Queen Kelley

Today my little girl, who will be four in two weeks, asked me a question. As I drove us to the library, she sat behind me in her car seat.

“Mama, which one is God, and which one is Jesus?” she wondered.

I’ve been going to church since I was born. I went to Sunday school and Vacation Bible School, sang in the children’s choir, and considered the youth group my second family. I attended summer camps that emphasized rededicating your life to Christ (which I did every year only to consider myself a failure once I got back home). I even went to a Baptist college where I sang on a BSU ministry team that traveled all around the Southeast, and I met and married a born and bred Baptist boy. For these ten years of married life, I’ve been highly involved in a local church—serving various roles such as choir member, small group facilitator, Bible study leader, soloist, preschool choir teacher, and committee member. I’ve been a part of an adult Sunday school class full of people who aren’t afraid to explore the big questions about our faith.

But when my young daughter asked this question, I was stumped. How do I explain this to her when I don’t understand it myself?

I bumbled through it, telling her God is the one we can’t see, the one who made the whole world and everything in it, the planets and the universe beyond. I told her Jesus is the person whom God sent to earth as a baby who was born just like we were born, who grew up and lived and taught and showed us what God is like. Since we can’t see God, God sent us Jesus. It wasn’t a great explanation, and I tried to hear my words as she might hear them—literally. And her next question proved that I didn’t do such a good job of putting myself in her shoes.

“How can God make everything if he isn’t real?” Natalie asked.

She equated visibility with reality. What is real is what we see. What we see is what is real.

“God is real, honey,” I replied. “He’s—he’s….”

Where is he? And is he even a he? My internal dialogue won out for a moment, and it bothered me. I couldn’t answer my kid’s question in a way that she would understand.

As I grasped for a better answer, she followed a completely new train of thought. I finally realized she was no longer interested, and I stopped trying to explain the unexplainable.

Tonight, my little girl’s questions haunt me because I find that I can’t answer them honestly—not even for myself.

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, so I decided to stop by the blog (it’s been a while) and list significant statistics related to kids with cancer. (I’m grateful to Janice, mother of Holly and Mimi, for this list, which I took from her Caring Bridge page. Also, I took the image from jayshope.org.)

1. Number of children who will get cancer: 1 in every 300.
2. Number who will not survive: 1 in 5.
3. Number of children diagnosed with cancer each school day: 46.
4. Number of children who die of cancer every school day: 7.
5. Number of children currently fighting cancer: 35,000.
6. Number of new drugs developed for childhood cancer in the past 25 years: One.
7. Percentage of cancer research money spent on childhood cancers: 3%.

We all have causes that are close to our hearts. This is mine. You can click on my tab “Childhood Cancer” and read more about why it matters to me. This month, you may see gold ribbons on people’s shirts and cars. We have these ribbons to remind us of the many kids battling cancer and of the ones who are with God now. When you see them, I hope you’ll think about these kids and their families. Go Gold!

[WARNING: CONTAINS MILD SPOILERS]

Yes, the end is near…concerning my favorite television show, Lost, that is.

As I write, two episodes remain, though one is reportedly a 2 1/2-hour series finale. The last several episodes of this epic show have provided answers to numerous questions we’ve asked for several years now: Who are the skeletons in the cave? What are Jacob’s origins? How did the Man in Black become a “smoke monster”? What is the source of the mysterious whispers? Why is Richard ageless? Et cetera, et cetera. Some of the answers have disturbed me (particularly the shattering of my ideal of the Jacob character, who seems more clueless than I imagined), some have confirmed my suspicions (the Man in Black is perhaps less evil than I thought), and many have only provoked more questions (I still don’t know the purpose of the Island).

Usually, after watching an episode, I head over to Entertainment Weekly.com to read Doc Jensen’s unpacking of the story. Often much of what he writes flies over my head, but I think this reflection on last week’s episode finally highlights the point of the entire series:

It could be that Lost is philosophically relativistic and religiously pluralistic—but given everything else we’ve [seen] on the show, I think what’s more likely is that Lost just doesn’t trust human beings enough to know “the right answer.” We are too flawed, too damaged, too biased, too selfish, too incapable, too limited, too mortal, just plain too much of this world to be able to really and fully know what this world is really all about. To paraphrase Mother: All our answers will only lead to more questions. It’s an infinite progression into infinite regression—”turtles all the way down” cubed…. I don’t think Lost is saying to stop pursuing truth. Not at all. I think it’s more concerned with how we conduct our search and how we can labor with our neighbor in their search. Because lord knows that the bloody, brutal fight over all this stuff remains more troubling and terrifying than ever. (See full article at All About Lost.)

Interpret these words as you will. I do the same for myself. Lost has been one great big mysterious pile of confusion. Entertaining, yes, but rather frustrating for its continued sense of the unknown and the untold. Kind of like this journey of faith I’m on. I know many people who are completely at peace with the answers they’ve found in their spiritual lives. Though they may have further questions, they are okay with not knowing and they accept that they “see through a glass darkly” for now (1 Cor 13:12).

Sometimes I wish I were like this so the incessant questions about God and faith would stop torturing me. Then again, I find that the process of discovery (or continued mystery) is rewarding in itself. I think Doc is right. Most of us are completely incapable, for various reasons, of reaching Ultimate Truth here on earth. As I watch Lost, most revelations only lead to more questions. As I journey through my faith life, I find that the same thing happens. I feel at peace with one aspect of my beliefs only to question another.

Wikipedia cites a book by Stephen Hawking to explain Doc’s “turtles” comment. Hawking said a scientist once explained the arrangement of our galaxy—the sun in the center and everything orbiting around it. At the end of the lecture, a lady said, “What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.”

The scientist replied, “What is the tortoise standing on?”

“You’re very clever, young man, very clever,” the lady said. “But it’s turtles all the way down!” (From Hawking, A Brief History in Time [Bantam Books, 1988])

Say what you will about Hawking, but this story resonates with me. The answers to our questions about something as grand and unfathomable as God will simply bring more and more questions. And everyone will have his or her own idea of how to answer them.

Sadly, I think religious sects (and divisions within those sects) will continue to war about their ideas of the Truth. It is indeed a “bloody, brutal fight,” and it is “troubling and terrifying.”

I think Lost, as a series, has touched deeply on the fact that we may not all know exactly where we’re going, why we’re here, what God means to us, how life and death and afterlife will play out, or how we got here in the first place. However, the show has shown effectively that, even in our ignorance of these things, we can still make choices and take leaps of faith that have widespread implications—for good or for evil.

What will I choose?

The world lost two people last week.

One died on April 13. I knew him in high school and lost touch soon after graduation. He was a brilliant, witty, tortured, terribly tragic soul. After more than ten years of substance addiction and struggles, he apparently lost his life at the hands of another. A few brief comments in his city’s newspaper noted his death at age 32, deeming it a possible homicide. A few people who cared about him are hoping to give him some small semblance of a memorial service.

One died on April 17. I knew him through the vast collection of his writings that I have edited over my years of work with a local publishing company. He was, to quote the executive vice president of my company, “a combination of care, insight, wit, tenacity, common sense, faithfulness, and hard work.” Loved by a dear wife and daughter and thousands of others who either learned under him or worshiped under his leadership, he lived a full life and was a powerful agent for change in the Baptist denomination. Multiple-page obituaries and editorials honor his life and work. At 82, he might have lived longer, but it is certain that he could not have lived much fuller than he already had. Caring loved ones are giving him two separate memorial services this week.

Two deaths. One barely noticed. One deeply mourned. Both infinitely significant in their own ways.

I will remember each man.

That’s the date when I meant to write this post. It’s been on my heart ever since. On that day three years ago, our Ladybug was born. I look at our little blondie, with her still soft, chunky body, and notice that her legs are lengthening. At her well visit this morning, the doctor exclaimed that Ladybug gained five inches in height in one year! She stands beside her big sister and lacks only a few inches before people confuse them as twins.

I think about the other ways she grew this year. Her silky blond hair that falls straight no matter how I style it now touches her shoulders. Her face, though still round and smooth, is more expressive. Her hands gained amazing dexterity that allows her to cut impossibly small shapes from paper and scatter them all over the floor.

Ladybug is a package of contrasts: adorable and rowdy; physically loving and abusive; sweetly quiet and deafening; curious and indifferent; daring and fearful.

She is a fascinating balance (and sometimes unbalance!) to her more observant, cautious sister. She makes us laugh, and she makes us wring our hands. We love her deeply, fully, and unconditionally. Always. Happy belated birthday, my spunky three-year-old!

Ulcerative colitis (UC). When I told Butterfly she has it, she giggled and said, “That’s a silly name!” She’s dealt with diarrhea and minor bleeding for nearly a year, so the introduction of a name makes little difference to her.

Yesterday, I received a call from Dr. GI’s assistant, who told me the definitive diagnosis. They want Butterfly to begin taking a maintenance medication called Apriso, whose purpose is to keep a person in “remission” from UC. This means people take it to keep their symptoms at bay and control inflammation. In two weeks, Dr. GI wants to see the three of us. If he thinks Butterfly has made no progress, he will put her on a short-term steroid to get the condition to the point where we can maintain remission.

Of course, we’ve consulted the great Internet to research this disease, explore its implications, and learn more about the treatments. As with any health problem, treatments and symptoms range from mild to extreme.

We are glad Butterfly’s problem is diagnosed so early, but also sad that she will likely live with this condition and be on medication for most of her life. We are grateful that UC is at least treatable and, with good care, not life-threatening, but we are heartbroken that our little girl has to deal with this at all.

I let my mind wander into the future, when her digestive issues may cause her emotional as well as physical discomfort and embarrassment. I think about the possibility that she may have to undergo surgery in her adult years. I wonder what kinds of side effects the medication may cause, even years from now.

Believe me when I say we are so thankful for a happy, otherwise healthy child who is blissful and relatively oblivious to the seriousness of her problem. We know that much, much worse illnesses and diseases strike too many children to name. Even so, please understand that we still grieve for what she has. To one who dearly loves a child, any problem is one problem too many.

Thanks again for everyone’s comments, support, prayers, and love. We’ll take care of Butterfly, and she’ll be fine regardless of any obstacles her condition might put in her path. And I have no doubt that she’ll take care of us too. She already does.

How do you prepare a five-year-old child for a colonoscopy? You don’t say, “Sweetie, the doctor needs to check your colon for growths, bleeding, or other irregularities. He will sedate you through an IV and stick a thin, flexible probe up your rectum so he can take pictures and biopsies. In order for him to do this, your colon needs to be completely clean, so Mommy and Daddy will deprive you of food for more than 48 hours. You can only have clear liquids, gelatin, and a limited number of popsicle flavors during that time. Oh, and you’ll also have to drink an over-the-counter laxative every two hours until your bowel movements are runny and clear. Okay?”

No. Instead, you say, “Sweetie, the doctor wants to take pictures of the inside of your tummy. We want him to be able to see everything, so your tummy has to be clean. It can’t have food in it. This weekend, you get to have special things like all the juice you want, popsicles, and jello! We’ll mix a special medicine into your juice to help you go potty. On Monday, the doctor will help you fall asleep so he can take pictures, and then we’ll go home and you can eat! Okay?”

The King and I bore the burden of knowledge for more than a week without telling our daughter. We wondered how she’d take it. I, for one, am grateful for a husband who took Butterfly aside on Saturday morning, cuddled her in his lap, and gently relayed the news to her. From her reaction, you’d think he’d offered her a trip to Disney World.

GG, the King’s mother, came to take Ladybug away for two nights. Without her sister’s competition for attention, Butterfly thoroughly enjoyed her two full days of having Daddy, Mommy, and Nana (my amazing Queen Mother!) all to herself, complete with new activity books, food coloring to mix into shaving cream, a new movie, a fresh box of colored chalk, and plenty of one-on-one time with each of us in turn. She drank her Miralax-laced juice like a champ, handled the resulting potty trips with grace, and suffered through a few bites of jello and sips of broth. Only on Sunday evening did she begin to complain of an aching belly.

By the time we made it to the hospital on Monday morning for our 8:30 check-in, our girl was puny. She rarely spoke, grew listless, and fell asleep several times as we waited in our little corner of what eventually became the recovery room, along with five other children getting upper GI scopes. One by one, the kids went away, got their IVs, and returned, only to leave again on their rolling beds for their procedures. A kind nurse came to give and get information, noted Butterfly’s condition, and quickly ordered fluids for her IV. The King carried her back for access, and later he reported that once her beloved Mickey Mouse got his IV, she took hers well. Apparently, the “magic cream” they rubbed at the site made the needle stick painless.

The fluids perked her up a little; she watched the Disney Channel while we waited for her turn. Nothing prepares you for witnessing powerful drugs put your little one to sleep. Even so, Butterfly (and her parents) did well. After the brief procedure, the doctor (whom I’ll call “Dr. GI”) spoke with the King and me, telling us about his findings. Unfortunately, Butterfly has some form of colitis. We are waiting for results from the biopsies Dr. GI took, which will help him determine between ulcerative colitis or Crohn’s Disease. He thinks colitis is the most likely diagnosis, which involves less of the digestive system than Crohn’s.

We were all surprised, considering Butterfly’s healthy weight, eating habits, and active lifestyle. Dr. GI said the lining of her colon bleeds easily and sloughs off. We saw pictures, and the problem is obvious. Basically, this is worse than we expected but not as bad as it could be. Medication can help control the chronic condition, and she will likely have a thriving adulthood. With good treatment, Butterfly can avoid any complications from the disease. I know enough about childhood afflictions to be grateful for something treatable.

The King and I are still trying to process what we learned. Of course, our consult with Dr. GI once the results come back will help. For now, we enjoy watching Butterfly as she enjoys life—creating her artwork, making “soup” outdoors from various nature items, playing with friends, telling us about her days at school, and aggravating her little sister. For now, we live.

Yes, it’s been a long time. Personal writing is not a priority in my life right now. If it were, I’d take time to do it more often. The good thing is I’m okay with that. For now. On to the post…

We’ve all been there: bearing a burden for days at a time, maintaining relative control of our emotions, moving through life as usual despite the knot in our stomachs. And then we reach the boiling point.

For me, it was last Friday morning. In December, I wrote generally about a medical issue Butterfly faced. Since then, the King and I have debated whether to go through with the recommended test. Meanwhile, Butterfly continued to have sporadic episodes of diarrhea and bleeding. We finally realized that the colonoscopy, a test most people don’t think about until they’re fifty, was necessary for our five-year-old. (Check back for more regarding the test and results.)

So there I was on Friday morning, after a week of knowing the scheduled date for the scope, mentally preparing myself to deny my daughter food over the weekend, and it all boiled over. The girls were dressed for school, and I looked forward to the much-needed three hours of work time before the trials of the next days. We needed to leave in ten minutes. Then Ladybug, nearly ready to claim her place in the “Trying Threes,” refused to let me comb her hair. She also refused to comb her own hair. She whined, she resisted, and she attacked. Eventually, I calmed her. At the door downstairs, though, she refused to put on her shoes and had another meltdown. After buckling a placid Butterfly into her booster seat, I returned to the house to get my wailing younger daughter. At long last, my heart pounding in frustration (it was, after all, 9:00, and we were supposed to be at school), I sat at the steering wheel. Unbelievably, the car wouldn’t crank, apparently the result of a door left open for hours the day before.

That did it. For perhaps the first time, my girls saw me cry. It silenced their argument. I tried unsuccessfully to phone a friend, and then I just sat there struggling to compose myself. Several minutes passed, and then Butterfly said calmly, “Why don’t we just get out of the car?”

We did. We went inside. I was able to reach my friend, who graciously came and drove us to the preschool thirty minutes late, where dear, sweet teachers welcomed my girls with smiles and open arms. I got more than two hours to finish editing an overdue book for my supervisor.

For some, exceeding the boiling point is healing. It was for me. I spilled out the rough bits and discovered smoother waters beneath. Thanks to the physical release of sobs and the rescue of a priceless friend, I was able to move ahead with the path awaiting me. Sometimes we have to reach the boiling point before we can go forward. When I do, at least I have a little observer who puts life into perspective. Check out the picture Butterfly drew to capture the moment. Ladybug sits in the back seat. I’m in the front. Butterfly, my hero, stands outside the car, using her long super arm to try to push the vehicle out of the garage. “It didn’t work,” she told me. But look at her smile. She reminds me that, even when it doesn’t work, it will be okay.

Recently, I wrote a post about “going green,” a phrase that frankly is losing its power as it grows in popularity. Let’s just say my family and I wish to take better care of our bodies and our world. What we eat, use, and throw away affects not only us but people all over the earth—now and in the future. Folks can debate the political and religious implications all day, but the truth remains. Where our food originates, how farmers nurture and harvest it, and how far it travels matters. What we buy, the way we handle the packaging materials, how much waste we create, and where it goes matters. I simply don’t understand how anyone can disagree with this.

Being better stewards isn’t necessarily easy because our society is set up to make life instant and convenient. Helpful steps like home-cooked meals with whole foods take a bit more time and planning than shoving a store-bought entree into the microwave. Rinsing and sorting various recyclable items takes more effort than simply tossing everything into the kitchen trash. Even so, I think many families can begin taking small, comfortable steps and work their way to a level that suits them. That’s what we’re doing.

Here are our recent steps on the road to more environmentally sound and physically beneficial ways of life.

1. We recycle aluminum, paper, glass, and plastics. We are fortunate to have a curbside pickup service for these. Some parts of our area aren’t serviced in this way, and it may require extra effort to get items to the local recycling center.
2. We buy more whole foods. This means I try not to purchase so many mixes or prepared items: no taco seasoning, store-bought bread, frozen hash browns, pre-made cookie dough, etc. Amazingly enough, this amateur cook who can’t even separate eggs has been making these things herself!
3. We strive to buy produce, dairy, and meats that are either organic or harvested in less harmful ways—less or no preservatives, pesticides, hormones, or other chemicals. These foods are more expensive, but I find that I actually use all of them rather than letting fruits and veggies go bad or leaving meat in the freezer for much too long. My friends and I have joined a group called Organics to You, which delivers local and/or organic produce and grassfed beef right to your doorstep each week. (We’re only in our first week, but we’re hopeful that this will work for us.)
4. We use washcloths instead of napkins and paper towels. I still buy napkins, but only for times when we have guests and I am embarrassed by my stained washcloths.
5. The girls and I are experimenting with more naturally sound toiletries. We use either Avalon Organics or Burt’s Bees shampoo and conditioner and Tom’s of Maine bar soap (all available at Wal-Mart). I purchase my homemade mineral makeup online from All Natural Face, and I am very satisfied with it, as the cost is comparable to or less than what I paid for Cover Girl, and it covers/accentuates well. I use Avalon Organics Vitamin C cleansing milk to wash my face. Lotion and deodorant are tricker. We need a strong lotion for Butterfly’s eczema. After checking Skin Deep, I found that our fragrance-free Curel ranks a 3 for hazards, so I’m okay with that. The Tom’s of Maine deodorant I tried made my skin burn and did not keep me dry, so for now I’ll stick with a fragrance-free, sensitive-skin product from Dove.
6. We use unbleached, unbromated flour from King Arthur for baking. Specifically, I’ve discovered a white whole wheat with the same nutrients as traditional whole wheat but a lighter flavor. It’s delicious in pancakes, waffles, cookies, and even brownies.
7. I actually bake our bread, finally using the bread machine we received as a wedding gift 8 1/2 years ago that, until recently, sat in the bottom of my pantry. Thanks, Heather, for showing me how easy it is to use! We haven’t bought bread from the store in more than a month.
8. We switched to pure butter rather than spreads* and to full-fat natural cheese rather than shredded and bagged low-fat cheese, which has pleased the King in particular.
9. I continue to strive to conserve water and power.

Every family is different, and we can all make small steps that suit us. I want to do more—get better with my cooking, perhaps even make my own yogurt (!), eventually move to safer dairy products. Maybe you, like us, can begin by taking one small step. Eventually, you may move forward to do even more.

* Ingredients in my tub of Country Crock: water, vegetable oil blend (including partially hydrogenated oil), tricalcium phosphate, salt, vegetable mono and diglycerides, lactic acid, potassium sorbate, calcium disodium edta, soy lecithin, polyglycerol, esters of fatty acids, zantham gum, vitamin E acetate, vitamin A palmitate, beta carotene for color, artificial flavor, cholecalciferol, whey. I don’t know what half of that stuff is.

Ingredients in my sticks of Land O Lakes unsalted butter: sweet cream, natural flavor. The taste is fabulous. Need I say more?

When Butterfly was a young toddler, we noticed a blue tint around her lips after she finished eating. It went on for several weeks until I decided it warranted a mention to the doctor. It all culminated in a highly traumatic sonogram of Butterfly’s little heart. Though the procedure didn’t hurt, she hated being made to lie on a table while strangers put goo and an odd contraption on her chest. No problems were found.

A few weeks ago, our Ladybug started coughing yet again. She’s used Xopenex nebulizer medication six times since her birth, and it usually helps soothe this cough. But when we medicated her only to have the cough return a week later, we grew concerned and consulted her pediatrician. It all culminated in an X-ray of her lungs. Fortunately, Ladybug took it in stride and refrained from crying. She did, however, sit shirtless on that steel table with a fearful look in her eyes that went straight to my heart. Again, no serious problems were found—only a confirmation of the bronchitis that her doctor already suspected.

It’s tough to find the line between caution and overreaction, to navigate the boundary between responsibility for your children’s lives and irrational hypochondria on their behalf. Yet, as the primary caregiver of our girls who spends hours with them each day, I notice the unusual. I saw my baby’s blue lips. I heard my toddler’s wheezing breaths. In both situations, I made the decision to get treatment for them and go the extra step to labs for tests. Fortunately, the girls were fine.

It is so difficult decide when something needs attention. Right now, Butterfly has another issue that seems relatively minor, but doctors think a test will help them decide the best treatment. They base this decision only on my reports. Noting the symptoms I listed, they are choosing to go a step further and get conclusive results. I imagine the whole thing will be at least as traumatic as Butterfly’s tornado cat incident, and it is likely that the examiners will find no serious problems. My girl may endure this just to calm her mother’s inner worries.

Of course, I hope that’s what happens: that it merely calms my nerves rather than finding a problem. Still, it’s on me. And that’s tough.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading the Twilight series. I sighed with romantic glee as I read about Edward—his beauty, humility, and chivalry. I saw myself in some of Bella’s longings, in the way she let love take precedence over friendship, in her unhindered focus on the desire of her heart. I also saw myself in Bella’s friends, who questioned her devotion to such a strange and possibly dangerous boy and felt hurt by her withdrawal from them. The fifteen-year-old girl I used to be remembers these things well.

Though time and distance make me a bit more objective about certain situations, I will never completely lose sight of my teen self. My feelings raged so powerfully that I could barely contain them—frustration with my parents versus my deep love for them, powerful romantic love versus the ache of a broken heart, a desperate need for my friends versus a desire to be alone. If Stephenie Meyer does anything well in these books, it’s the way she portrays the roller coaster of the teenage heart. In reviewing the first film adaptation of the novel, NPR’s Kenneth Turan says, ”…the film of Twilight…treats those high-pressure high school emotions with unwavering, uncompromising seriousness; Laurence Olivier essaying Shakespeare didn’t approach his material with more reverence than is on display here.” He’s right. Meyer never pokes fun at the emotions, hopes, dreams, and yearnings of young people. That’s what struck me most about her books. (Well, right behind my head-over-heels fantasy love for a certain 104-year-old vampire, which was later challenged by my intrigue over the 16-year-old werewolf in book 2.)

The book series, translated into more than a dozen languages, has sold millions of copies and garnered mostly positive reviews. (See “Booksellers Find Life After Harry.”) Overall, I’ve viewed it positively as well. Recently, though, someone proposed the idea that maybe teen girls are taking away something unhealthy from these books. It’s all well and good for a grownup to read them with perspective, but what are they saying to young women?

What do you think, girls? Do these books/films inspire you to gravitate toward the “bad” boys? Do they support the idea that pining away for the one you love is acceptable when you’re 17? Are they suggesting that such powerful love and desire are okay when you’re still in high school? Do they make you seriously consider finding the love of your life and getting married right out of high school, not to mention pregnant? What do you think of Edward’s morals? Is he truly concerned with treating Bella respectfully, or does his inherent danger as a vampire outweigh his care? What do you think of Jacob’s words of caution to Bella? Is he right to insist that she takes Edward way too seriously, or do you think he simply wants her for himself and tries to make Edward less attractive?

I want to hear from you, Twilight fans! I’m especially interested in what teens and young adults have to say, but I also welcome comments from those like me who are decidedly NOT teens. Let the discussion begin!

The “green” life has interested me for a while. I’d love to grow my own vegetables, use homemade compost for fertilizer, collect rainwater in barrels, and take reusable shopping bags to Wal-Mart. Heck, I’d love to stop going to Wal-Mart altogether and frequent only local farmer’s markets. I’m not there yet.

Our family tries, though, to take the following environmentally friendly actions as consistently as possible:

1. Recycle all acceptable items (in our area, this includes glass, most plastics, paper, and cans).
2. Use washable cloths rather than paper towels (I still haven’t let go of paper napkins).
3. Use cleansers derived from natural sources (such as Method, my personal favorite).
4. Turn off lights when not in use.
5. Switch on the television only when people intentionally watch it.
6. Shut down our computers each night.
7. Keep the thermostat set at energy-saving temps (at least, the recommended 68 or below in winter; summer is a different beast here in central GA).

Inspired by a dear friend, I am also looking into toiletries that don’t contain harmful chemicals. Sweet Southern Belle pointed me to this site where you can look up your favorite products and see how they rate on a danger scale from 1 (safest) to 10 (most dangerous). Like her, I’ve ordered homemade makeup from All Natural Face on Etsy and tried a few organic hair and face products. We’ve used our regular products for years and years with seemingly no ill effects, but at the same time, it appears that many people suffer from cancer and other diseases whose causes aren’t necessarily known. I know the connections aren’t certain, but it stands to reason that if we pour these chemicals into and onto our bodies, eventually some harm will result. At any rate, I figure the safer products are worth a try.

How do they compare? Well, I miss the delicious smell of my regular shampoo. I didn’t mind Avalon Organics Shampoo’s lavender scent so much until my husband pronounced that it reminded him of wet paint. The texture also takes some getting used to, but my hair has nearly adjusted. I’m still waiting on my makeup to arrive, but the samples my friend gave me looked great and felt clean and fresh. Next up? Maybe deodorant and toothpaste.

I also want our family to try more whole foods and organic products. Still, how can we be certain the “organic” label isn’t merely a ploy for more money? Is anyone else trying these things? What are your thoughts?

As I’ve written elsewhere today, five years ago I was holding a chipmunk-cheeked, pointy-headed, chubby-limbed baby girl. It’s been a treat to watch her grow into a lovely little lady. Butterfly turned five years old at 8:37 this morning. Like all parents do from time to time, I stand in awe of her today, marveling that five years—some 1,825 days—have actually passed since the first moment I laid eyes on her. It’s humbling, overwhelming, and gratifying. The magnitude of responsibility I feel as her mother weighs heavily at times. What kind of teenager will she grow to be? Will she feel that she can talk to me about anything? Will she learn to make wise choices? Will she grow to treasure the mystery that is God? Will she treat other people and the earth with kindness and care? How greatly do I affect how she turns out in these areas? If I think on it too long, I get short of breath.

For now, I will save my dreams of the future for spare moments. Mostly, I’ll live hugely into the present. Butterfly is five years old! My artist who creates endless pieces that I can’t bear to throw away, no matter how high the paper pile grows. My dancer, not exactly graceful but robust with energy and delight as she twirls and leaps and stomps. My learner who asks endless questions about the world and people and life, who takes in information readily and shares it eagerly. My “reader” who can sit for long spans of time listening to the stories I tell her from picture books or from my own mind. My “writer” who draws a series of pictures and dictates tales to go along with them. My struggler who is working hard to put words to her emotions. My child of passionate emotions who bursts out with riotous laughter almost as easily as she dissolves into noisy tears.

Oh, how I love her. Happy birthday, my sweet girl!

I’m dropping by on this week full of birthday cake (three parties, including my own!) and the anticipation of a fun Halloween to promote Jay’s Hope, a local organization that helps families of children with cancer. The King and I, along with Sweet Southern Belle, are participating in the 5K (John will run; Heather and I will walk) on Halloween morning. After our “race,” we will meet up with our kids and enjoy the family festival. For a $5 wristband, children can participate in a number of carnival-style games and inflatables. If you’re in town and want to join a worthy cause, even as a phantom runner or festival participant, go here and print out a flyer: http://www.jayshope.org/pdf/Raceregform09.pdf. Spread the word! (image from jayshope.org)

Surely I’m not the only parent who engages in an internal wrestling match with myself when trying to decide whether a kid’s symptoms warrant a doctor trip. Just this morning, the match went like this:

- Butterfly’s cough sounds worse this morning.
- It sounds the same as it’s sounded for the past two weeks.
- Two weeks? Has it been that long?
- Yes, and you took her to the doctor for something else and asked about the cough. The doc cleared her and said she has allergies.
- But that was two weeks ago. The cough seems “juicer.” And is that snot coming from her nose?
- The cough has barely changed. She doesn’t cough at night. She says her throat itches, not hurts. She has no fever.
- But her preschool teacher gave me the LOOK on Monday. When Butterfly went out the door, she coughed hard and Mrs. Teacher looked at me.
- You told her Butterfly saw the doctor, and the teacher herself then guessed, “It’s just allergies, isn’t it?”
- Yes, I guess so. Still, maybe I should take her back to the doctor just to be sure. The cold might have moved into her chest.
- You really want to go to the doctor? There are people there. In the waiting room. And they breathe in. What’s worse, they breathe out. Do you want your kid to catch swine flu before she even sees the doctor?
- Swine flu! Oh no. One of the symptoms is a persistent cough. Two weeks is persistent. And now her nose is running a little. And she’s whiny this morning.
- Fever?
- No, no fever.
- Body aches?
- Not that she’s mentioned.
- Flat on her back and feeling as though she will die?
- Not at this point.
- Then it’s not swine flu.
- Okay, I’ll send her to school.
- But you already told her she was staying home today.
- She’ll want to go. It’s show and tell this morning.
- Don’t be so sure.

Unfortunately, idiot mom that I am, I had indeed told Butterfly that she’d probably see the doctor this morning instead of attending school. For some reason, she seemed excited about this idea, though she loves 4K. Then, her Disney princess computer game had the audacity to freeze in the middle of her playing time. A fit commenced. I consoled. The fit continued. I spoke firmly. The fit escalated. We both screamed. She shut herself in her room. I finally told her she was going to school after all, and the fit began anew, though this time in soft, whiny protests.

By the time we dropped off Ladybug and reached Butterfly’s classroom door, she seemed happy to go and ready to share her beautiful Barbie that we recently found at a yard sale. As Mrs. Teacher smiled a warm welcome, Butterfly turned back to me and said, “I want to stay with you.”

I took her aside and we performed our secret kiss (each of us tells the other what kind of delicious kiss we’d like–we both chose peanut butter chocolate this morning–and then we blow the kisses at each other), and she hesitantly entered her room.

At home now, my internal battle continues.

- She’s probably coughing her head off and freaking everybody out. I bet her nose has started running in earnest.
- She seemed fine most of the morning, aside from her fit.
- But she was emotionally compromised. I should have followed through with my earlier statement. I should have kept her home.
- You’re a terrible mother, you know that?
- And this afternoon, I’ve got to take them both to get their flu shots.
- To the doctor’s office?
- Yes.
- With all the breathing people?
- Where else?
- You’re sinister.
- But I’m going to take them for ice cream afterward.
- I’m sure the employees spit into the ice cream bins. Maybe you should just stay home. Always.
- Sigh. Maybe you’re right.

Over the years, my Butterfly has given me several boosts of self-confidence. You may recall the time she told me my black bra looked like it belonged to a certain sea witch. Once she narrowed her eyes at the wrinkles in my forehead—which appear ONLY when I raise my eyebrows, mind you!—and delightfully pointed out my “rainbows.” Later, she drew several pictures of me with colorful rainbow foreheads. On another occasion, as I did my business in a public toilet, she exclaimed, “Good job, Mama! You tee-teed!” I can still hear the snickers from surrounding stalls. On Monday after school, she happily told my friend that I don’t wear a shirt when I work out at home. She neglected to mention my sports bra. A few moments later, as I turned to buckle her into her car seat, she told me about studying “Mr. T” in class. This is not the man of A-team fame, but an inflatable letter person who apparently has tall teeth. She watched me respond to her, looking closely at my mouth. “Mama,” she said, “did you know your top teeth are much bigger than your bottom teeth?” I nodded and explained that when her baby teeth fall out, her grown-up teeth will look different too. Then she proceeded to inform me, with a completely serious expression, “You kinda look like a goat or a beaver or something.” What does a mama say to that? With only a hint of sarcasm in my voice, I answered, “Why, thank you, sweetie. How very nice!”

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, a month set aside to inform the general public that childhood cancer is a serious disease in our country (CureSearch says it’s “the most common disease-related cause of death for ages one to twenty”). At any given moment, parents and their children face the ever-present nightmare of pain, tests, treatments, separation, isolation, fear, and uncertainty. At any given moment, parents and other loved ones deeply miss a child whom cancer took from them.

I often mention my friend Jenny, whose daughter Catie died of brain tumor complications at age 4. There are hundreds and even thousands of others. Joshua passed away a few weeks ago. Kate is 5, just a little older than my Butterfly, and endures terrible stomach pain from brain tumor treatment. JB, age 8, and his mother live at St. Jude miles away from the rest of their family while he undergoes cancer treatment. (Click on the links to read about them.) These children should run, play, attend school, and have fun. In most cases, they can’t.

No one likes to think about childhood cancer. I certainly don’t. But I do. I am ever mindful that life can change in a moment. If you wish, see Curesearch.org for information on the Virtual Walk for 12,500. You can contribute money. You can give your time at Ronald McDonald Houses and similar places around the country. You can pray for peace, direction, and comfort as families cling to hope, doctors treat these children, and researchers work tirelessly for a cure. I am always hoping for a brighter future for these families and little ones.

It was mid-afternoon on this Wednesday, about an hour after Ladybug, age 2 1/2, woke from her nap. The three of us were upstairs, me sitting on my bedroom floor tackling a mountain of laundry, the girls being cats—nuzzling, mewing, “sleeping,” “eating.” Then Butterfly, age 4 3/4, wanted me to take the “cats” to the park, otherwise known as her bedroom. “Let me finish this laundry first,” I said, keeping up a running commentary on their antics as I folded. She went down the hall and then returned. “It’s a tornado!” she exclaimed, and proceeded to hurl herself back down the hall, a cat caught in a twister. She entered my room again, her sister trailing behind her, and asked me once more to join in the game. “Let me finish this job,” I said firmly. The tornado whirled her away.

Then I heard it. Whack! “What was that?” I said. Butterfly answered by screaming. When I saw the gash, nearly an inch long between her nose and right eyebrow, my stomach dropped. The next few moments passed in flashes—I yelled, “Oh, baby,” grabbed a washcloth from the nearby linen closet, pressed it to her eye to stop the blood, scooped her up and hurried downstairs while Ladybug stood bewildered in my bedroom, struggled to explain the situation to the King while Butterfly’s cries drowned out his voice on the phone, asked sweet Ladybug to get the beloved Mickey Mouse from Butterfly’s bed, loaded Ladybug into the car (wearing one pink flip-flop and one brown one), came back for Butterfly, got her buckled, retrieved a wet washcloth and cup of water, and finally headed to the ER.

We chose the smaller, closer hospital and were glad to find an empty waiting room. The King arrived to corral Ladybug, and the big girl and I headed back. During the next two hours, I cuddled her in the small bed as they poked and prodded the wound (which was surprisingly deep), bound her arms to her side with a pillowcase and tight sheet, injected anesthetic, and sewed up my kid’s head. How did the two of us survive it? With stories. As long as I kept up a running narrative, Butterfly made it through the frightening and painful experience. She was amazingly brave. Somehow, I was too. (In the photo, a bandage covers most of the wound, which stretches about a quarter inch or so above her eyebrow.)

I guess all parents whose children have such accidents replay the incident in their minds and wonder. What if I’d taken her to the “park” when she asked instead of concentrating on the ever-present laundry? What if I’d run from the “tornado” with her when she wanted me to? What if I’d noticed how quickly she was hurtling herself down the hallway, eyes closed and completely oblivious to the corner where the two walls joined? What if…? All unanswerable questions.

I am so grateful to live in a place and time that offers relatively fast, highly clean, and overwhelmingly kind emergency care. I’m thankful for a gentle doctor who asked my daughter about her favorite Disney princess, confiding in her that, if given a choice, he’d marry Belle. I’m glad for the nurse who gave Butterfly her own piece of foam tape, which she applied to her stuffed Mickey in various places as we waited.

Butterfly’s forehead is marred with four or five black stitches (with dissolvable ones reconnecting the second layer that was split beneath). She will likely bear at least a slightly visible scar. Her head will hurt for a few days. My heart will hurt much longer. But she is healthy and whole, and after a thirty-minute nap, a hearty omelet dinner, a big bowl of ice cream, and fun time with her aunt Katie and Katie’s boyfriend Murray (hereafter known as the Scottish Pirate), she happily went to bed.

We survived. And it was a tangible example of the fact that bad things happen in life, but, with a positive, honest outlook and a good story, we can make it through them.

WARNING: SPOILERS GALORE

After waiting far too long for a delayed release, I’ve seen it twice, and I’m hoping for a third viewing in a few weeks. Yes, it was that good. Here’s what I liked and what I didn’t like about the long-awaited film, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince:

What I liked:
- The three main actors. Emma, Dan, and Rupert have portrayed Hermione, Harry, and Ron for nearly ten years now. Watching them grow, both physically and as actors, is a treat. Increasingly over the span of six films, the chemistry between them radiates from the screen. In this one more than any other, each actor seems completely at home in his or her role.

- The adults. As always, an outstanding lineup of British actors portrays the roles of professors and Death Eaters, and they’re all brilliant. Three stood out in this film: Gambon as Dumbledore, simultaneously communicating confidence and uncertainty; Rickman as Snape, whose delivery of his lines is perfectly chilling and yet indicative of his inner conflict; and Broadbent as Slughorn, expertly showing us both his nervous guilt over a secret from his past and his greedy delight over various “collected” students.

- The teen angst and romance. The actors obviously had a blast portraying the ups and downs of teenage emotions. Jessie Cave was hysterical as Ron’s love interest Lavender Brown. Hermione’s jealousy was palpable, as was Ron’s smug attitude. Harry’s side glances at Ginny were amusing, as were Cormac’s revolting advances toward Hermione. The scene between Hermione and Harry after Ron kisses Lavender is touching and wholly believable.

- The Weasley Burrow. It’s always fun to walk through the Weasley’s magical home, with its impossible staircases and passages. I enjoyed seeing Arthur’s shed full of “Muggle artifacts.”

- The Felix Felicis scenes. Dan’s portrayal of Harry after he drinks “liquid luck” and follows its lead to discover Slughorn’s secret is excellent. The change in Harry is immediately evident: he’s confident, smug, and brash. His interactions with Slughorn are hilarious.

- The memories of Tom Riddle. The two actors who played Tom were spot-on—creepy, arrogant, confident, chilling. I truly believed those youngsters would grow up to be Voldemort.

- The cave scene. Both frightening and heartbreaking, the scene in the cave is well done. Dumbledore’s struggle to drink the potion and uncover the suspected horcrux was horrifying to watch, and I felt Harry’s urgency and agony as he forced his beloved headmaster to swallow until the liquid was gone.

- Draco’s inner battle. Tom Felton did a fine job of showing Draco’s conflict over doing what the Dark Lord required of him and being true to himself. For the first time, I was able to feel sorry for Draco, and that’s saying something.

- The scene at the tower and the pursuit. It wasn’t long enough, but it was superbly acted by all—Bellatrix’s madness, Draco’s struggle, Snape’s reluctant intervention, Dumbledore’s convincing pleas, and a wide-eyed Harry watching it all from below. Then came Harry’s anger as he chased Snape and charged him to fight back, effectively communicating both rage and grief over what he had witnessed.

- The tribute to Dumbledore. It wasn’t what I expected, but the raised wands that blotted out the Dark Mark in the sky, the genuine tears over the immense loss, and Harry slumped over Dumbledore were incredibly moving.

What I didn’t like:
- The attack on the Burrow. Like a few other unnecessary added scenes that took time from more important segments of the film, I thought this contrived attack was melodramatic and unbelievable. Enough said.

- The reaction to Dumbledore’s death. I noted above that the wand-raising was moving, but I still needed more closure to the loss of such a fascinating individual. Aragog the spider got a funeral. Why didn’t Dumbledore? I hope the seventh film offers a bit more reaction. It would be a fitting way to open part one of the Deathly Hallows.

- Ginny’s interactions with Harry. I’ve always enjoyed Bonnie Wright’s portrayal of Ginny, but it strikes me that she really hasn’t had much of a role thus far. In this film, when she needed to step up and prove herself a powerful force in Harry’s life, one strong enough to attract him to her, I think she fell a bit short. She’s a lovely girl, but I didn’t feel that she communicated Ginny’s fiery passion. At all.

- The omission of Tom’s family history. I thought we needed more of Tom Riddle’s background to understand the last two films. As my friend Monica said, Harry’s certainly going to need his friends’ help to find the remaining Horcruxes since he missed so many essential memories about Tom.

- The length of the climax and the absence of the battle. It’s been long enough since I read the book that I can’t fully remember the climactic events at the end of it. Even so, the confrontation on the tower and the following brief interaction between Harry and Snape, though brilliantly acted, weren’t quite enough for me. I knew something was missing, and I needed more.

Overall reaction:
Fabulous adaptation of the sixth part of Harry’s story, even with its glaring additions/omissions. Strongly acted, beautifully scored, and powerfully moving. How long until November 2010?

I like lists, both making them and reading them. When I get to the end, I feel like I’ve accomplished something. For today’s list, I thought about sharing what with you. Then I figured why is a lot more interesting. So here’s my list of why, part 1.

1. Why I prefer reading and writing children’s literature. By children’s, I mean anything from picture books to teen fiction. I’ll admit I haven’t read much adult fiction, so my opinion is definitely biased. From the few pieces I’ve read, though, I have to say that children’s literature seems to offer more imagination, hope, and freedom to dream. Whether it’s fantasy, coming-of-age, or some other kind of tale, I’m completely pulled into books about or directed toward young people. In the best of these books, the characters are palpable, the life lessons subtle, the humor abundant, and the endings nearly always hopeful, if not necessarily happy. I enjoy writing for this age group for similar reasons. I’ve found that I don’t need explicit descriptions of sexual encounters to sense passion between individuals. I don’t need long, drawn-out, brutal death scenes to appreciate depth of loss. I don’t need excessive profanity to understand the fire behind a character’s words. The bottom line is that I simply think children’s literature is more fun and fulfilling to read. With limited reading time, I go with what I love.

2. Why Harry Potter is an obsession of mine. My infatuation with all things Harry Potter ebbs and flows with the book and movie releases. Recently, I’ve rewatched movies 3 and 4 and will soon watch 5 to get ready for the release of 6 next month. Of course, the books trump the movies any day, but time constraints don’t allow me to reread them in the way I’d like. As for Harry, there’s something incredibly moving about witnessing him transform from a small, awkward, and unaware young wizard into a force that defeats the wizarding world’s greatest enemy. Perhaps most fascinating is that he doesn’t actually evolve all that much. While his perspective on life and death and good and evil greatly matures, he is still Harry at the end of the series—awkward, slightly unsure, not at all self-glorifying. There are things to complain about regarding some of Rowling’s logic and lack of editing, but overall the series is powerful, captivating, and enduring. I look forward to reading the books with my kids in a few years. (As for the religious controversy over the books, I say it all comes back to Glenda’s question in The Wizard of Oz: “Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?” Clearly, Harry is good, as hard as it is to be good in a world where evil is so tantalizing.)

3. Why I put my kids to bed at 8:00 every night. Plain and simple, they need the sleep, and the King and I need the time to ourselves. Additionally, my children wake up by 6:30 nearly every morning, regardless of when they go to bed, so why not get them down early and extend the night for everyone? Although you can never be certain of a family’s reasoning, I still cringe when I’m at a grocery store at 9:00 pm and see small children gallivanting around with their parents. Put them to bed already!

4. Why I believe in God. Science intrigues me. The more I learn about our amazing universe, the more I feel certain that there is a Higher Power behind it all. I simply can’t accept the fact that everything, from the enormity of the sun that sustains our life to the tiniest particles that make up our cells, randomly exploded into being. As for the particulars of how, when, why, and exactly what, most days I’m content to discover those things as God chooses to reveal them. I know many intelligent, logical, reasonable people disagree with this belief in a Supreme Force. But I believe. I’ve found that I can’t do otherwise.

5. Why I’m a Baptist. I’d like to say it’s because I admire Baptist principles like freedom of interpretation, separation of church and state, priesthood of the believer, autonomy of the local church, etc. Those are indeed lofty principles when applied to the way one worships God. To be honest, though, I’m a Baptist because I was born into it. Who knows how it would be otherwise. I might just as easily be a Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Catholic, some other religion, or not a believer at all. I’d like to think I’d be attracted to the Baptist faith as an outsider, but my particular denomination of Christianity has a poor reputation these days. However, being mature enough now to explore other groups, I choose to remain a Baptist mostly because of the historic principles listed above.

6. Why I give money to childhood cancer research/support organizations. Everyone needs a cause—a place to direct his or her money, time, and passion. For the King and me, it’s childhood cancer groups. Our main inspiration appears occasionally on my blog. A little girl with a big story, Catie Marie Wilkins battled medulloblastoma (aggressive brain tumor) for nearly four years. She passed on at age four in January 2007, just a week before her younger sister’s birth. I still follow the family’s journey, which Catie’s mother Jenny writes beautifully on her blog. What these children face is beyond horrifying. What their parents endure is unimaginable. The strength they all exhibit is breathtaking. The King and I are committed to caring for these kids and their families as much as we can, and hopefully we can increase our support and involvement as our own children mature.

7. Why symmetry drives me crazy. My husband is an engineer. For his work, symmetry is essential and even at times a life-and-death matter. However, he brings this into the home. The rugs must be completely straight, the pictures perfectly aligned, the colors mirror images of each other. We laugh about it because my instinct is to bump things slightly askew, to scatter the colors, to break the reflection. It makes life more interesting and unpredictable. Of course, John would say just the opposite.

8. Why I wear my seatbelt and switch off lights. It’s my dad. From the time we were small, he insisted that we buckle up while riding, and this was before seatbelt use was the law or even popular. Luckily, the habit stuck with me even through my teen years, when many of my friends considered seatbelts annoying and uncool. Now I have the law on my side, so I will accept no excuses from my own kids. As a Georgia Power engineer, my dad also nagged about us leaving lights on in unused rooms. At this point, I probably use more energy than I conserve because I flip off the lights even when I leave a room only for a few minutes. Thanks, Daddy. (:

9. Why I care about the Earth. I have a hard time understanding why anyone, especially those who believe in God, think caring for the Earth is some liberal, new age way to live. For me, it merely makes sense. When I think about the technological advances that have consumed our world in the past century, our progress blows my mind. Accompanying our advances in America is, unfortunately, a tendency to produce more waste that takes years to decompose (if it ever does), to collect material possessions in excess of anything anyone would ever need, to use our resources as if they are limitless (they’re not), and to disregard the fact that people across the sea still can’t count on clean water, much less electricity to power their lives. Why any Christian would think it’s not important to care for the Earth is totally beyond me. I can’t do it all, but I’ll do my best to recycle, reuse, and choose my food and products carefully in this little corner where I live.

10. Why I take a break from reading to read. The King simply shakes his head at me when, after a couple of hours of nightly editing, I crawl into bed to open a book and read for a few minutes. Let me assure you that there is an enormous difference in reading  someone’s writing in order to correct it and reading someone’s writing in order to enter another world. There is nothing—not movies, not vacations, sometimes not even time with friends—like sneaking away into the world created by a fiction author. I’m so thankful for books and only wish I had more time to read them.

To be continued….

I promise I’ve asked this question a hundred times in the past four days. We decided to introduce Ladybug to underwear this week. Not plastic, diaper-like pullups. Not even thick, padded training underwear.  Real underwear, with the likes of Elmo and Ariel plastered all over them. Beginning Monday morning, off came the heavily soaked diaper, and on went the undies. Ladybug was proud to wear them, proud to display them, and proud to soil them. Even with Nana and Pappy’s presence and encouragement, it took her a while to accept the repercussions of relieving herself without sitting on the toilet first. We even brought out the baby potty, which I despise, because she asked for it. After all, the little girls in her two potty-training books (Ashley and Prudence of My Big Girl Potty and Once Upon a Potty, respectively) got their own tiny potties. My preference would be to go straight to the toilet, albeit endowed with a smaller, cushiony potty seat. At least then Ladybug’s productions could go right where they belong. But no. My child has to use the little potty. She used it in the den. She used it in the kitchen. She even used it outside by the sandbox. Why is it that I can wipe this child’s bottom without grimacing for more than two years, but when I see the same stuff in a white plastic pot, I can barely keep from heaving?

Tuesday was a great day for Ladybug with many potty triumphs and only one accident. On Wednesday, though, she woke up with no apparent memory of the previous day’s accomplishments. And of course that was the day Nana and Pappy (my parents) chose to leave me all alone with the stubborn learner and her overzealously helpful big sister. It was a hot day, as June days tend to be in middle Georgia. We went out to the kiddie pool in our shady backyard. I asked Ladybug a dozen times if she needed to sit on the potty, which, conveniently, waited in the shadow of a nearby tree. “No,” she responded every time, and went back to making mud with pool water and the sand that blankets the playset area. (No one actually played in the kiddie pool.) Shortly thereafter, while I was chatting with my dear King, she squatted in her frilly Ariel swimsuit, looked at me, and said, “I poo poo.” I quickly hung up on my husband, hoping to catch her before she smushed it all into a goopy mess. (I didn’t.) What fun it was to try to clean her and her swimsuit and the floor where, of course, the swimsuit fell offending side down as I struggled with Ladybug. She was upset, and so was I. Finally, I regained control of myself and assured her, “It’s okay. Everyone has accidents.” Then I hugged her tightly and told her she was doing a great job with the potty. (She wasn’t.)

Thursday started off badly, with a urine spot on the floor in three different rooms before lunchtime. I nearly gave up and slapped a diaper on her. Fortunately, it was almost naptime, when she wears a diaper anyway. The day ended well. Once she awakened from her nap, she had no more accidents, even with the distraction of house guests. This morning, she seemed to be in the same mindset, in tune with her body, but eventually she forgot and had three accidents. Fun. We’ll try again after today’s nap. Maybe I can do this. Or maybe not. Either way, Ladybug doesn’t seem to care one iota.

I had planned to write an eloquent plea for donations to Catie’s Cure Classic, a golf tournament organized by my friend Jenny and her husband Tre’. They do it in memory of their sweet Catie, who died at age four from complications of medulloblastoma, a cancerous brain tumor. The tournament raises funds for CURE Childhood Cancer, an organization that helps finance research for innovative treatments and also directly supports families in emergency situations involving their sick children.

I’ve no need to write an eloquent plea, though, because my dear King did it for me. Please read his post, “Dragons that Won’t Fade,” and consider supporting this cause, even with a few dollars. Or, as the King says, if you aren’t already, get involved in caring for children in some way. It makes the world a much better place.

Since the beginning of the year, the King and I have attempted to refinance our home. After weeks of miscommunication with the various agencies involved, we finally completed the process and received enough cash back to remodel our kitchen. The most heavily used room in the house offered worn linoleum, damaged laminate countertops, and outdated stained wood cabinets. We didn’t need a makeover in the kitchen, but we desired one, and fortunately we were able to do it. The actual remodel involved about a month and a half of steps, including the temporary relocation of essential appliances like the stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher (yes, the dishwasher is essential in my house!); the removal of cabinet doors for sanding and painting (which made finding items so easy that I was tempted to leave them off); four days that the girls and I spent with my parents while a contractor laid the tile flooring; one day in which contractors installed the new quartz counters and sinks; and two days for the King and I to paint while the girls spent time with his parents. At long last, and thanks to many people (the Baucoms and Heather for decorating assistance; the grandparents for their babysitting), our country farm kitchen is transformed into a crisp, clean, useful, and pleasant space. All that remains is caulking, a few paint touch-ups, and the construction of a special cabinet/shelf to hold art supplies and cookbooks. I am truly grateful!

I love going to the movies. Before I choose a film to watch on the big screen, I check reviews. Yes, I’m one of those annoying people who says, “That got terrible reviews. The critics hated it!” or “The reviews were good. Most of the critics seemed to like it.” Then I’ll go a step further and shell out my hard-earned bucks ($8.00 a ticket!) for the ones the “professional movie watchers” like. Recently, though, I’ve only gone to the theater for movies I know I’ll enjoy, at least a little. Here are my thoughts on the last three I saw on the big screen:

1. Inkheart. This film is based on author Cornelia Funke’s brilliant trilogy (Inkheart, Inkspell, and Inkdeath) about a girl whose father can read characters out of (and, unfortunately, can read people into) books. The novels are lengthy, fully developed sagas packed with fascinating characters, suspense, life and death, and even romance. Translating the first book into a film seemed to me a daunting task. It turns out the critics were right about this one. Though the cast, including Brendan Fraser as the father Mortimer Folchart and Paul Bettany as Dustfinger (a character Mo reads out of a book), was well chosen and talented, the script fell flat. Full of cliches and special effects, the movie completely doused the passion in the novel, and the ending was terribly redone. I don’t want to see it again, and I’d like to ask the filmmakers to kindly leave my favorite books alone.

2. Star Trek. Unfortunately, I missed the Star Trek ship when it took off sometime in the late 1960s. I remember seeing bits and pieces of the entertaining/somewhat hokey TV show as my parents watched it. They moved on to the later series, meeting characters like Data and Wesley Crusher and Captain Picard. I did not. At first, I felt indifferent about this movie, but after its release, when the critics gave it rave reviews and many of my friends agreed with them, I decided to see it. It was, in a word, awesome. My sketchy Star Trek memory served me well as I recognized the young characters—Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scott, Chekov, Uhura, Sulu. This film, which reveals the origins of the initial Enterprise crew, tells the story from a new perspective that leaves previous films unaffected. The clever writers and director can now build a series that hopefully won’t alienate lifelong fans. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. It made me laugh and it made me think.

3. X-Men Origins: Wolverine. I didn’t like this movie as much as I wanted to. My mother read the comic book series and enjoyed the first two X-Men films, which tell stories about mutant humans who are mistreated because of their strange powers. Neither of us appreciated the third, The Last Stand, which heaped on the special effects at the cost of the story’s soul. Wolverine, the first film in what will supposedly be a new series, did the same. Even the presence of Hugh Jackman couldn’t compensate for the shallow story, hollow character development, and over-the-top special effects. The movie lacked intelligence. I felt played to as an audience member. Sure, it was fun to watch, but overall a disappointment. And you know what? The critics agreed.

Maybe these mysterious critics have some benefit after all. Or am I simply influenced by them so that I go into a film biased? Either way, I still love going to the movies.

Butterfly looks forward to our nightly book reading. Of course, we read at other times of the day too, but without fail, we close each evening by reading three books together. Over the past few months, our selections at the library have grown wordier. The King opened one of Butterfly’s choices last night, gasped at the pages and pages of words, and promptly informed her that it was a “daytime” book. I’ve done the same thing, but it is meaningful to me that my little girl loves reading as much as I do. I can only hope that her taste for books increases as she learns to decipher the letters for herself. Oh, what worlds that gift can reveal!

A couple of nights ago, I was doing the reading, and I pulled Shel Silverstein’s A Light in the Attic from the shelf. I thought Butterfly and I had exhausted the contents months ago, but we discovered a few poems we hadn’t yet read. This was one of them:

Put Something In

Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
‘Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before.*

“Shel knew my daughters,” I thought. The truth is that Shel knew children. He knew they like gross things, strange things, silly things, wild things. And he wrote poem after catchy poem about such things.

I don’t know about the kids who fill your life, but I know my girls draw crazy pictures (especially Butterfly), create nutty poetry, sing nonsense songs (especially Ladybug), and dance like loonies. They constantly “put something silly in the world.” Their sense of humor, their ability to see the “funny” in almost everything, delights and inspires me. They haven’t yet learned to add cynicism to their humor or tell cruel jokes. I wish they never would, for this innocent source of all our laughter is one of the best things about life with children.

*Image and poem text from Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1981).