Curly Hair Woes No More!!!

See this girl over here- "Fearfully and wonderfully made" and all that. I know that model subjected herself to curlers, hairspray and a half an hour of teasing with a comb to get that look. However, that is me every morning. No kidding.

I am the girl with the curly hair like you've never seen. I love walking into a salon. The heads turn. I see stylist turning red and breaking out in a sweat. Suddenly everyone is on "break".

I was born with beautiful blond curls like Shirley Temple. Old ladies used to call me angelic and children on the bus would fight to sit behind me so that they could bong my curls. It was all cute and fun until I hit that awkward stage. For me this was 3rd grade. The year I got glasses. The year my hair got dark and became wire like in nature. The year my front teeth were halfway present. (I have always been a bit delayed on the dental calendar). And to top it off my ears stuck out a little bit more that I would have liked. I actually made an ornament for my Mom that year with my school picture and cut my ears out because they so annoyed me. I thought she wouldn't notice somehow.

As a child I knew that I was unlike other girls. Other girls feathered their hair, used blow dryers, changed hair styles according to the "Facts of Life". In our classroom the girls would line up in a row and comb eachother's hair while the teacher read a story each day. (Can you say "lice epidemic"). Guess who was always in the back of the line? Guess who never had lice?

Being reasonable, I opted for the short cut. This was the only one that was manageable in the humidity of Indiana and the only kind of haircut my mom knew to give on the back porch. At night I would wash my hair and then use tape (yes, Scotch tape) to adhere the curls to my forehead in the hopes that it would by lying down in the morning. Strangely this did not seem to work.

Thankfully, by the time I was in high school I had found a hairdresser, Taffy Dinkle, who sought to tame this mane with a variety of straightening products, Afro-gels, conditioners and the like. I made it through being able to have the tall bangs which never went flat.

In my college years as bangs were going out, I joined the crowd and took the two year commitment of wearing a headband. It was well worth it and I've never turned back.
I actually let my college roommates brush my hair out one night after months of ceaseless begging. Needless to say, it was the talk of the dorm. I believe they referred to me as a "dandelion gone to seed".

Amazingly having children has actually relaxed my hair by 50% I'd estimate. It's getting calmer and grayer at the same time.

I know this little biography of my hair may seem trivial and self-centered. I apologize. But those of you in similar circumstances know the struggle and the blessing of naturally curly hair which are many.

Now I have five girls of my own with varying degrees of curl and like every mom I want them to appreciate the distinct beauty that God has given them. I want them to be okay with being different than others on the inside and outside. But I also don't want them to be so constantly preoccupied by their differences that they are reluctant to focus on what's most important. It's all a balance, isn't it?

And to help me along in my quest has come a hair product like none other.

Aquage.

Such a simple and strange word, but this product is like nothing I have ever known. And trust me, I've known about every major brand. I don't know exactly how it works, but it turns dry, crazy, frizzy hair into silky, light, bouncy curls. I can even wake up in the morning without the haystack!

I reluctantly bought some conditioner and gel after my last cut thinking that it was just another empty promise. But it worked better than anything I have ever used and the small tubes actually lasted me five weeks!! Now that's a miracle!

The price is comparable to any other salon brand. But for Shirley Temple curls in 90% humidity at age 35, that's priceless.

(Pictures to come)

Grandma's Recipes

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I am not a gifted interior designer or rarely have an original idea of a creative vein. However, I thought I'd share with you one of my favorite, one-of-a-kind, inexpensive, yet very special decorating ideas.

Sean and I both have a fondness for our grandmothers with memories centered closely to food and the kitchen. I can distinctly remember my great-grandma's kitchen and the way she served each item individually in a pretty, delicate dish. Pudding never tasted as good as when chilled in a little saucer with whipped cream. My favorite memory of my Grandma Click involves her teaching me to bake and use the electric mixer on her lap board (she was in a wheelchair). She had many a blouse with a streak of batter across the chest because I lifted the beaters out of the bowl without turning the mixer off. Oops. Yet she always let me try again. Sean's Grandma had a knack for making animals or shapes out of food. I believe bear pancakes were his favorite.

In memory of these great ladies I have been able to collect a few of their recipe cards and have them framed in my kitchen. We have buttermilk pancakes, ginger snaps, biscuits and "green fluff" of the pistachio pudding/whipped cream/marshmallow/crushed pineapple variety. My favorite quote on the card comes at the end with the famous words, "Its always good." I used scrapbooking paper for the backgrounds in kind of old fashioned print. I found the frames on the clearance rack at Meijer. All in all I spent less than $2 for each.

Our Grandmas have all passed away, but I love looking at their handwriting every day when I'm cooking. I think about the hours they spent working in their kitchens without the dishwasher, or microwave, or radio, or air conditioning. I think about my mom or dad running around the kitchen in their pajamas asking for breakfast. I think about the dinners that they burnt (I know it's genetic) but ate anyway because it was all they had.

The other morning I found my oldest daughter, Hannah, hard at work in the kitchen. Following the recipe on the wall she was making Grandma Ahart's buttermilk pancakes. She was taking requests for shapes.

It just makes me smile.

I've been tagged?

I was always the girl tagged because I'm a slow runner and usually laughing too hard at myself to get the words, "Not it!" out in time. So here are my 8 random facts about my marriage:

1. Sean and I actually knew each other years before we "knew each other". He was the "new kid on the block" in our youth group during our junior year of high school. Very cute, very smart and a bit odd. He read a book by Einstein and owned the first CD player I had ever seen. I do remember his smile vividly, though. I don't think we ever talked.

2. We both went out of state to college. He went to school in St. Petersburg, Florida and I went to Tennessee. We saw each other in the summers or at the annual college retreat.

3. We started loving each other during a mission trip to Mexico building houses. He needed someone to sit on a board while he sawed. I'm a good helper:)

4. We never officially went on a first date or any other date for that matter. We were happy just being together- no special occasion needed. From the wood cutting scene to the wedding was 11 months.

5. We opened up our wedding gifts/money cards in the car on our way to the honeymoon to determine how far we could drive. That's living on the edge. We ended up in Northern Michigan where we saw the replica of the World's Largest Cherry Pie.

6. We were both in school our first year of marriage so we had little funds. We got our food from a scratch and dent grocery store and we learned to beat the Simon-like game in the lobby of Little Caesars for free crazy bread at least once a week. Good times!!

7. We have special names picked out for each other for when we are old. I'm "Grandma Sweet" and he is simply "Blue" (it's the eyes).

8. Our wedding day was one of the best days my life. We married in the morning and tried to keep it as simple as we are. I wore a linen dress and he wore a black suit. I had the same flowers that my mother had (yellow roses and daisies). I will never forget the expression and smile on Sean's face when I walked down the isle. I knew that I would be loved forever.

And there you have it.

The Falls

"The voice of Jehovah resounds on the waters; The glorious God thunders forth from the height. The LORD is upon the great sweep of the waters- The LORD's voice in splendor! The LORD'S voice in might!"

"The LORD on His throne sat above the great deluge! The LORD on His throne sits as King without cease! The LORD is the One Who gives strength to His people! The LORD is the One Who will bless them with peace!"

Psalm 29:3-4, 10-11



We drove into Niagra Falls, Canada last night at 9:30. We booked a hotel conveniently located within a quarter mile of the Falls and we were excited to get there in time for the 10 pm fireworks. What we found when we got there was a sight indeed.

The streets were flooded with people walking blindly among the lights and sights of a tourist trap unlike any I've ever seen. We were moving at a snail's pace just trying to get through the throng. It was not uncommon for pedestrians to not even see our 15 passenger van's bumper literally 2 feet in front of them. There was Ripley's Believe It or Not, a 4-D movie theater, Rainforest Cafe, Hard Rock Cafe, several wax museums, a huge faris wheel, stores and restaurants everywhere. It was craziness. It was like a glutton's feast of man-made fantasy and "thrills".

My kids were astounded. "It looks like the State Fair!" "Where are all these people going?"

We saw the fireworks and got situated in our room. The partying continued into the morning hours as evidenced by the flowers that topped our car this morning thrown down from the overlooking balcony.

The sunrise however revealed and entirely different scene. The streets were quiet and clean from the morning rain. We headed down to the dock hoping to cast off early on the Maid of Mist which is exactly what we did.

Somewhere along the line we have traumatized some of our smaller children with amusement or water park rides that we claimed were fun but they beg to differ. Now they always ask, "Is this a medium ride or a fast ride? Really? Do you promise?"

When we told them we were going on a boat ride they pointed in horror to the Falls and cried, "I'm not going down that!" We explained in every way possible that we were not riding down the falls and hoped that the fun, blue poncho might serve as a distraction. Not.

With a little bit a trepidation and drama we got the spot right at the front of the boat and we were off.

The next twenty minutes were glorious to me. The sound of the water's roar grew louder and louder as we approached the center of the horseshoe. The wind was clean and the mist refreshing. And there we were surrounded by the sheer power, pure beauty. This was not another summer thrill ride. This was the work of the Creator, God of heaven and earth. It was made by His own Hand and for His own glory. It can never be imitated.

I thought of the Israelites as they crossed through the Red Sea and the wall of water that surrounded them. What faith they demonstrated as they heard that roar being held back as God delivered them.

I thought of the first man that followed the sounds of these particular falls and what his eyes looked like as made this discovery. He must have fallen to the ground in utter amazement.

I thought of God's voice in Scripture often being referred to in terms of roaring water. Though I have never audibly heard his voice, I have His written words and the Holy Spirit. I know that this is a more sure voice. Wow.

I thought of the children standing beside me and Rebekah in my arms. How I desire that they will grow in their love for God to the extent that they, like that boat, would turn from the man-made temporal pleasures and sail into the reality of living for God's glory. I pray that, as the Psalm says, in all the craziness of this world God will grant them strength and peace.

May it be so for me and for them.

Baby John

Well tomorrow is the day I knew I could not avoid. My baby is turning one.

It's a miracle to watch a baby grow during the first year. You only lay that baby down to bed 365 times and he turns from being a rooting little lump of cuteness to a speed crawling, cheerio eating, babbling personality. For all the work and energy that babies require it is nothing compared to the joy they bring. The word "blessing" is the closest I can get to describe the privilege.

Knowing that John will be my last baby has caused me to savor this year like none other. I have complete peace in knowing that my body has reached it's baby carrying capacity. It is only by God's particular design that I was even able to carry our last two children to term. But this tent has worn out in that area and I'll be the first to admit it.

I've allowed myself to grieve this fact somewhat. My kids think that I'm a little crazy. Like the time when I put away the newborn clothes and they found me crying and smelling each one before I boxed it away. "You never fold clothes like that, are you okay?"


When John was born Elizabeth (5 at the time) who is our drama queen/singer girl wrote a song which she presented to me at the hospital:

Baby John, Baby John,
I love you Baby John,
I love you with your mommy Baby John, Baby John,
I love you Baby John.

It was so sweet and I actually have it recorded for all time.

My favorite memories are the ones in which I witnessed my children praying for and interacting with their brother. They prayed while I was pregnant that he would in fact be male (especially Joseph), they have included him in their play (starring as baby Moses in the basket), they have found joy in teaching him how to discover and grow, they protect and nurture him, they love him.

It has been a precious year.

My rational side says that a mother just doesn't grow babies, she is nurturing children that will grow into adulthood all too soon. There is so much teaching, discipline, and work yet to be done.

But I will miss that moment when I first realized that there was a baby growing inside. Telling Sean the good news. The months of kicking and hicupping. The moment when we realize "It's a girl!" or "It's a boy!" and then sharing that good news with the waiting loved ones. Sleeping on the couch with that sighing newborn. Being on the recieving end of the first smile and baby belly laugh. Outstretched arms. Chubby fingers and toes....

It is so good.

God has been teaching me this past year that my work as a mother, whatever the stage, is good work that He has prepared in advance for me to do. I know that my work these next few years are entering a new stage for which I am excited. It's time for building.


I want to savor each year to come as I have this last as I watch God working in and through each of my children as individuals. There is still much growing to be done.

Too good for words

Having a husband as a teacher is the best. Two months in the summer and several breaks throughout the year is a dream. It's all fun and games when Dad is home.

Being that teachers need to constantly be continuing their own educations several weeks during the summer are spent traveling to classes or speaking to other teachers. Most of these travel expenses are covered by grants so we (the other eight of us) love to tag along for a ride. I mean who wants to be home without Dad when we could be exploring a new city and swimming in the hotel pool every day?

These past few weeks have been one adventure after another, but one day in particular now goes down in my hall of fame as one of the ?? I don't know quite what to call it. I'll let you decide.

We started out the trip with a stop in Huntsville, Alabama where Sean was invited by NASA to present about how he lead his students last year in the Student Launch Initiate (too long to explain). They shot off a very large and expensive rocket. Anyway, this was a huge honor for him and he was very well received. I am so proud.

In about 48 hours we headed up to Nashville where Sean would be attending a class with Texas Instruments. Like many math teachers, calculators are a passion.

Fighting through the traffic we finally arrived at our hotel where we are expecting a King size suite, dinner in the lobby and a swim only to be informed that the hotel was overbooked and there is no room for our little flock. Oh, that's bad.

We are directed down the street where they have kindly offered to pay for our stay at their rival. God does provide in mysterious ways.

Arriving there we are given a King size bed which we quickly explain just won't work since all nine of us do need a little space. We ended up with a big bed and a pull out couch, several makeshift cots and a microwave. It works.

Getting ready to go to dinner, little Joseph (4) falls off the bed and is sobbing as he holds his skinny little arm. His usual response to physical trauma is to turn white a sheet and close his little eyes unresponsively which is exactly what he did. Broken arm?

We eat.We go to bed. We wake up early. We eat breakfast. We go.

The usual routine on one of these trips is that I drop Sean off at class in the morning, spend the day with the children out at a museum or zoo and then pick him up mid afternoon. No problem. I take them all with me nearly everywhere I go. Right?

I should begin by explaining that the weather is not in my favor. It is pouring sheets of rain and I am driving a 15 passenger van on an interstate system that is crazy. What appears to be an exit is really another interstate freeway in disguise, so I quickly discover.

On the road to our destination and creeping interstate construction traffic all children not confined in a car seat quickly unbuckle and run into the back row. They are gagging. They are screaming. It smells bad! Yes, baby John has exploded.

This is not the odor that informs a mother that she simply needs to change a diaper. No. This is the rank smell of a sour stomach gone bad. Could it be the apple juice at breakfast? Could it be the cloudy swimming pool water at the hotel? No matter. The air is polluted. I crack the window. The rain is pouring down. It is now wet and steamy in the car.

So for the next 20 minutes I drive in a ridiculous circle of freeway trying to find a true exit where I might find a bathroom. The baby is screaming. I can't see him since he is rear facing, but I can hear the terror in his voice.

Finding a McDonald's I instruct the children very specifically the matter at hand. Unbuckle. Quickly get out. Hold hands. Wait for mom to get the baby. Cross the parking lot with your buddy. Hold the door open. Go straight to the bathroom. Do not stop and look at the Happy Meal toys. Do not ask for food. Do not worry about getting wet. It is only water, you'll dry.

Opening the van door, I find baby John covered in poop. Amazingly his car seat cover, strap, buckle, and legs are smeared.

Entering the McDonald's I realize that on another day I might have chosen different neighborhood in which to unload my precious ones. There are cups strategically place on the counter and floor to catch the dripping water and the smell of the bathroom is not much of an improvement from the interior of our van. And to boot there is no changing table in sight nor is there any sign of a paper towel of any kind.

Using my other son's favorite blanket as a changing table (this did not go over too well) I strip the baby to give him a baby wipe bath. I take the car seat apart best I can and tilt it into the sink to rinse it out. Gross. People are lining up outside wanting to come in, but my children guard the door and inform them that it's probably not a good idea.

Back on the road and back on the interstate which now seems so familiar to me (Am I in a weird version of Groundhog Day?) We circle back around and find the hands on science museum that is our destination.

This museum we find is a six story building centered around an activity tower which is a child's dream. One can climb from level to level exploring and learning for hours. However, it is not stroller friendly so I decide to park myself on the bench on the second floor. Everyone has a buddy. Everything is good. It could be hours before they are done playing. No problem- until I have one of those moments. A mental siren goes off and that mom adrenaline kicks in full force. Where's Joseph? I can't remember the last time I saw him. I've seen his buddy a handful of times run by and wave, but no Joseph. In about 5 minutes I've managed to round up of six children and place them on a bench. But Joseph is no where to be found. I call. I push my way through the crowd. It's evident that I need help here.

I have no qualms about admitting that I don't have control of my children and find the nearest red shirted employee and describe my precious son. Red shirt. Tan pants. White NASA hat (a special gift from dad). Brown hair. Brown eyes.

The crew goes into action and we sit for 15 minutes. I just want my boy. It's not like him to run off. He's fairly responsible for his age, right? How am I going to explain to Sean that I have lost his oldest son?

The other kids must sense my grief because chins begin quivering and little eyes are getting wet. Just before we about melt, I hear that precious cry and running into my arms is my red eyed sobbing little boy. The employee with a blank look says in a monotone, "Found him in the boy's bathroom."

Joseph goes on in many words to explain that he had to go to the bathroom but needed help to wipe his bottom. He called for me, but I did not come. Then after a long time this man with curly black hair found him and made him leave. And now his bottom hurts. Being independent can be so confusing.

By this time the troops are crying for food. I assumed that there would be some sort of nutrition available for sale, but all that there is to be found are a few vending machines. Against my better judgement, I give them each 5 quarters and tell them to go at it. Let's see. Lunch: Pop Tarts, Grandma's cookies, Sun chips, Peanut M&M's, Sprite, Orange Soda. I myself decide to pass on these selection knowing that such an indulgence would cost me at least 5 Weight Watchers points.

We pass the last few hours together exploring the museum and are glad when it is time to leave. We pick up dad and have our eyes peeled for the nearest buffet type meal where I will require that these children have a salad and fruit before anything else.

We find a Hometown Buffet and sit down to eat. It is good to be still and I'm beginning to relax and recall for Sean this very eventful day. It's good to have a friend be a witness to my craziness and help me laugh through the tears.

Joseph is enjoying his watermelon across the table and for no apparent reason decides to spit the seed out at lightning speed. In mid sentence the seed hits me right between the eyes and bounces to the floor. Then at that very instant all the lights go out and we are eating our dinner in the dark!!

What a perfect ending to this day. And it's only 4:00 pm.

Welcome to my world

I was recently going through some boxes during one of my decluttering crusades and came across a crate of old journals. Of course I couldn't help myself. I had to read each page. It's amazing how words can take a person back to places long forgotten, places that so easily come to life again. The times of real happiness and real sorrow are remembered in the heart, but written on paper they become valuable. Precious lessons learned. An account of God's faithfulness. The perspective of years. Encouragement for today. A gift for tomorrow.

I think my last journal entry was in the months before my second daughter, Lydia, was born. That would be 9 years ago. I'm glad that she will have those journals to read about her mother during those years- everything from sermon notes to travel arrangements to postpartum woes. I'm sure she'll get a few laughs and surprises!

I'm ready to write again. When my feet hit the ground in the morning they don't stop until long after the children are in bed. At times it seems that if my life were any more full it might burst. Yet I know that these are the places that I want to revisit someday. I want to smile and cry and laugh and pass along the everyday lessons and goodness of God.

So, welcome to my world.