having her with me -we work well together. I appreciate her: Ability to pick clothes that look good together (she's done this for me more times than I can count), organization, the way she has with little ones, that she's not afraid of most bugs or creatures, many times she's do laundry and stuff without being asked, and (*sniff*) she is becoming a beautiful, independent child of God. I can't wait to see what God has planned for her, but I can't say I want to hurry that along. I just would rather enjoy her now, for the time we have with her. I love that she wants to share with me, whether it be her music, her dance, what she has learned in school, a book that she has read, or that at times she thinks I'm cool. Our prayer for her is that she will be open to where God is leading her and that she will walk through that door with confidence as He is guiding her every step of the way.

I wonder what she'll say when she finds out that we adopted two cute little mice while she was gone! I'm sure it won't be long before she's holding them and playing with them. She's going to make a awesome mom someday!

**Now, before you start thinking this wonder child of ours is perfect, I'm adding a disclaimer that none of us are perfect, certainly not any of my children, nor my self (isn't that a shocker ºÜº). Those of you that know me are probably not laughing but nodding in agreement. I really want to aspire to work on being more positive and affirming with my family, and what better time to work on that than now!

Birds, squirrels, rats, and mice oh my

Millet, corn, sunflower, thistle

finches, sparrows, thrasher, Oriole

Grackles, cardinals, cowbirds and chickadee,

all gather round to eat the seed

brown furry thing wanting to feed

Field mouse? Cotton rat? Yep, Squirrel's back...

Cat is watching from inside the house

Chatting and calling, ready to pounce.

Mom, let's trap the mouse

to keep in the house

we can get another to breed

and use their pinkies to feed

Bindi, the pet corn snake

For goodness sake!

That is absurd,

Dad surely mis-heard!

The short of the long

Two mice now belong

Jerre, black and gray

She's sweet and likes to play

Tom, white and not the least friendly

when he is touched, runs on the wheelly.

Who knew two mice with cute soft fur

in our house, to cause a stir.

Aspiring...

According to Webster, Aspire means to seek to attain or accomplish a particular goal. The Latin means to to breathe upon. Roget's Thesaurus aludes to soaring, having a purpose or plan, have every intention, or to desire or cling to hope, and hunger after.

This makes me wonder - what goals have I sought throughout my life?

Different time in my life have brought about different aspiration as you can see:

own a horse

be a veterinarian

break and train a horse

be a creative writer

visit foreign countries

read my Bible more consistently

graduate from college

be a wife

go to culinary school

get caught up on laundry

be a Godly mom

de-clutter my house

not yell or nag at my kids

eat healthier and exercise

be someone my family can be proud of

be myself instead of whom others believe I am

write my recipes in a book for my kids

to teach our cat a trick

be able to remember things better

be more kind, patient, and understanding

really listen to my children

not let things bother me so much - be more easy going

be more frugal

understand everything I read

find something I could do from home

laugh more

finish a project

communicate better

Have I really reached any of those goals? I owned 2 horses and trained my colt (when I was younger). Schooling? I couldn't handle the math to become a Vet and haven't made it to culinary school (if you don't count my kitchen and the kitchens of others) but have a teaching degree. I'm the wife of one incredibly handsome man and mom to three quickly growing amazing kids. Laundry? Are you kidding? I did teach the cat to sit up and beg, sometimes she will even speak ("meow" not barking). I'm still working on finishing up my on-line schooling - would love to finish in the next century. The rest of my aspirations? God is still working on me and it may take quite some time, but He's not given up on me yet. My desire is to soar to the heights that God has for me and to be the child that He created me to be.