Easy Like Sunday Morning

Sometimes I get these impulsive ideas, like Sunday morning steel cut apple blender pancakes I found on Pinterest. We had some steel cut oats left over because they're allegedly good for increasing your milk production.

I think to myself that they'll be healthy, and maybe delicious (even though steel cut oats have never once been delicious), and I feel good about feeding my family wholesome foods.

Cut to everyone being whiney and tired, and crying because the blender is too loud, and pancakes that turn out like this: 

Nailed it! 

The Boy was interested in them, but mostly just to give them to BeYoYo, who unintentionally gives most of his food to the dog. 

So happy breakfast, Prissy!

How to Get Updates Via Email

Several people have asked me how to get updates about blog posts via email. I am just now figuring this out myself, so I figured I'd post here in case there are others who want to know.  At first I thought it was easy, but there are things like feedburns and pings and chiclets and other IT-y words, and these things are not my strength. My strength is talking about how I feel about these things, and that is useless when you are trying to get them to work.

If you already tried this and it didn't work, it was probably my fault. I had to click a secret "activate" button somewhere. I don't know, I pushed a lot of things since then.

You may have noticed the followers/members section on the right. It has little thumbnail pictures of people. You can join there if you want to follow via an RSS feed (like FeedReader or Feedly). That's like a virtual lasso that collects data from all your favorite blogs, but you have to check the RSS feed to get the content. If you don't want to check an RSS feed, continue to the follow by email directions below.

On the right, below the members section there is a button that says Subscribe By Email.  On this picture it says Follow by Email, but that's the old one that wasn't working. 

Type your email address into the box and press submit. I tried this with a google email address and with my yahoo address and it worked with both, so I'm thinking you shouldn't need a google account if you don't have one. 

Then it popped up confirmation of the email subscription request, and I entered the Captcha code to tell them I wasn't a robot. Please, I can barely figure out how to install an Subscribe By Email button, much less program a robot. 

Next I got instructions to check my email for a verification message. That email came immediately. I clicked the link in the email to verify my address and then I got confirmation that I was subscribed. 

Next you have to wait for an email. It won't send an email immediately when something new is published, but you'll get one email at the end of the day if there has been something new. I did a test post to check this, and I *think* it should be working now. When you get the email, it will show the first part of the post and you have to click on the blue title to get to the post and read the rest. 

Thank you for bearing with me, friends. My last post My Journey From Homophobia has gotten over 1000 hits. Blowing my mind! 

http://feeds.feedburner.com/LikeTheWorldNeedsAnotherBlogger

Feedburner email test

Testing testing 1, 2.

Funny words here.

A Goat Note

There's a house at the front of our neighborhood that has a metal yard art goat in the front yard. Every day they move the goat somewhere else in the yard, so it looks like he's grazing and exploring all over. We love it. The neighbors love it. He's become our unofficial neighborhood mascot. The Boy wants to slow down so we can spot him every time we come and go.

Then, at the end of the school year the goat looked like this:

And THEN, one day when we drove by the goat had had BABIES:

We don't know the owners of the goat, but The Boy loves them. So one day last week he decided to write the goat a note. Never being one to shy away from shenanigans, I was all too happy to help. He told me what to say and I wrote his words. 

It says 

"Dear Goat, 

Do you like super heroes? I like super heroes. Are you a boy or a girl? What are your babies' names? Do you want one of my capes? Do you like gorillas too? Do you know the muffin man? Is your favorite animal a spider or a ghost or anything?"

We delivered the goat note, along with one of his spare capes. He was very clear that we wouldn't give the goats all his capes, because one day his brother might want to wear one. The Boy was pleased. I was pleased. I figured this was the end of the story. 

Then the next morning I was tagged in a post in our neighborhood Facebook page. It was from the goat owners. It included a picture of the goat in the cape, as well as a message: 

"Please tell The Boy we got his note and thanks for the cape for the goat and yes he likes Super Heroes....Batman and Superman and Spider-Man are his favorites. The goat is a boy named Billy. Have not named the babies yet...could you help us with that? The goat does know the muffin man.....he lives on Drury Lane......been there. Billy's favorite animal is a rabbit....you may even see a brown one in our yard running around. Have a great summer!" 

The Boy asked me to write back and submit the following names for the baby goats: My-oh, Tio, Sandman, and Goat. 

The world is really filled with some wonderful people. And goats. 

My Journey From Homophobia

I grew up in a small town in North Georgia, about a half hour from the college town we live outside of now. The town is filled with good people. Good people who support the high school football team even though they have a terrible record. People who come out for the annual BBQ festival, who talk to you in the grocery store, and make you a casserole if you have surgery. People who give you a ride home from ball practice and check on you if you haven’t been to church in awhile. It’s the kind of place where if you cuss at the gas station your mama’ll know about it before you get home. 

In this context I got some overt and many subtle messages that homosexuality was immoral and   disgusting and that the gays were choosing to live in sin. My family was indifferent. We never talked about it. We did accidentally go to Disneyworld during Gay Pride week when I was in high school, but that was more about scheduling than supporting. It was the late 90s and homosexuality wasn’t on the news that I know of, with the exception of don’t ask don’t tell references now and then. I’d never met a gay person. To me, they were a distant group of sexual deviants that I had nothing in common with. I feared what I did not know.

Armed with this conviction and a holier-than-thou attitude, I didn’t question the information that I had. It feels good to be the side that is right with the Lord, after all. I said things at school that were not tolerant, that were not supportive, that would have been hurtful to anyone who was gay. I backed it up with things I’d heard the Bible said, but I hadn’t taken the time to investigate. I was the worst kind of Christian. I was too naive to know that many, many of my friends would later come out, and my words were likely contributing to a culture of intolerance and reinforcing a fear that they wouldn’t be accepted.

I graduated from that small town and moved a half hour and a half a world away. I’d still never met a gay person (or didn’t know I had) but as often happens, college changed me. There was a flaming gay guy in one of my classes first semester. He was beautiful and he rocked baby blue capri pants with confidence. He was funny, he was beautiful, he was smart, and he was nice. He  was complex and interesting, and did I mention beautiful? There didn’t seem to be anything vile about him. He didn’t even seem to be ashamed that he was gay! I was mesmerized. 

What my home town offered in kindness and community it lacked in diversity. Moving away offered me the chance at exposure to people who were different economically, socially, politically and sexually.  A social work major, I took classes in women’s studies, social work, and psychology. I explored issues of social justice, cycles of poverty, cultural competencies, and mental health. My academic life and my social life were challenging me, and I started questioning many of the things I believed in, and why I believed them. Ah, the college experience. 

I was still a Christian, but I questioned how God could hate entire groups of people. I met people who were different than me, and I wondered if they were really going to hell just because they didn’t grow up the way I did. How did grace and love fit in? I didn’t like that interpretation of God’s judgment, and I wondered if there were other things that I’d picked up along the way that could be interpreted differently too.

Then one of our high school friends came out to us sitting in a booth at the Applebee’s. It changed nothing, and it changed everything. He’d long been teased and denied being gay, so we weren’t surprised he was gay.  I guess I was surprised that he admitted it. I stammered through what I hope was some show of support, because I loved him and this revelation didn’t change that. He was still loving and compassionate and kind and funny and smart, and I didn’t want to lose him as a friend. In hindsight I think it took a lot of courage to come out to me, after I’d been judgmental and closed minded. I’m ashamed to think that someone would ever question if I would accept them. 

As time passed I became more tolerant, and my tolerance grew into acceptance and then advocacy. I met Christians who believe that Jesus loves us all and made us who we are. I met Christian pastors who preach acceptance and inclusion, that we’re all in it together and aren’t called to judge. I embraced that kind of Christianity, and though I'm still not sure about everything I believe, I felt better about those Christian ideals than the judgment I was spouting before. 

I don’t mean to say that I took my judgement from the gays and put it onto Christians who don’t agree with me, that wouldn’t be any better. I saw an article recently called An Explanation of Why Christians Don’t Accept Gay Marriage. I don’t mind when people disagree with me (hello, I’ve been on both ends of this issue!) but I didn’t like the article’s assumption that all Christians have to feel the same way on all issues. There are a hundred kinds of Christians, from the kind who bomb abortion clinics to those who only go to church on Easter, and 98 kinds in between. It feels freeing to be able to interpret things differently and still celebrate the things we interpret similarly. 

A dozen of my high school friends have come out, and I hope that I showed some level of support along the way. Some of our very best friends are gay, and they asked me to give a toast at their wedding. I was honored to, and took that responsibility seriously. They are now unofficial gay uncles (guncles) to our boys, and I’m so glad my boys have role models for healthy relationships of all kinds. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

I was outspoken and bold when I spoke out against homosexuality. And I was wrong. And I am sorry. And now I am outspoken and bold for equality and love and acceptance. May no one ever wonder again if I will be accepting of them.

I texted one of my best childhood friends after the SCOTUS decision on gay marriage to tell her congratulations that our country considers her an equal. I told her that I shutter to think about things I said in high school that weren’t supportive, and that I’m sad and sorry for those things. It’s something I hoped she knew, but I’d never said. 

She wrote back with grace, saying “so much of who we are in life now is defined by experiences we’ve had and although (our town) was awesome in many ways, lots of us had yet to experience life and we hadn’t had the opportunity to become the people we are today. At least you can say you’ve grown…some can’t. I know I have!” And then she encouraged me to write about it. 

And that, that, is what grace and love are about. Showing love and mercy to the one who persecuted you. Reserving judgment for the one who judged you. Getting love and forgiveness when you deserve none. The irony is not lost on me. 



"Let all that you do be done in love." 1 Corinthians 16:14

Seven Under Seven

This week marked my 16th year going to the beach with The Husband's family. You may remember last year's post, when we had Six Under Six. Thanks to us, we now have seven under seven. Don't worry, we aren't planning to make it eight under eight next year.

Seven children. Eight adults. Two floors. Six beds. One pull out couch. One tent. Four cars. One trip to Urgent Care. Forty-seven trips to Publix. 127 wardrobe changes. 612 meltdowns.

The first afternoon we got there we assessed the place and started bringing our things in. We arrived in waves, and the kids were more excited with each new arrival. They ran, they bounced, they air "fighted" with fists and kicks and spins. The Boy kept screaming "I have the power!" in his best He-Man voice. They jumped on beds, and we yelled "don't jump on the bed!" and "use an inside voice!" We would isolate one to make eye contact and ask them to calm down, then they'd be gone, lost in a cloud of dri-fit fabric and warrior calls. Then more cousins would arrive and it would start over, and they were all hopped up on sea air, freedom, and gas station snacks. It was like a continual ambush of tiny dwarf ninjas. 

Full contact movie watching. They are still like this for approximately 28 seconds. 

Here BeYoYo has on his cousin's Halloween Hello Kitty shirt, and is wielding two swords. 

Day two BeYoYo came down with a virus. His temp hovered at 100, and if he could talk he'd have said he felt pretty crummy. It lasted for about 24 hours, and he was back to himself. The next day was The Boy's turn. You know you're a real parent when someone says they're going to throw up, and you instinctively offer your hands just in time for them to fill them with vomit. By the end of the week, 5 of the kids and The Husband had had a fever, with some variation of chills, vomiting, sleepiness, and general crabbiness. The Husband's temp reached 102.5, and I was afraid for a minute I was going to have to drive us home without his help. And also for his safety, of course.

Sorry we brought a virus, guys. 

With four families on different schedules, and three sets of small kids all staying up later than usual, eating more junk than usual, and having to get along with more people than usual, there were bound to be some meltdowns. Like this one, which I don't remember the reason for, but I remember that as she was crying, another child snuck up on her and added a cape:

Classics like "Can I have some Cap'n Crunch? I want Cap'n Crunch. PLEASE please please please can I have some Cap'n Crunch?" Child receives Cap'n Crunch and screams "Noooo! Not THAT!" and falls in the floor like she's been slapped in the face.  A variation on that theme is the parent saying "Come eat your cereal. Come eat your cereal. You need to come eat your cereal before it gets soggy." and child shows up, takes one look at the cereal and screams "I can't eat that! It's WET!" These tiny people look at us, pleading for food and better treatment like they are on adopt-an-orphan infomercials instead of on family vacation. 

There were also the old standbys like I don't want to go to bed, I'm hungry but I don't want to eat, she bothered my thing, he's looking at me, it's my turn now, I don't want to go in, I don't want to go out, I have to pee, I don't have to pee, and I don't want to be doing whatever everyone has decided to do. There was also some incoherent shrieking, brought to you by these two, who didn't want to be left out:

We took the oldest six out to eat once, and grandparents kept BeYoYo. It was loud. And hot. And past their dinner time. And at the last minute the restaurant fryer quit working, so no chicken tenders and fries. Children, you'll have to make do with hamburgers or sandwiches or fish. No? Okay, then, just eat raisins and goldfish for dinner. There was a lot of grouchiness, but mostly just from me. 

Don't think we took them all on our own. The other adults just didn't make it in the pic.

The dwarf ninjas enjoyed the pool and the beach, the pirate museum, the old fort, and the light house. Mostly they just enjoyed playing with each other. 

The Boy said the pool was his most favorist thing of all. The Husband said we could have just stayed at home and gone to the Ho Jo and saved a lot of money. 

We had The Boy's birthday party at the beach and celebrated with his twin cousin. The Husband had made me promise not to make a cake, and I obliged. But.....the bakery I had been emailing with quit responding. So we agreed to pick up an ice cream cake and I'd make fondant decorations for the top. I know, I know, I can't leave well enough alone. She wanted mermaid, he wanted Superman. 

Here they are, happy at their party. 

We're four! We're best buddies! What could go wrong?

And here she is, blowing out the candle on cue, but before he was ready. 

And here he is, starting to pout. Check out her face. 

Afterward there were mutilated sugary body parts everywhere. It looked like a cartoon shark attack. 

Even though he won't be one for three more weeks, we celebrated BeYoYo's birthday at the party too. When in Rome. 

Turns out he loves cake. He gets that from me. 

Family pictures were epic. Legendary. The things family stories are made of. 

We wanted one decent picture of all the grandkids with the grandparents. This is one of the better ones we got. From left to right we have itchy, not sure what to do, he's touching me, starving, exhausted, confused, and I love my penis. You'll noticed even the grandparents aren't smiling. The rest of us are all behind the camera, threatening and promising and pleading for just ONE picture. I don't think Bebe is going to want to frame this, folks. 

And we got some shots of just us too. 

I accused the Husband of squinting here, and he said "that's just my natural grimace"

He accused me of reigning over everyone here. I told him that was just my natural position. 

This one sums up our week the best: The Husband is rubbing his eye, BeYoYo is like "hey guys!", The Boy is sticking his tongue out, and I'm wasting my time trying to wrangle them all. 

My brothers in law did manage to get this shot of the oldest six. BeYoYo was asleep, and I'm not complaining. Is anyone good with photoshop? 

We made it home on Saturday with a liberal mix of screen time and junk food. Prissy was so excited to see us that she ran in circles and threw up in the floor.  BeYoYo laughed from his car seat saying "More! More!" Then he blew out a diaper, and another. I went to put the cloth diaper in the washer, and a mouse darted out from behind the washer to the garage. We'd been home 15 minutes. Welcome home. If you need me I'll be back at the beach. Or the Ho Jo. 

Vintage transportation nursery

BeYoYo is 11 months today! So I figured it's time I show you his room. We went with a vintage transportation theme, mostly because I saw a metal pushcar at an auction when I was pregnant and felt like we *needed* it. Don't blame me, blame the hormones.

The crib was free, given to us by an old neighbor. I found the Pottery Barn train bumper pads at a consignment sale for next to nothing. The art is from etsy, and I made the mobile myself. 

The dresser was my grandparents' and the baby gown was my granddad's when he was a baby in 1925.

My mom was particularly proud of the mobile, considering how I'm always proving I can't sew. Also, she helped a lot.

Big brother made this train as his contribution before BeYoYo was born. Actually, my mom helped with that too. 

Airplane shelf is from HomeGoods, natch. 

And the blue dresser is an antique store find. We had the green rocker/recliner from The Boy's nursery. 

The dormer window is the perfect size for a changing table (from goodwill!) and the metal car that inspired it all. I don't actually let anyone play with it because it's metal and sharp and turns out, super impractical.

Car hooks were on clearance from Hobby Lobby, and hold one of the john johns his daddy hates but I put him in for church anyway. He's got the rest of his life to wear t-shirts. Carpe diem.

I just scored this awesome car rug made from fabric scraps for $5. Woot!

And my favorite thing of all is the quilt my mom made. The train is made from fabric from some of our grandparents' clothes. The whole thing was a surprise to me and made me do a long pregnant ugly cry. Sometimes when I rock BeYoYo I wrap us up in the quilt and get right sentimental. 

And what does BeYoYo think of his room? 

He's not particularly impressed.