Hanging Out At.....

the Pearl Girls blog today. I'm a monthly contributor. That's very exciting for me. Look for me twice a month. Once I know dates I'll post them here. Meantime, enjoy today's post about the Patient Parent Recipe. Leave a comment please :) The stop by the blog again on September 28th for my next post.

Actually bookmark it and check everyday. There are some incredible contributors to this blog. Great nuggets of wisdom each day. Enjoy!!

Be Blessed,


Mari

It's A Big Day

July 6, 2012 is a very BIG day for my family. First, my baby girl turns sixteen. Sixteen y'all! I can hardly believe I've been loving and parenting this child for that long. Well, longer if you include the nine months I carried her. She and I have had our moments, good and bad. We make no bones about that. But no matter what, I love her fiercely because that's what us momma bears do.  

My time with her here under my daily care is quickly ending. It saddens me because I feel like there is so much more to do. I may never feel like she's ready go forth into the world. That is the peril of being a perfectionist Type-A momma bear :) I'm praying for wisdom for the two years I have before she's a college girl. And fun. Lord let there be some fun please. Amen. 

The other BIG thing that's happening is that we have another teenager moving in with us. Rick and I have agreed -- no we requested, that this young lady be allowed to come live with us. She needs a family to love on her and take care of her while she finishes her senior year of high school. She's a close friend of our oldest daughter. I'm tickled pink she's going to be staying with us. 

And even with that good feeling comes fear. It's a big deal to have THREE, count them, THREE teenage girls living in our house. God put it on our heart to do this. I know we're doing the right thing. Doesn't make it less scary though. I've sat and thought about how I've parented my own girls. Some things I think I did well. Others, not so much. I'm praying I do the right things over this next year. I'm counting on God to "make my paths straight" (Luke 3:4) 

Since He's the one that called us to do this, I'll be leaning heavily on Him to show me what to do and what to avoid. I've been doing that already but now with another life to pour into, I feel an even greater pressing need. I don't want my girls to ever feel neglected but I also know there are some specific things God has pressed upon in regards to my new "daughter". So I want to make sure there is balance and never any resentment.

I recall telling a friend, when she adopted a baby girl from China that I didn't think God would ever call me to add to our family like that. I mean really, her youngest was entering high school! And I was thinking to myself, "I'm struggling to parent the two I have. No way He'd ever ask me to take on more."

In her wisdom, she smiled at me and said "Stranger things have happened." Like agreeing to add a teenager to your house. This is why I regularly tell God he's a card. His sense of humor is so warped sometimes. But I like it anyway. So while He's getting a chuckle out of this, I know He'll be guiding me. 

I've chosen two verses for this new season based on two things:

 

1. I need God to do this
2. Anything good that comes from this is all God's doing. Rick and I just the instruments.

"Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this" Psalm 37:5 (NIV)

"If anyone ministers, let him do it as with the ability which God supplies, that in all things God may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom belong the glory dominion forever and ever. Amen" 1 Peter 4:11 (NKJV)

In parting, pray friends. Three hormonal teenage daughters and a "praying for menopause to show up any day now" momma bear.  That's all I'm saying :) Be blessed!

Mari

Hanging Out at Go Ask Mom

I'm hanging out at WRAL.com today at the Go Ask Mom blog :)

Stop by and visit: http://www.wral.com/lifestyles/goaskmom/blogpost/9896559/

Power You Do Have

Recently both my girls had to make decisions about honoring commitments. One was in a group that got embroiled in drama and was almost disbanded. The other found out a group she is interested in joining next year was holding practices while she was already committed to another group.

To read the rest of my post, head on over to the Go Ask Mom Blog at WRAL. I'm hanging out over there today.

Enjoy and be blessed!

Mari

A Crying Mom

Let me state the obvious: Mothering teenagers is a tough job sometimes. I don't know about you, but sometimes I want to go to my room, close the door and cry. Wait. I don't just want to do that. I actually do it!

To read the rest, head on over to  WRAL. Leave me a comment if you'd like :)

Be blessed!

Creative Communication

Enjoy a picture of how I creatively communicated with my children about the constant mess in our living room, dining room and downstairs bath.

Forgot to Share

I just realized I forgot to share with you my latest blog post on wral.com's Go Ask Mom blog. I have been blessed to be able to blog once a month on parenting teenagers. I'm no expert. But I think other moms of teens like reading about another mom's journey. I feel quite privileged.

So....stop by, take a read and comment if it resonates with you in some way.

My If Onlys......

I can remember when my girls were babies. One adored the baby swing and would have joyfully lived her life in it. The other hated it and would grab the legs to shake herself free.


Now that my babies are 15 and 13, I'm reflective on things I would have done differently.

Knowing what I know now, here's what I would have changed:


To read the rest, hop on over to WRAL.com's GoAskMom blog where I am the guest blogger for the day!

Just Like Momma

When you were younger did you ever say "I want to be different from my mom or my dad?" I think I said it a few times. Silly me!

Now that I'm a momma, I realize I'm a lot like my mom. When I had a big exam or project, she always stayed up with me. Even though she couldn't help me with Organic Chemistry or Calculus, she never left me alone. She'd always stay up to encourage me, ask me if I thought it would be better to sleep for a while and to make sure I didn't pull all my hair out. LOL

I found myself doing the same thing last night, as I have on several other nights. My oldest beauty had another portfolio (read several mini-projects and worksheets) due. As usual, she had a way to go before she was done. I could not leave her up by herself. I had to stay up. I wasn't going to do the work for her, just like my mom didn't for me, but I could stay up to support and encourage her. So I did.

Just like momma.

She loved me the best way she could in that situation. And I extend that same kind of love to my daughters. And guess what? I'm okay with it. I really don't mind loving them just like momma, because with age and station in life has come wisdom. Thank goodness for that!

What do you look at differently now that you're older or in a different stage or station in life? Think about it and leave a comment :)

As always, be blessed!

Mixers, Nite Outs and Girlfriends

One of the benefits I've found to connecting to women online is that you get a whole new set of girlfriends. Isn't even more fun when you get to meet them live and in person. I was able to do that recently with three fellow bloggers and twitter friends. I'm actually going to hang out with Carolina Mama tonight in Apex, NC at the National Moms' Nite Out event. I am very excited! And bless her heart, she actually interviewed me Tuesday on her blog as part of her Carolina Girls series. How cool is that?! Hopefully her blog recovers from that event! LOLOL

This will be our second time hanging out. The first time was at the Primrose At The Park Mixer in Morrisville. It is a wonderful preschool. If my girls were younger, I'd definitely have them there. The event was sponsored by the lovely Maria Bailey of Mom Talk Radio. The owner of Primrose At The Park, Leslie Grivalski, is a wonderful woman. I could tell she was passionate about the school, the kids and the parents. Her commitment to excellence is refreshing to me.

It was a great time meeting and getting to know other bloggers and twitter mamas! I'll give a shout out to @RealLifeSarah, @myGOMom @onemomsworld, @notimemom, @MomTalkRadio and of course @CarolinaMama. What fabulous women. I'm hoping we can arrange a tweet up (twitter talk for real life get together of twitter folks) soon. @RealLifeSarah and @onemomsworld live up in the mountains. I vote we meet there! I'm just saying.

Anyway, if you have younger kiddos, consider Primrose, if you have one in your area. Check out how cool it can be for your kids (see pics below). And check out National Mom's Nite Out. It's going on tonight, Thursday, May 7. There might be some mom fun going on in your area.

In the meantime, take a tiny glimpse inside Primrose. Enjoy! And blessings to you!

First Tour: Murder By Family

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Kent Whitaker

and the book:

Murder by Family: The Incredible True Story of a Son's Treachery and a Father's Forgiveness

Howard Books (May 12, 2009)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Kent Whitaker was happily married to Tricia for 27 years, until she and their younger son Kevin were murdered in December, 2003. At that point, Kent retired from the construction business and put his energies into restoring his life and working with his remaining son Bart, who was charged and later given the death penalty for arranging the shootings.



This story has been featured on CBS’s crime program 48 Hours Mystery and on the Oprah Winfrey Show. Taping for ABC’s Primetime and Good Morning America has been completed, with airings scheduled for Spring of 2009. In September, 2008, Howard Books (Simon & Schuster) released his book Murder by Family, which tells this amazing (and ultimately uplifting) story of forgiveness, healing and how God works within tragedy to bring about great good. Murder by Family was recently named to the New York Times Best Seller List.



Through a busy schedule of speaking nationally, Kent shares his story of forgiveness and new beginnings to churches, business groups, conferences, and prisons. He also volunteers for nonprofit organizations in the Sugar Land, Texas, area and for River Pointe Community Church.





Visit the author's website.



Product Details:



List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 224 pages

Publisher: Howard Books (May 12, 2009)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1439164606

ISBN-13: 978-1439164600



Also available in hardcover:



List Price: $22.99

Hardcover: 224 pages

Publisher: Howard Books (September 23, 2008)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1416578137

ISBN-13: 978-1416578130



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The First 200 Minutes





I had always heard that your life flashed before your eyes. But that’s not what happened as I lay on the cold concrete that December night, watching the blood from a gunshot wound cover my white shirt. Instead, I found myself praying for my family. There had been four shots, one for each of us.



I told God that if it were my time, I was ready to die, but I prayed that he would spare my wife and two sons. I called to each of them but got no response except for a few quiet, wet coughs from my wife, Tricia. Although I couldn’t see her from where I had fallen, I knew that it was her because when I had first tried to get up, I saw her blond hair splayed out on the threshold of our home’s front door. Though I had never heard that kind of cough before, I instinctively knew it was the sound of a person trying to clear lungs filling with blood. The silence coming from the dark house was horrible. My God, I thought, he’s shot us all.



Life can change in a moment. Just seconds earlier we had been a happy family of four returning from a surprise dinner celebrating our older son Bart’s anticipated college graduation. He had called that afternoon, telling Tricia that he was through with exams and was coming home for the evening. We had enjoyed a great seafood dinner, including a dessert with “Congratulations!” written with chocolate syrup on the plate’s edge. I snapped a few pictures, and then we took the short drive home. How strange that those would be the last photos we would ever have together.



As we got out of the car, our younger son, Kevin, a sophomore in college, led the way to our front door. He stepped inside, with Tricia right behind him. I heard a huge noise, but I didn’t immediately recognize it as a gunshot. A moment of silence, and then Tricia exclaimed, “Oh, no!” as another shot was fired. I still didn’t understand what was happening. I stepped forward and for the first time saw inside the house. The light from the front porch illuminated a ski-masked figure about eight feet away, standing next to the stairs. I couldn’t see Kevin, though he was lying in the shadows next to where the man was standing, or Tricia, who must have been right by my feet. I just stood there wondering which one of Kevin’s goofball friends was playing a joke on us with the paintball gun.



Suddenly I was slammed in the shoulder with enough force to send me spinning back and to my left. Landing face up on the front porch, I still didn’t grasp what was happening. As I tried to get up, I felt a searing pain in my right arm and realized it was badly broken. A fourth shot rang out as comprehension flooded in. We had been shot. We had all been shot. It struck me that I might be dying.



Then my neighbor Cliff was kneeling over me, comforting me. “Don’t worry, buddy! Help is on the way!”



In the distance I heard sirens as Cliff pulled off his T-shirt and pressed it to my wound. I realized then that no one knew where the shooter was and that Cliff might be in danger. I panicked. “Get out of here! He may still be inside!”



Cliff told me to hold on and ran for home. Moments later a squad car pulled up in front of our house, and then another, and a third. I was aware of more sirens, including the deep foghorn of a fire truck, but they were still far away. With heightened senses I heard muffled footfalls as police ran into and around the house, guns drawn and flashlights flicking illumination into the shadows. After only a minute or two someone called out that the house was clear. By then the whole cul-de-sac that faced our home was full of emergency vehicles. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes since the shootings.



People were everywhere. Neighbors were streaming out of their homes while paramedics swarmed. Two men worked on me, cutting away my leather jacket and shirt, trying to stop the bleeding. I repeatedly asked for information on my family, and finally one of the paramedics quietly said, “Sir, please, let us do our job. You’re in good hands, and lots of good folks are with the rest of your family.”



Then, over all the confusion and noise, as they hurried inside the house, I heard one policeman ask another, “What do you want to do about the DOA?”



My heart froze. Dead On Arrival. I knew that at least one of my family members had died. But which one? And why? Were they all dead?



The sound of a helicopter cut through the night, and I saw the landing lights and then the cherry-red body of Life Flight. Three paramedics raced a gurney down the sidewalk, and one of the police officers told me that they were taking Tricia to the hospital. My heart leaped with joy, because that meant she was still alive. Thank God! But then I realized that this also meant that at least one, and by now perhaps both, of my boys were dead. I began to shake all over and knew I was going into shock. I chattered to the paramedics that I was freezing and that they had better get something to cover me. They replied that as soon as Tricia’s Life Flight took off, the second Life Flight would land for me.



What? Life Flight for me? Was I hurt worse than I realized? Did this mean that both boys were already dead, and there was no need for them to be flown to the medical center?



I really didn’t have time to think about it: with a storm of air and sound, the helicopter took off, and moments later a second one landed. I was put on a gurney, covered with warm sheets and a blanket, and stowed in the back. With the high-pitched scream of jet turbines, we took off and began our eight-minute flight to the Houston Medical Center, part of perhaps the finest network of hospitals in the country. If anyone could keep my family alive, the medical staff there could.





Minute 30—Flashback



As we flew, I caught occasional glimpses of freeways and buildings through the copilot’s floor windows. My mind jumped back six months to my only other helicopter ride. The boys and I were in Colorado, on an adventure to celebrate my fifty-fifth birthday. We spent one day mountain biking and another racing along challenging trails on four-wheel ATVs. But my favorite part of the trip was the two days of intense white-water rafting on the Arkansas River as it snaked through the Royal Gorge. While on the river, we saw a sleek red helicopter crest the gorge 1,100 feet above us, roll into a steep dive, and pull up just before hitting the river. It rocketed fifty feet over us, blasting us with downdraft. All six of us guys in the raft went wild.



The next day we took the ride.



It was like a roller coaster without tracks. Incredible! The boys and I enjoyed it so much that we did it again two days later before coming home; it was one of the most wonderful memories of my life. But as I looked out at the lights of the hospital landing pad, remembering that fantastic trip, I felt as though I were watching the home videos of some other person; there was just no connection. I was numb.





Minute 40—In the Trauma Unit



It only took a moment for the trauma team to whisk me inside, where I was surrounded by doctors and nurses - none of whom would tell me anything about my family. The next thing I knew, my mom and dad were there. Someone from the hospital administration arrived, and when I asked her about my wife and sons, she told me not to worry: my son Bart was being transferred by ambulance and would arrive shortly. He would be treated in this same room, just a few feet from me. That told me everything, as I read between the lines. They were only working on two of us.



I turned to my parents. “Mom, I think there’s a good chance that Tricia and Kevin are dead.” Turning to the woman from administration, I asked, “Isn’t that so?” She looked at me for a long moment, nodded her head, and said that it was.



Bart was wheeled into the room a few moments later. I learned that he had rushed into the dark house and, in an apparent scuffle with the shooter, had been shot in the left arm. He was in shock, reacting to the horror of everything. The trauma team scurried around, cleaning wounds and applying temporary casts, since both of us had broken arms. The bullet had entered my right shoulder and traveled through the arm muscle, striking midhumerus and shattering the bone. Bart’s upper left arm was broken where the bullet had hit. Amid the organized chaos, things began to sink in; God was allowing the truth to come a little at a time.



I felt God’s presence and comfort. On one hand I was beginning to absorb how radically things had changed, while on the other I had a calm assurance that I was not alone and that God would knit whatever happened into his plans for good. Scriptures of comfort came to mind. It was as if God gave me a shot of emotional Novocain. Even though I was becoming more aware of the extent of the tragedy, I trusted God.



Before I knew it, I was being wheeled out of the trauma center and into a corridor. As we passed through the big emergency room doors, I was met by forty or fifty friends. I rolled through a canyon of loved ones. Touched by the grief and worry in their eyes, I began to comfort them. I can’t explain it; the words just came out. My response was unexpected and somewhat out of character.



Later that night, after the nurses had gone, I was finally alone with my thoughts. I lay there trying to wrap my mind around it all—and wasn’t doing a very good job. Piece by piece the reality settled onto my soul.





Minute 180—Reality and Choices



My wife, my lover, my best friend, the one who knew and loved me better than any other, to whom I had been true for twenty-eight years, was dead. My son Kevin, with his incredible Christian faith, his crazy, fun-loving personality, and his passion for sports and the outdoors, would never graduate from college, marry, or give us grandchildren. Bart was down the hall suffering a grief and shock that seemed even more intense than what I was feeling. At fifty-five, I would be facing the last third of my life without most of my family.



For years I have told people that faith is not a feeling but a conscious act of the will. You have to choose to trust and believe, especially when circumstances and your feelings are screaming that you can’t trust God . The Bible says that God can take everything and work it for good for those who love him and are called to his service; well, Tricia and Kevin loved him, and so did I. We were all called to his service, but how could these murders possibly be worked for good? I could imagine no such scenario. And if that verse of the Bible was untrustworthy, what other verses might not apply when I needed them? I might as well throw it all away.



So, here I was, in the middle of a horrific situation in which I had to choose either to go with my feelings and slip into bitterness and despair or to follow my own advice and stand on God’s promises even when they don’t make sense. I wrestled with this for a long time, because I knew that I could go either way and that the consequences of the choice were serious.



Finally, I made the decision to stand on the promises of God. It was one of the most important decisions I've ever made.



When I resolved to trust God, I felt a peace come over me that had nothing to do with the morphine drip. The next thought popped unexpectedly into my mind: What about the shooter?



I realized that God was offering me the ability to forgive, if I wanted to take advantage of it. Did I really want to forgive this guy? I know the Bible says we are to forgive those who hurt us. I know God tells us that vengeance is his, if he chooses dispense it. I have even heard secular health professionals say that forgiveness is the most important thing people can do to heal themselves. But did I really want to forgive, even if God was offering a supernatural ability to do so?



In an instant the answer sprang full-grown into my mind. My heart told me that I wanted whoever was responsible to come to Christ and repent of this awful act. At that moment I felt myself completely forgiving him. This forgiveness astounded me, because earlier I had experienced feelings of incredible sadness and intense anger and the desire to kill the person responsible with my own hands. Little did I realize just how important my decision to forgive would be in the coming months.



I have had a hundred people tell me that they think I’m nuts—that I should hate the shooter and cry out for vengeance. Perhaps I am crazy, but I believe that in those early moments God worked supernaturally, allowing me to forgive completely and immediately, because he had plans for me, and those plans required that I have the forgiveness problem settled once and for all.





For the next two days, as Bart and I waited in our rooms for surgery, we had a nearly unprecedented number of visitors. People were always lined up in the halls waiting to see us; they came and went day and night. In fact, the crowding was so severe that the hospital converted a double room on our floor into a hospitality suite stocked with fruit baskets, cookies, coffee, soft drinks, sofas, and chairs. The hospital showed a lot of class, but I think crowd control was also an important factor.



The next day I had my first visit from Detective Marshal Slot and his partner Billy Baugh from the Sugar Land Police Department. They questioned me extensively about what had happened, and I cooperated, telling them I would do everything I could to help them find out who was responsible for this murderous attack.



The detectives returned a day later to tell me they had learned that Bart was not about to graduate from college after all. In fact, he was not even enrolled in school. I was shocked at the news and horrified at the realization that, if this were true, this knowledge coupled with some mistakes Bart had made years earlier might distract the police from searching for the real killer and lead them to look at Bart as a possible suspect. Marshal told me that they were looking at every possibility, which confirmed my fears.



After they left I fumbled my way into a wheelchair and rolled down to Bart’s room, where I found him asleep, as he seemed to be whenever I came to visit. It was as if he had crawled into a hole, trying to escape this nightmare. I asked his girlfriend (who had camped out at the hospital since the first morning) for a few minutes alone with my son.



“Bart, what were you thinking? You weren’t even in school? How could you lie to us about graduation?”



Bart seemed to forcibly pull himself out of some private hell as he sat up in his bed. The curtains were closed, and the room was dark. Gloom pervaded the atmosphere, with those areas just outside the edge of my vision in deepest shadow. At the time the thought did little more than register in my subconscious, but I would later recall this oppressive darkness and do much thinking about it. For now, my thoughts were focused on Bart. A momentary flicker of strange emotions danced in his eyes; he seemed to careen between grief, shame, regret, and fear.



“Dad, I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to tell you because I knew how much you and Mom were looking forward to my graduation. I just figured I could work it out and take the classes next semester, and nobody would know.”



“Nobody would know!” I was furious. “How would we not know? How would they let you graduate? How did you get into this mess in the first place?”



“Things were crazy at work all summer. Some guys quit, everybody was working long hours, and with school starting, I just didn’t have enough time. I’m so sorry! I decided to help at work and make up school in the spring.”



“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Thanks to this ‘little’ lie about graduation, the police think you’re a suspect! In fact, right now you seem to be their only suspect. You weren’t in school, you told everyone you were graduating, and they think you arranged to have us killed to cover it up. Can you see how stupid that was? Your lie has done the impossible—it has made Tricia and Kevin’s deaths even worse because now the police think you were involved! Do you have any idea how bad this is?”



Years ago, on a bike ride, I saw a hawk fly right over me, so close I could almost touch it. Clutched within its talons was a field mouse, still alive. I saw the bird swoop up to its nest, bringing breakfast to her young; it would be impossible to forget the look of resignation and terror in the mouse’s eyes as he passed over me. For a moment I saw the same look in Bart’s eyes, but it was gone almost instantly, replaced with resolve.



“Dad, that’s nuts! I didn’t have anything to do with the shootings! I’m sorry about the lie, it just happened. I didn’t mean to lie to you and Mom—I was just afraid of what you would say, and I didn’t want to disappoint you. This will be okay.”



“I don’t know. I’m so mad now, I could spit! I’ve told you before: you cannot ever allow yourself to start lying again! Look at the consequences of this one! If you hadn’t told the lie about graduation, they would be looking elsewhere and might find the real killer before the trail gets cold. Now they’re wasting time on you, and who knows how long they’ll keep at it!”



After a while I calmed down, and I told him I loved him and that the police would soon realize nothing tied him to the shootings. I went back to my room, still angry, disappointed, and depressed. What would happen next?



As the days passed, two things happened: First, the investigation centered more and more on Bart as the mastermind of a plot to kill the rest of the family, assuming that his motives were greed and to cover up for failures at school. Second, I came to realize that perhaps my life had been spared for a reason. God must have something important for me to do, because I could see no logical explanation for my still being alive. The bullet hit me well away from my right lung, and nearly six inches from my heart. The gunman couldn’t have been that bad a shot. Not at that close range.



It occurred to me that perhaps my purpose was to be God’s agent of guidance and instruction for Bart. If he was innocent, I would be the anchor he relied on as he weathered the storms of suspicion; I wouldn’t let him go through that horror alone. If he was guilty, I would be in a unique position to model God’s unconditional forgiveness and love. I might be the person God would use to soften Bart’s heart. And since I already had forgiven whoever was responsible, if Bart was guilty, he would be covered in a pure forgiveness, granted before I ever thought it might apply to my son. Either way, until I knew more, I would be nonjudgmental and supportive. While I couldn’t gloss over anything or minimize the consequences of any wrongs Bart might have committed, I still needed to show him that God forgives and that there is always hope.



Maybe I’m crazy. But I took comfort in knowing that I was doing what God wanted me to do. I like reading that line in the Bible about the wisdom of God being foolishness to man. Maybe a nut was exactly whom God intended to use.

This book gripped me from page one. Kent's faith and his trust in God inspires me. The way that he showed love and guidance to his son despite his treachery is beyond my current comprehension. But I applaud him! After reading this book I've had some serious conversations with my children. I'm more attentive to what they do and say and what they don't do and say.

This is an incredible story of love, family and forgiveness.It is a wonderful picture of faith in action. And I believe it is a call to parents to engage, engage engage with your kids on a deeper level. That is not to say that Kent and his wife did't. I am sure they did. But if there is any chance to connect with your kids or other loved ones and keep them from falling prey to the lies of Satan, pursue that way.

I suggest you run, RUN to the bookstore or hurry, HURRY to Amazon and pick up this book.

Blessings to you!

Ahhh Teenagers

Have you ever seen a 14 year old throw a tantrum? It's not cute. Not. Cute. At. All.


My elder princess threw a tantrum on Resurrection Sunday...in front of all our company. This was her second offense. Apparently she did not learn her lesson the first time around. That didn't go over so well with the dictators, I mean my husband and I. Hubby and elder princess had a little "talk" upstairs.


Fast forward to Wednesday.......


Elder princess wants to know if she can spend the night at a friend's house. Que? Say what? Are. you. kidding. me? The dictators had already decided that since she could not be good company when we had guests over to our house where we, the dictators, pay the bills, she was not going to be have company or be company to anyone else for at least 2 weeks. You know, one week for each offense. We had no idea at the time that the pronouncement of sentencing would come so soon.


You know what I love? When they (kids) have caused a situation and want to take no responsibility for it. When her sentencing was announced, she whined about it not being fair. Smug mommy dictator said that her behavior on Sunday was not fair either. And by the way princess, there is no avenue for appeal.

But she tried.......

Thursday she cleaned her room with a "B+ effort" as I was informed. (Wonder what an A+ effort would like like? ) Oh yes, the clean room. It was beautiful. Elder princess was proud and smug. She came to mommy dictator and asked if she could spend the night at her friends house.

Mom dictator: "Ummm, no. I already told you that. "

Elder Princess: "But I cleaned my room!"

Mom dictator: "Yes and did a fine job, well because that is your job. But your sentence stands. The answer is no."

Elder Princess: "But I only cleaned it because I thought it would make you let me go."

Mom dictator: "I see. Well you would have had to clean it anyway. Answer is still no."

Elder Princess: "I'm going to ask again tomorrow."

Ahhh teenagers, they are a rare kind!