Photo, photo in the frame / what’s the dirtiest baby’s name?

dirtybabycarnival2

When I saw Becky’s suggestion of a Dirty Baby Carnival, I thought “What fun!” I am the guardian of our family photos–so I was sure I’d have plenty of pics to choose from. In fact, why not just show one dirty baby pic per child?

Alas, when I sat down Tuesday to look through the photos, I discovered that there was a definite lack of dirty sibling photos. Instead, I found photo after photo after photo of a very messy Bekah.

Baby Rebekah with formula all over her face
Baby Rebekah with spaghetti sauce everywhere
Toddler Rebekah with a splotch of purple something on her cheek
Toddler Rebekah with butter (from corn on the cob) all over her face
Toddler Rebekah with purple food (of some sort) all over her face--except the circle surrounding her mouth where she licked it off

Not to say that I was the only messy child in the family–I was just the one most frequently photographed. (You’ve got to admit that I look like I’m having a grand time!)

The runners-up:
Young Anna eating powdered formula
Young Anna with a messy face
Young Anna with beets or berries on face and hands
Young Anna with something red on her face
Young Joshua with a rather dirty shirt
Young John with boogers and grime
Young John with dirty face napping after a long birthday bash
Young Timmy makes kissy face with his messy face


Every spare moment

In 9 days, I’ll get on a plane to fly to Laredo, TX. I’ll spend a few days with the family in Laredo while the kids attend a conference, and then I’ll be in Mexico. Until then, I need to spend every spare moment preparing.

There are some things that I just need to get done before I go–the two quilts sitting in the living room, the pile of library books on my desk, final arrangements for the 20S Sunday school when I’m gone. I have a date with a friend Wednesday afternoon to work on quilting. Nytejok had her baby last Friday–so I’m already late on that quilt (I still need to sandwich, baste, quilt, and bind it). I haven’t heard from Nyayan–but she’s due the 17th, so it should be any day. I only have to bind her quilt. Sunday School is almost all arranged–I just need to confirm everything. The library books, on the other hand…

I just checked my account and I have 39 books currently out. All are due before I’ll be back from Mexico. Some are personal reading: Dr. Seuss, The Essential Canon of Classical Music, books on environmental issues, books on managing allergies. Others are specifically related to Mexico: a Spanish dictionary, a “learning Spanish” book, grammar references, math references, reading references, spelling references, creative writing references.

The real task that’s eating my spare time? Preparing for any possibility. I have no idea where my student is at academically except that she’s fourteen years and she’s behind. She could be working anywhere from fourth grade level to eighth grade level–or be at multiple levels. She could have all sorts of gaps in her education–or she could be completely on track. I don’t know.

I know that they haven’t been using a set curriculum–instead they’ve been using a lot of internet resources. Which means I have no way to gauge what her education has consisted of heretofore. I know that Caroline wants me to focus on Math and English.

So, I’ve looked at a Middle School scope and sequence. I’ve determined the large scale topics that I may need to discuss. I’ve begun preparing review sheets–basically a text that I can use as a resource to “fill in” any “holes” that may exist. I have a long way to go.

Today? I reformatted a review sheet on using the dictionary. I began a review sheet on parts of speech. I started working on a summary of spelling rules. I read part of a grammar resource. I read part of a spelling resource. I played some Spider Solitaire on my computer–why did I do that? I don’t have time for that. I know I don’t have time for that.

I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of this task. I’m overwhelmed by how much there is to prepare, by how much there is to do once I’m there. I feel incredibly insufficient for the challenge. How can I even dream of doing this? How can I even think that I can impart something meaningful in one short month? How can I think that I can prepare something meaningful in one short week?

There’s no way. Which is why I’m spending every spare moment praying.

“With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26


Meet the Fam

My family goes out to eat after church once a month. It’s a chance to relax, to enjoy ourselves, to be a family. It’s incredibly hard to schedule.

Dad rotates with three other men to do weekly Bible studies at the juvenile detention center. So, once a month, he has to be somewhere by three. Once every other month, he leads a service at a retirement community in town–that’s at two. Joshua and John are both late ushers–responsible for closing the church after the services. They are scheduled approximately every other week and generally stay from 1:10-1:30. Every three months, the youth do a service at a female detention facility outside of town. That’s not until 4, but it’s about an hour drive.

And that’s just the normally scheduled stuff. This month, we have even more of a predicament. Last week Dad had the service at the retirement community. This week is “Youth Sunday” with a cookout at the church afterward. Next week, Anna will be doing OB/GYN rotations in Columbus. Then I’ll be gone in Mexico.

So, we had our Sunday lunch this evening–and still ended up missing someone. Danny’s girlfriend Debbie was playing her cello tonight for a wedding reception–but since she had knee surgery on Tuesday, she is unable to drive or to carry her cello. Daniel was, therefore, needed to chauffeur her and carry her cello.

The rest of us hopped into the “Herburban” (an amalgamation of “Herbie Husker” and “Suburban”) and made our way to Imperial Palace, where I took pictures according to tradition.

picture of family
From left to right: Anna, Joshua, Dad, Gracie, Mom, Tim, Casandra, John.


TGIF

It’s a inconvenient aspect of working in a 7 day a week industry–days of the week are largely irrelevant. Depending on when your days off fall, you may enjoy “Friday” on any day of the week.

Working at the University, as I do, means even more day of the week confusion. You see, the University’s workweek runs from Friday to Thursday. So, Friday is Monday (or Sunday). Except that our menu cycle runs from Monday to Sunday. Yeah. Fun.

Usually, though, we count based on our days off. Which is why today is Friday. And Saturday will be Friday too. And Monday at the same time. A little confused?

Introducing my life: The (work)week before the Fourth of July I worked Friday, Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. My days off were Sunday and Thursday. The week of the fourth, I worked Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday–and got holiday pay for Friday the 4th. Saturday and Sunday were my days off. This week? (As in, the week starting tomorrow?) I work Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and have Friday and Sunday off.

And I have a much more regular schedule than my coworkers–well, sort of. I always get Sunday off. Very few others have such privileges. There are trade-offs. Most of my coworkers have more regular hours. They work 12:30-8 every time they work, or 6-2:30 or whatever. I work whatever they need me to work. At the end of June, that meant 11-7:30. Then it was 7:30-4. Then it was 6:30-3. Next week it’s 7:00-2:30. But even that is better than at the beginning of the semester, when I might awaken to a phone call–“How soon can you come in?” It was 9 am. Half an hour. Another time it was 8. Forty-five minutes. Call at 6:30? Give me an hour. They let me relax that morning. I came in at 8.

It would probably drive most people nuts. I think it’s great. I have my mornings free. I have my evenings free. I have a two day weekend, a three day weekend, a one day weekend. I work with morning people and evening people, weekday people and weekend people. I get to enjoy it all.

TGIF!–and I get three Friday’s in a row. (Today, the day before my “weekend”. Tomorrow, which on the calendar is labeled “Friday”. And Saturday, the day before my next “weekend!”)


I’ll be brief…

because typing with a right ring finger that hits two or three keys at a time is somewhat tedious. (Count out how many times I use the letters “o” and “l”, and how many times I use the characters “(” and “.” to get an idea of how tedious it can be–and since I’m using HTML, I also have to worry about the close bracket.)

What is wrong with my right ring finger? I cut it today at work and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. After a half an hour and still dripping blood, I went to an urgent care clinic. The medical assistant thought I’d need stitches–but she didn’t look closely enough. Since my cut was actually two parallel lacerations approximately 1/4 of an inch apart, stitching one would pull the other and vice versa. So instead, a piece of what looked like Styrofoam was placed on my cuts–to act as a matrix for blood clotting–and my finger was wrapped up so that it now resembles a chicken drumstick.


The stretching begins

I’m going to Mexico in two weeks. I don’t have my plane tickets yet. I tried calling the family I’m staying with to check on what times it would work best for me to arrive (since they’ll be at a conference that week–and I don’t want to make them miss too much). The first time I called, someone answered “Bueno”. I asked to speak to Jim or Caroline. I heard the audible click of the phone hanging up. I call right back. Maybe they thought I was a salesperson or something. “Bueno.” “Hi, this is Rebekah Menter. May I speak to Jim or Caroline?” A torrent of Spanish that I can’t understand. Then they hang up.

I know it’s the right number. It’s the same one I called weeks ago and got ahold of them with. It’s the same one listed in their e-mail. It’s a Nebraska number that rings in Mexico–for Pete’s sake, it’s the right number. But I can’t do anything about it. I take a nap.

Wake up from my nap. Maybe I’ll try again. This time I’ll try out my Spanish skills. “Bueno.” “Hola, me llamo Rebekah Menter. Puedo hablar a Jim o Caroline?” I don’t understand the Spanish they respond with. I’m trying to think on my feet and I completely bungle my next question. Another Spanish answer–it sounds like someone else speaking this time. I try again. I speak in English this time. I’m frustrated that I can’t figure out how to ask them to give Jim and Caroline a message to call me. I’m frustrated because I can’t understand what they’re saying. Finally I apologize, “Perdon. Lo siento. Adios.” “Okay, bye” they say. I hear the click again.

I’m going to Mexico for a month. I leave in two weeks. And I don’t have my plane ticket yet. I’m not even sure the James’ are aware that I’m going to be flying rather than driving as we originally discussed. I don’t know if they’ve gotten my e-mail. I can’t get ahold of them by phone.

This is way out of my comfort zone. I created a three ring binder with descriptions of all the attractions in Yellowstone, a list of animals and birds to identify, and the most likely hikes to take for our family vacation to Yellowstone last year. I thrive on detailed itineraries and advance planning. I like to have something ready for every eventuality–but I like to know the way things “should” go too. I don’t have any of that here.

I know that God told me to go. I know that Jim and Caroline are expecting me. I know that I’m going to be tutoring their daughter. I don’t know when I’m leaving or coming back. I don’t know what I’m going to tutor their daughter in when I get there. I’m not even sure what level exactly she’s at. I know her age, but I’m not sure her grade level–and I’m even less sure about her ability level. Is she mathematically bright and an English dunce? Or maybe she’s an arts and literature person but not at all interested in science? I don’t know. I don’t know what curriculum or resources they currently use. I don’t know what subject matter she’s currently studying. I don’t know what books she’s read. I’m completely in the dark.

It’s incredibly uncomfortable.

I tell God that I’m having a hard time with it. He responds, as usual, with “Be still. I’m God.” But it’s awfully hard to continue to be still when the deadline is racing up and NOTHING IS CERTAIN! But, I guess, I have to learn to be like Abraham, to pick up my tents and leave when God says “Go”, even if I have no idea where He’s taking me.


Hi, my name is Amanda

My roommate has been babysitting for my pastor’s kids while he and his wife were running their fireworks tent. I dropped by this morning and discovered that I had been renamed.

I thought it strange that A., who has known me her entire life, would suddenly be forgetting my name and calling me Amanda. I had almost convinced myself that I was hearing things–but just to be sure, I asked Casandra “Did she just call me Amanda?” Casandra confirmed that yes indeed she did, and she has been calling me Amanda all week.

I’ve been planning to drop by sometime this week–and A. knew it. Yesterday, she asked Casandra seriously “When is Amanda coming over?” Casandra was confused, “Amanda?” she asked. “The big Rebekah!” (to distinguish me from a highschooler in our church also named Rebekah-or Rebecca maybe) Then A. clarified a bit more. “Amanda is my friend’s name.” (that is, her friend from down the street.)

I can’t say that it makes any sense, but A. referred to me as “Amanda” at least five times today. So, hello, my name is Amanda. Or anything else you care to call me, I suppose.


Patriotic Peeves and Patriotic Prayers

I tend to have rather strong opinions about things–and patriotic music just happens to be something about which I have a very strong opinion. Patriotic music moves me to tears–and makes me seethe. I love most of it–and hate some of it.

My peeves about patriotic music? First, the tendency of people to classify certain songs that are not patriotic music as patriotic music. Julia Ward Howe’s Battle Hymn of the Republic is a prime example. It’s not patriotic, guys. It doesn’t mention America anywhere in it–it doesn’t have anything to do with a specific nation. It has to do with God’s righteousness and wrath. It’s about God accomplishing His purposes–and about men being obedient to the calling. Yes, it was a battle hymn of the civil war–but it isn’t a patriotic song.

Second, it annoys me that the patriotic songs most often heard are sappy and sentimental and NEW. It’s not that I’m against new songs in general–it’s just that so few of our contemporary songs actually have meaning. They’re so simplistic, so blah. They are meant to inspire tears but not to inspire thought.

Third, some patriotic songs annoy me by adding certain phrases in that just don’t fit. Take America, the Beautiful. It’s a gorgeous song, but what are you talking about “Thine alabaster cities gleam/undimmed by human tears”? I know, Katherine Lee Bates was referring to the White City of the Columbian Exposition World’s Fair in Chicago in 1892–but the “undimmed by human tears”? That’s Biblical imagery–and it refers to the New Jerusalem. America’s great and all, but it’s not heaven on earth. I’m still waiting for that new heaven and new earth–that and only that will be a city “undimmed by human tears”.

But don’t get me wrong–I love patriotic songs. Certain parts of the classic songs perfectly express my heart and my prayers.

Today, I think of our nation. I remember the revolutionary idea that sparked the American Revolution–and that still sparks revolutions around the world. The idea that men can be free. Liberty. It’s quite a heady idea. I think of it and I pray:

Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of Liberty,
To Thee we sing:
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might
Great God, our King

Today, I think of the many men (and women) who have given their lives, their blood, their anguish, years of their lives to make our nation what it is. I think of the wives and children at home–giving up husbands and fathers. I think of the thousands of heroes who have served throughout the years and continue to serve now in our military. I think of them and I pray:

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife
Who more than self
Their country loved
And mercy more than life
America, America
May God thy gold refine
Til all success be nobleness
And every gain divine

Finally, I think now of a nation at war–of our men and women currently fighting on the front lines. They fight for freedom, for liberty, that same thing I celebrate today. I think of the many of us enjoying our picnics and barbecues today, enjoying victory and peace. I think of how quickly we have forgotten who makes this nation great–how quickly we have turned to rely upon ourselves. And I pray for my countrymen and women, both those here and those abroad:

O thus be it ever
When free men shall stand
Between their loved homes
And the war’s desolation
Bless’d with vict’ry and peace
May the heav’n rescued land
Praise the Pow’r that hath made
And preserved us a nation
Then conquer we must
When our cause it is just
And this be our motto:
“In God is our Trust”
And the Star Spangled Banner
In triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free
And the home of the brave


I’ve taken up bootlegging

picture of boot with wine bottle in it

I’ve taken up bootlegging, thanks to a suggestion from RealSimple. As soon as I read it, I knew I had to give it a try. My boots are now standing up in my closet instead of lying on their sides–and my enjoyment of James Arthur Vineyards San Realto has been hidden from sight instead of being proclaimed from a bookshelf.

It’s my first day of a four day weekend and I have enjoyed being lazy and indulging my DIY impulses. I started with making some homemade laundry soap. I’ve been toying with the idea for a couple of days now and figured I’d jump in. My first batch cost $.64 and 30 minutes of labor (including cooking, mixing, and cleaning up). For 64 loads that’s a pretty good deal. The cheapest commercial detergent I could find cost around $.05 per load. Of course, I haven’t tried the soap out yet on any laundry. But I definitely had fun making it–even to cutting down an old water bottle to create a makeshift funnel for pouring the solution into an old laundry detergent dispenser.

picture of homemade oil lamp

After the laundry soap, I spent some time online and found an interesting how-to for making an oil lamp out of a glass bottle. I test burned snippets of three different mismatched socks outside before deciding on one as “mostly likely to contain only cotton fibers”. Then I put the lamp together. I used canola oil instead of olive oil (canola is much cheaper and I read somewhere that it’s still a good, non-smoking, relatively odorless burning oil). The lamp burns just fine–until the wick burns down too low. I’m not sure if the oil is wicking upward quickly enough to keep the wick from being consumed. Meh–it’s not like it cost me anything.

Despite the few projects of the day, most of my time was spent reading DIY:Happy. This blog is stinkin’ sweet. I should know, I spent the last five or so hours reading it from last to first and following its numerous links. The blog is a compendium of bizzare, high-tech, low-tech, computerized, knitted, origami-ed, ridiculously sophisticated projects. I highly recommend it.


Like, totally random

A few years ago the word random came into popular usage. It was one of those interchangeable words that could be used to describe anything you didn’t have the vocabulary to say in a meaningful way. And, in hundreds of “get to know you” activities in which people were asked to share something about themselves that no one else in the group knows, girls were sharing “I’m, like, totally random.”

I am working on a quilt that’s, like, totally random. Okay, so it’s not totally random. I chose the fabrics I would use before I started. But then–the randomness began. I cut strips of fabric and stuck them all in a plastic bag. Then I went around to my friends and family and asked them to pull a couple of strips from the bag without looking. I sewed those two strips together, and then asked another person to pick two strips–and so on. Then I cut the strips into parallelograms, stuck those into a bag and picked two at a time without looking. I sewed the two parallelograms together. Once all the parallelograms had been paired, I stuck them in a bag…

I think you get the picture. A random quilt. A truly random quilt. Not “designed” at all. Today I finished all my strips and started piecing the strips together. For the first time, I’m getting a glimpse of what my final product may look like. And, in this case, random is pretty good.

Wouldn’t you say?

picture of quilt