After my grandpa died I wrote my grandmother's eulogy and gave it to her. I thought it was pretty lame that we all sat around saying nice things about a person after they were dead. So that was nine years, five moves and two hip surgery's ago and I am starting to wonder if living the expectancy of someone's death keeps them alive. Lord knows we never leave my 94 year old grandmother's side without a huge hug and breathing deeply of her scent because we know it could be our last.

So last week I told you I would post a little something about Lu – and I am going to keep that promise, because today could strangely enough be her last (here's hopin' this tribute keeps here alive too.)... (Jarod just spent 3 hours playing Legos with Jude... so Bryce - Jude thanks you for that.)

Lucy, like the “perfect storm” is a terrible (meaning awesome) combination of my mother, sister-in-law, and myself. Sadly, we are the three women I know who have given their mother's the most grief in this world. And though Barbara has trained me well not to “speak evil but only good” over my family – there is nothing more depressing than optimism – so I brace myself. I read books like “Are you going to wear that?” by Deborah Tannen (well most of it anyway.) And I catch my words as they come careening toward my mother like a freight train - “Note to self – when Lucy says something that awful in a few years she really means, “Mother I love you but I need MY SPACE... I just happen to need a very large space... ”
We all joked that Bryce was like a Bull in a china shop and it was easy to understand at his size. But Lucy – how can we stand in trepidation of what a 2 year old might do?
I never had a sibling, but I know it is dangerous to compare the two. But that is all we know. Where Jude asked “Why?” continually Lucy answers every question with a flippant “because.” And if you ask again it becomes “BEE – CAUSSSEE.” Where Jude asked “what doing?” Lucy watches for like 10 seconds, then grabs the spoon, shoe, or scissors and says, “Me do... me self.” Where Jude hated going to bed Lucy flies to her bed with her blankie, sleeps well and then lays there for 20 minutes every morning... as if she has to prep herself up for another day being her.
Being “her” pretty much involves being completely adorable when her mouth is shut and she is doing what she wants and being mostly adorable when she is following her brother around mimicking every last word and action (she frequently asks for an i-pod and to play legos and the only princess she knows is princess Laya). She is hysterical as she tries to pick out her clothes (experiencing clothing crises that would frighten a grown woman), eats her food – messily and with such joy - puts on her chapstick, talks on her phone, and changes her shoes 5 times a day. Her adoration for her father and grandparents and little friends bring smiles to everyone's faces.
And then there is the whining – which seems to be the only vocal inflection that God gave her – meaning Lucy has never requested and received anything from me the first time. We have this song and dance of the initial whine request, the follow up asking for a different tone of voice, and the following ten minutes of battle... just to say, “rice krispies please” - before 8 a.m. And the rest of our day follows in suit – battle upon battle – independence forming at the speed of light. We figure we have until Jude is 12 until he is pretty much beyond our influence. With Lu we have until 6 if we are lucky. So she teaches me to pray, pick my battles, and to dispense grace as frequently as I demand it from my Father. It is going to be a fun ride with this little one... and how I pray it doesn't end shortly. I will be a better woman because she exists... I hope she will be because of me... and I will take no offense if we have to live on separate continents to keep the peace.

Awkwardness of Death

If death is going to come upon us suddenly, suffocating a soul from our midst on a hot summer afternoon, it could at least come with civility. But no, instead, death comes sneakily and rudely, leaving us all standing in a room feeling more exposed and awkward than had we shown up to church naked with warts.
Those naturally talkative become unbearably annoying and overpowering. Those naturally quite slide along the brick walls until their fingers bleed. The teenagers text "my bro is dead" to someone... somewhere... and the old men look down at something... down there... very interesting. The family divides try to fit themselves back together like puzzle pieces that have been gnawed by a dog. We cry with strangers... and wonder if it is possibly ok – not to cry – for just a moment.
Because what do you say? (I'm sorry - 1000 times). What do you do? (Buy the third 20 lb. bag of ice - just in case.) When a perfectly healthy kid who pushed your daughter on the tire swing less than 24 hours ago - “doesn't make it” ? Is taken by a “freak accident” or the “Will of God”? I'll tell you what we did.
We stood around like a 200 lb. 13 year old boy who doesn't quite know when to bathe, when to talk, when to laugh, or what to do.


We were all awkward today Bryce – in honor of you – and we would have done anything to get another wiff of your unbathed beastly body and catch a glimpse of your half smile on your sunburned face. So much for all of our worry over skin cancer. You would have made an excellent Grandpa... we always thought you were made for being the world's best giant teddy bear grandpa, since you were 2 years old and had that walker... you were so darn cute...
Then you got awkward... and we all knew you'd grow out of it... and then you died... and we all got awkward... and I wonder... will we grow out of it or will there always be this giant teddy bear shaped hole in the room any time we get together? If you weren't so big... if you weren't so young...

New Hobby

Some Work (and great workers!!!!):






Some Fun:








In the last two weeks - somewhere between scrubbing and staining the basement floors, pull off a huge garage sale in 105 weather, depositing the over $1000(!), recovering from my worst sunburn in years, throwing 2 birthday parties, going to the lake, having our air conditioner break, suffering from nightmares about NOT finishing the basement by August 15 (which looks like it is a reality), and taking the kids to Toy Story and to library I have picked up an AWFUL hobby.
The hobby of NOT reading- reading books is a very dangerous thing - I believe it it the source of a lot of pain, suffering and miscommunication throughout history - not to mention the source of really BAD doctrine, and some horribly misrepresented recipes. But it is so easy to do.
You want to read, you are at the library - so you pick a book and skim, half chapters here and end notes there- then you are out of time - and probably in 2 months I will have convinced myself I read the whole thing - and be telling you all about it with passion - and really not having a clue what is going on. I have not read books on cosmology, African politics, communication, and the Salem witch trials this month. I should really just get a magazine - they are so nicely divided into bedtime reading segments... but none spark my interest (and to be painfully honest I have a weird aversion to reading anything on a page 8X10 or larger or from a screen - which explains my painful lack of knowledge of current events.)
All this to say, if I claim to have "read" something any time soon - ask me the context... and if I hand you a book with highlighted sections - please send me to rehab. Jarod has this book in our personal library called "How to Read a Book"... neither of us have ever read it... but I am pretty sure this isn't how it is done. But I shall continue until my life slows down... which sadly means I may never read a book again. My life is full. I wouldn't trade it for the world - but I would add an extra 4 hours to each day if possible... just for really reading.

P.S. Next week I am really going to try to upload some videos of Lucy... at 2 she is more than I can handle. Today at the lake the wind really started blowing and as she stood in the surf screaming, "STOP IT, STOP IT, NO MORE!!!" to the increasing storm, I thought of Christ calming the storm with His words and then mused, "Well. that's about right - we start trying to play God at about 2, and continue in frustration and ineffectualness until grace intervenes." Intervene dear Lord... because we haven't a clue.

My ideas

Some of them are so bad I can't imagine how I imagine them... for example the garage sale we are having this weekend. Originally planned in hopes to clean out the garage of parts from remodel, furniture from former renters, and clothes from storage my kids grew out of before they got a chance to wear. Then I thought we might actually be able to make some money... and maybe buy a dehumidifier for the basement... if some other people had some junk to get rid of. So this week, we will be sorting, pricing and selling the good s from a dozen families!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH. (P.S. I think there is room for more!)
The problem with this is that Jarod is latching on to his childhood Nintendo that we could sell for $100, and Jude has latched on to a 3 foot stuffed moose. NOT how to clean things out. Now... while I wallow in my insanity and argue over which items we are keeping or selling with my family in 105 weather.... at least I will be basking in my good idea of the week:

To hire a couple of guys, for a couple of hours to finish the stucco work. 5 days labor. Done. Thanks Rafael and Juan - they look great...

4th

By far and away the best holiday for living in the Midwest is the 4th of July.
We eat. We blow stuff up.
We throw caution and calories to the wind. No matter the wind speed – or the weather – we will celebrate our independence. (One year we postponed Halloween for snow but we have NEVER postponed the 4th – because people would just blow stuff up that day – and the next.)

Hot dogs, homemade ice cream, fountains and Roman candles so large they give a grown man a 'kick-back'. And this year – aerials were legal with in city limits... sure the first year I have a garage roof to worry about!

It is almost as if the more 'cultured' states know they are missing out too. As Jessica says, “I know you are out there blowing stuff up while we in Portland are still sipping our espresso out of bowls like the French.” Yep... and Jude – at 5 – is an ol' pro.

The fun started Friday night – the night before fireworks were legal and we happened across our neighbors blowing some stuff up at 11:30 as we were cleaning out our mudding trays in the back yard. After a few small explosions we moseyed over to another neighbor's dumpster to look at an abandoned bike. As a policeman pulled to a stop in the alley and asked, “Were you lighting off fireworks?” Paul turns – punk and ammunition in hand and says, “No, we were just looking at this old bike.”
To which the policeman, somewhat confused says, “You know you do have a punk and firework in your hand.” Ah... the holiday that turns us all into teenagers again.

Saturday was the first official party with a great little BBQ over at Megan and Paul's (I am sure you will hear more about them since we 'happenstance' will be living next door to my best friend from childhood when they get married next month!) (P.S. Thanks guys for NOT having hot dogs – 4 meals in a row – was plenty.) We supplied the homemade ice cream with Red and blue chunks. It was my first time to make it all by myself – since Jarod was busy holding sick little lucy with a 105 temp.

Sunday, we kept our tradition of hot dogs, music, and a second batch of homemade ice cream at the old Fort with all of the guys and Jarod's parents... that is until Lucy puked. While hauling the ice for the ice cream bucket – Jude looked at me in all seriousness and asked, “Now why don't we buy this at the store?”

Our Romanian friends similarly commented on Monday night at Paul's birthday, saying that mine doesn't have as much cream. Maybe it isn't as good – maybe it is all in my head – but my head tells me that 4 nights in a row wouldn't be a bad idea :). We also finished of Merle and Toni's fireworks at their third, final, and ONLY fireworks show that didn't get shut down by the police. Thanks for keeping it G rated for the kids guys!



(Some of the costume's at Paul's B-day party)




Merle in his element



Oh, and lest you think we haven't been in the basement between explosions and traditional gorging, I have written a little poem. Jarod continually reminds me of the power of semantics... the importance of rewording to change a perception – so I gave it a shot – can words turn pure hate to something lovely and liberating? You judge for yourself:

Oh, my basement walls
how I touch you, caress you
again and again
peeling your wrapping, layer by layer
that I may know you fully
See you bare before me.
One day – you will be undone
And I will be free.