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My Mom Logic – Preserving the Past

April 21, 2009 by Kelli

Swish, Swish

The Painter deftly runs His brush over the broad canvas, a brilliant splash of color marking a trail behind Him. With careful precision, He mixes colors, creating a palate that perfectly compliments. Some colors are vibrant and immediately pop. Others are muted, blending more into the background but essential nonetheless to the masterpiece being created.

With every swish of His brush, the Painter brings more life into what was once a dry piece of fabric…

I have spent a significant amount of brain power trying to think of the perfect post for this contest. I’ve come up with a dozen witty lines sure to have the judges wiping the tears from their eyes as they heave in uproarious laughter.

But tonight, as I reflect on this topic, I find that I cannot write that humorous post. Which is probably a good thing because I doubt it was all that funny anyway.

papa-and-bebe-pictures-137

random-2571

Above you see two pictures. The woman on the right is my grandmother, Mimi. The woman on the left is my husband’s grandmother, who we call (oddly enough) grandmother.

These two women are matriarchs in our family lines. Swish, swish.

Mimi died on March 3, 2004. Today, Grandmother lays in a hospital in critical condition. In the last 48 hours she has managed to fight her way off of her deathbed, but she is still a very sick woman. (since I first posted this, Grandmother has shown a miraculous recovery…Swish). And my heart hurts. The connections to the past, to the events that, though long ago, will ultimately play a part in molding who my children are as people, are fading. I find that a difficult pill to swallow.

Mimi was the original blogger. After she passed away, my mom brought home a stack of diaries that Mimi journaled in over a period of 50 years. They start in 1961, when Mimi and Poppi Jim settled in the West Indies as pioneer missionaries. They lived without electricity or running water. Mimi found a thousand different ways to cook SPAM. Poppi Jim bought a small Cessna airplane to help with the mission work…and then he taught himself how to fly it.

Swish, swish.

In two months, I will go to the island of South Caicos for the first time and see where my mom grew up. I will meet some of the people who still love and admire my grandparents to this day. I will see the church and the school that my grandfather started. The grandfather I never met because he died at the age of 45.

Swish.

My husband’s grandmother has been a stalwart of strength. She is the constant that we can always depend on for skads of hugs, kisses and unending pride. She is the woman who took a computer class in her late seventies so she could better keep in touch with her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Swish, swish.

What is my mom logic? Today, this moment, what seems more logical than anything else is to preserve this history of family for my children. To help them see the fluid lines that are painted in the tapestry of life. And to give them a pride in their part of this grand piece of art. Their lives now leave behind a mark that gives greater detail to an intricate history. I want my kids to grasp and respect this concept.

I also want my children to understand the power of the written word. I want them to appreciate how precious the scratched out writings of their great-grandmother are and know that her words preserved moments in time that would have forever been lost otherwise.

And someday, I hope that their children will want to know who I was. And as they search through the pages I’ve written, I want them to see the foundation that was laid for them by their ancestors. (And I really hope they don’t think, “Gee, great-grandma was a weirdo…”) That is why I blog. That is why I spend time documenting the little moments in life. That is my mom logic.

Swish.

This is my entry into the MomLogic contest. While I do hope that I have found favor with the judges, ultimately I hope I’ve honored two women who I love dearly.

Filed Under: Blogging, Family, Kids, Motherhood, shameless self-promotion

Easter Blunder

April 13, 2009 by Kelli

I loved Easter as a kid. My parents made it a big deal in our house. There were new dresses and bonnets (for me, not for my brother ’cause that would’ve been weird); baskets filled with goodies magically appeared on the fireplace on Easter morning, and, of course, we headed to church where there was always a feeling of excitement and joy in the air as we celebrated our risen Lord.

I try to create an equal amount of excitment and joy for my kids and it seems to be working. They had a wonderful Easter weekend filled with family, food and laughter. We are thrilled to have my brother in town for a little while. Sloan has been wanting to have a Star Wars party with his Uncle Brett for a long time now, ever since he found out that Brett liked Star Wars when he was a little boy too. So Friday night we made a cake, got some decorations and watched Star Wars together. The kids had a blast – and so did the grown-ups! We even played pin the voice box on Darth Vader. It’s a slightly odd way to celebrate Easter weekend, I’ll admit.

On Easter Sunday, I got up at the crack of dawn to make sure I had everything ready for everyone because I had to be at church by 7:45 to prepare for morning worship. By 7:15, everyone was dressed and the obligatory photos were taken. The Easter Bunny left a note the night before telling the kids that he took their baskets to Boss and Bushka’s house (my parents) so thankfully we didn’t have to deal with that.

Here are our sweet Easter photos:

Dress #1

Tia in her Easter bonnet, which she didn't want to wear because she was afraid it would mess up her hair.

: The Brothers Stuart: Aren’t they handsome?

My babies

: Dress #2

What’s with Dress # 1 & 2, you ask? Well, therein lies the blunder. After I left for church, with my brood dressed and ready to go, I got to church anticipating their arrival at the 9:00 am service. But, my dear readers, my husband made a classic male mistake.

Because they were ready so early, he decided to swing through Starbucks on the way to church. And, because he was feeling so joyous and relaxed, he decided to bless his children by getting them hot cocoa.

Oh yes he did!

Somehow he forgot that our daughter is the. messiest. child on planet Earth. Thus, when they pulled into the church parking lot and he glanced back, he noticed she had spilled hot cocoa all down her dress.

So he took her home where he frantically tried to get the stain out of the Easter dress that I had so lovingly picked out – much to no avail. Thus dress #2. We are still working on the stain on the other dress. *sigh* Boys. Oh well – after I got over the initial annoyance, I actually found the situation quite amusing because only a daddy would think that giving a child hot cocoa in the car in her Easter dress was a good idea. Lee was sheepishly apologetic and we’ve been laughing about it since.

Hope you all had wonderful Easters filled with joy and laughter, and minus irreparable stains.

*sorry about the photos not all being in order. I get the distinct impression that WordPress might hate me. I’m still learning.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Marriage, Tia

The Mathematical Probability of Interruption

April 7, 2009 by Kelli

I have a theory I’d like to posit. And no, I’m not sure if I spelled or used the word “posit” correctly – moving on.

Without fail, when I make the concerted effort to get up early in the morning so I can have a quiet time or do some writing, my kids also wake up extra early.

Undoubtably, if I sit down for a moment midday to rest, read a book, read blogs, write, someone will fall down and skin their knee, need a drink, have to use the bathroom, or, as is the case right now with Landon, just suddenly need a few extra snuggles (which I am gladly doling out so this post may take forever to finish).

Okay, I’m back and let me just say that I just got some of the sweetest kisses and hugs from that precious baby. Wow…I hope he’s not getting sick.

Anyway, I posted a status update on my Facebook page the other day regarding this particular phenomenon and received a fascinating response from one of my friends that got me thinking. Her idea was that children can sense a change in air pressure, so if we move early in the morning, it stirs them. While I find this to be a fascinating theory, I’d like to take it a step further.

Thus, I have now established The Probability of Interruption, which I feel certain should eventually be adopted as a true Theory. Or not. I don’t know much about that sort of thing, actually. I’ve always been a literature kind of gal. Me and math are not friends.

The Probability of Interruption states that as the heartrate of the mother, the bpm (beats per minute), rises and falls, so will the bpm of the child also rise in fall in opposite and similar effect.

Got it? No?

An example – this morning, I took my resting heart rate when I woke up. I had a resting bpm of 56. Once I rose and moved around enough to use the bathroom, get dressed, come out to the computer and sit down, my bpm had risen to about 62.

And Tia woke up. Even though it was quite early and she went to bed late last night, she still woke up. Why is this? Why, it’s because of The Probability of Interruption. As my heart rate rose, do did hers. Though I made little to no noise, she was stirred from her slumber. In this instance, her heart rate rose in similar effect to mine.

Now, after rushing to get everyone ready for the day and Sloan out the door, my bpm was at roughly 68. I sat down at the computer and after 5 minutes of sitting, it had fallen back down to 63. It was at this precise moment that Tia hit her brother and he came to me crying. Moments after dealing with that, both children were in need of a drink. Why is this? Because…you got it! The Probability of Interruption. As my heart rate dropped, the kids’ bpm’s rose in opposite effect thereby causing inappropriate behavior and the metabolic need for sustenance.

This is why I have such a difficult time getting anything done. If I want to clean, someone will ultimately thwart that plan. If I want to take a shower, you can be sure that someone will pull open the shower door with some sort of desperate need – all because as my heart rate slowed into a relaxed state, theirs rose into an agitated state, thus necessitating (?) the need to interrupt my reverie.

So, in effect, The Probability of Interruption pretty much guarantees that for the rest of my life, I will likely be interrupted any time I begin to get too comfortable. My theory obviously proves that as fact.

And, while this theory can have some mild effect on fathers, it appears that mostly and mainly The Probability of Interruption applies to mothers alone. Even if dad is the one to wake up early and mom’s bpm remains in the resting state, the children will most likely either sleep through dad’s movement, or they will wake up due to the noise that dad inevitably makes and come wake mom up rather than disturb dad.

So there you have it, ladies. You now have scientific evidence that your children are hard wired to make sure that you never fully accomplish anything to the full extent. Oh, and incidentally, this theory works just as equally if mom is doing anything that raises her heart rate. This means that you and your husband will most likely want to make judicious use of the lock on your bedroom door if you get my drift…and I think you do. (blush)

Now I’ve embarrassed myself and my bpm is surely rising because the kids are going wild. Gotta go!

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Life, Motherhood, Random

The one in which I laugh inappropriately

April 6, 2009 by Kelli

Here’s something that many of you already know about me: I am a crier. It doesn’t take much to get me going. I know this isn’t a big deal , but it’s not something that I love about myself.

You see, the problem is that I am a noisy crier. I can’t cry softly. If I try to cry softly, it usually just builds up until I explode into a slobbering, blubbery mess. This can be quite humiliating when I’m, say, in a movie theater.

I sobbed throughout much of my wedding ceremony. The tape of the service is almost comical because I’m sniffling so uncontrollably. But once I start crying, there’s no stopping that train until I get it all out.

I have, over the years, developed a couple of defense mechanisms in an attempt to reign in my sobbiness. The first is to fight with every fiber of my being against the tears, which can only work for so long. At some point, though, when my throat is throbbing painfully, I have to sneak away to some place private where I explode like Krakatoa spewing tears and snot in every direction. This is, obviously, not ideal but is sometimes necessary. It’s served me well at the last couple of funerals I’ve attended where I’ve managed to keep it together relatively well until Lee and I get in the car, then I dissaolve and scare my poor husband near to death. I don’t think he’s gotten used to this side of me yet.

My other defense mechanism tends to rear its ugly head at the most inappropriate of times. I laugh. It’s horrible and even more embarrassing than the crying itself. What’s worse is the fact that I have little control over what happens in an emotional situation. I never know if I’m going to be the loud crier, the suppressive exploder or the obnoxious laugher. It just happens.

This was especially embarrassing a couple of months ago when I took Sloan to the doctor for his five year check up and he had to receive shots. Oh, have I mentioned I hate needles? And I hate watching my children go through pain? This was a lethal combination for me that was sure to lead to some sort of humiliating reaction.

As the nurse shoved a needle into my son’s arm and he started to cry, I felt the all too familiar lump form in my throat. Of course, I’m trying to be brave so I can’t cry in front of him. The next thing I know, I’m laughing near hysterically and the nurse is looking at me like I’ve just grown a freakishly large second head. I felt like a jerk. But I didn’t cry.

On Friday night, we had a family night. We set up the projector screen and shined the movie Marley and Me up on the wall. It was sweet and fun, until Marley died. My sweet, tender-hearted Sloan got so upset that he buried his face in Lee’s chest and sobbed.

Me? I laughed. I laughed hard, all the while blinking back tears. Tia, who was sitting on my lap, kept turning around and looking at me and saying, “What, Mom? What hunny?” And that only made me laugh/cry harder until I’m laughing and racking in sobby breaths.

Geesh.

So, if any of us are ever together during an emotional time and I start laughing callously, please do forgive. And take comfort in knowing that all it really means is that I’m a big fat baby who has no control over her emotions. Don’t you all feel sorry for my poor husband now? I do.

Oh, and incidentally – for those of you who have not shown Marley and Me to your young children, I’ll let you know that while it is very sweet and generally wholesome, there are at least two scenes that we had to fast forward and I had to clear my throat several times to cover up bad words. It’s not a movie I would let my kids sit down and watch without Lee and I sitting with them to monitor. But mostly I found it to be a great movie – just be prepared to comfort sad kiddos at the end.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life, the boob tube, Uncategorized

Morning Madness

April 2, 2009 by Kelli

A glimpse into a typical morning in the Stuart household:

6:00 am – Lee rises to go to an early breakfast. I should get up with him as it would make the morning routine much smoother, but I don’t. I roll over and go back to sleep.
6:50 – I am awoken by two, rather heavy, children bounding onto my chest. I take a few minutes to catch my breath and shoo them out, assuring them I’m planning on getting up right away.
7:01 – I drag myself out of bed. And go into the kitchen where my kids are attempting to make pancakes. I put the kibosh on pancakes and tell them I planned on oatmeal instead. A brief tantrum commences from the three year old. It resolves quickly when I threaten to send her back to bed.

Wondering why they can't have pancakes for the fourth time this week.

7:10 – I lay out clothes for the older kids while I go and retrieve this little bundle of sweetness:

spring-09-038 7:14 – Everyone is dressed, but I must redress Tia who has put her pants and her underwear on backwards and is complaining of a “yedgie.”
7:16 – Start breakfast. Give Landon a cup of milk to get him to stop doing this: spring-09-042

7:18 – While the milk is heating on the stove, I help the kids transform their beds from this:

Sloan and Tia's lovely trundle bed

to this: spring-09-039
7:20 – Landon spills a mug of tea that Lee did not finish last night. I grab my handy-dandy ShamWow and test old Vince’s theory on its power to lift liquid out of the carpet. FYI-Vince lied. spring-09-040
7:22 – Sloan’s panicked voice calls me back to the stove where the milk is about to boil over. He’s stirring desperately.
7:26 – The mess is cleaned up and the oatmeal is ready. Everyone sits down to enjoy. spring-09-043
7:38 – We’re finished eating and the kids run off to brush their teeth while I clean up.
7:45 – Teeth are brushed, hair is fixed and shoes are on. Play time can commence. I continue to clean the kitchen, which apparently threw up over night whilst I slept.

Laight Saber battles occure daily. Landon is becoming increasingly violent with his.

Light Saber battles occure daily. Landon is becoming increasingly violent with his.

8:01 – Head to my own bedroom. Must make it go from this: spring-09-035 to this: spring-09-044
8:05 – Banish fighting kids to the basement so I can sneak in a quick shower.
8:15 – finally get in the shower and while there realize that we are out of soap so I have to use Lee’s Old Spice Body Wash. I smell like a dude. Also take note of just how nasty the shower is and make note to clean it…sometime…
8:30 – take break from getting ready to change Landon as the smell of death has slowly permeated the back of the house. Banish still fighting children to the backyard.
8:40 – I’m finally finished getting ready. I started out looking like this.

yikes!

The finished product is this:

Like my new sweater? I got it yesterday for 5 bucks. Whoop!

8:43 – Sloan falls off his bike and needs a kiss and some sympathy.
8:49 – Get diaper bag ready for the day. Notice we’re out of diapers and toilet paper and, well, food. Try and figure out when I’ll get to the store.
8:55 – Sit out front to wait for our neighbor to come pick Sloan up for school. spring-09-048

Take a few moments to stop and smell the roses bushes.

spring-09-049
9:15 – After Carol picks Sloan up, I give the little kids a snack, then head out the door to go to a friends house for the morning. Decide to run through Starbucks on the way because I’m already exhausted and I forgot to eat breakfast.

And right now? I’m really, really tired. My Starbucks wore off about an hour ago so I’m headed to my nice, fluffy couch for a nap. spring-09

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life

The Nest and the Bootie

March 31, 2009 by Kelli

Hee, hee – that title makes me laugh.

Last night we watched Dancing With the Stars. I usually don’t get in to that show, but it was kind of fun last night so we ended up watching the whole thing.

Sloan and Tia got into it as well, but half way through the show, I found myself squirming as I watched my 5-year-old oggling the (very) scantily clad dancers.

Sadly, instead of listening to the silent urging I felt to turn the channel or, better yet, turn the TV off, I continued to watch and hope that Sloan wasn’t really paying attention to the clothing but was more enraptured by the dancing. Until…

“Hey mom, I can almost see that girl’s bootie! And look at her nest! She’s not wearing many clothes. She should be careful or she’ll be embarrassing in front of all these people.”

And that signified bedtime for small children. Geesh!

Yes, he calls the female chest a nest. It’s an honest misunderstanding but it makes me laugh so I haven’t corrected him, even though he’s called it that for several years now. At least he’s got more discretion than he did at 3 when he would comment on the size of a woman’s “nest” anywhere and everywhere.

But, that was the point when it hit me. While the show itself is rather innocent and fun, the outfits they wear are anything but. It’s amazing how aware I am of such things now that I have boys.

It’s funny how before kids, I was determined that I would be the cool mom. I would be the mom who didn’t sweat the small stuff, who didn’t make a big deal out of the “little” things. Well guess what? What I used to think was little is now quite magnified. I’m acutely aware of what my kids see and hear and I find myself much more vigilant than I thought I would be when it comes to protecting their innocence.

So we will likely not be adding Dancing With the Stars to our family repetoire of TV shows. I mean, it’s good fun and all, but Sloan was right – there was nest and bootie shakin’ all over the place and somehow I’m thinking that I’d like to avoid him thinking of that as fun. At least for a while anyway.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Motherhood, Sloan

Minivans are HOT!

March 29, 2009 by Kelli

One year and four months ago, I became a minivan mom. It was a necessary step. I was roughly 15 months pregnant with Landon and there was no way on God’s green earth that three car seats were going to fit into my SUV.

Lee and I sat in the grey-walled room of the car dealership and worked out the details of the sale with a very kind man and all the while my stomach churned. I mean, it’s just a car. It’s no more than a mode of transportation, right?

Then why was it so painful to transition to driving a minivan? I asked this question many times in the weeks following our purchase (that and why in the flippin’ world do minivans cost so daggum much?)

After Landon arrived, I had to admit, the van was extremely convenient. Especially given the fact that Sloan figured out quickly how to buckle his own seat belt, thereby making our transition from home to van much more manageable. And we stuck with the standard black minivan with a grey interior because somehow, in my distorted little mind, that seemed just a little bit cooler.

Today, I am very resigned to my status as a minivan mom. I even completed the look by arriving to my son’s preschool several times this year still in my pajamas. Niiiice. Might as well look the part, eh?

You see, the problem is that my mom was a minivan mom and, well – no offense mom – but she was my mom. You know, the older more mature, wiser woman in charge of guiding me through the waters of life. Certainly I’m not old enough to be in the position. It was only yesterday I was heaving a loaded bag of books across Baylor’s campus, worrying about my impending finals. How did I become that mom?

But alas, I am that mom. There’s no way around it. I have three babies (the oldest of which is no longer a baby and preparing to enter elementary school! Don’t even get me started on how I feel about becoming a PTA mom) And, I gotta say, as much as circumstances permit, I am rockin’ the minivan.

So here’s my encouragement to all you minivan moms out there struggling with the stigma. Your minivan doesn’t lower your cool factor – oh no. You, my dear friends, drastically up the minivan’s hot factor. Minivan’s don’t define us – we define them! And I say they’re hot! Can I get an Amen?

Welcome to my blog.

Filed Under: Blogging, Family, Kids, Life, Minivans

Hoops and Tears

February 16, 2009 by Kelli

Saturday afternoon, we packed the family up and went to the local YMCA to watch Sloan play basketball. Who knew that while watching a group of 5-year-olds trip over a bright orange ball, I would end up blinking back tears and, ultimately, lose a night’s sleep.

Sloan is a great little athlete. So far, two of our three kids have shown the propensity to have their daddy’s graces when it comes to athletics and I’m very glad. But, Sloan is not an overly competitive or aggressive kid. He’s out there to have fun and to look good. He’s not there to win. I know that this is a good trait to have and I truly am glad that he’s got such a great attitude when he plays sports. Lee and I also think that he will be more geared toward individual sports like golf and, perhaps, baseball. I like to think of this as one battle we won’t have to fight with Sloan. I also trust that as he gets older, he’ll develop more of a drive for victory, though I don’t know that he’ll ever be super competitive.

Now Tia, on the other hand, is a different story. She hates to lose and she is highly competitive. But I digress.

I noticed for the first time on Saturday, that Sloan did seem a little bothered by the fact that he didn’t get more chances to shoot. But he just doesn’t really go after the ball. That competitive nature is just not in him. And as we watched him play, I felt this lump of fear knot in my stomach.

My senior year of high school was a rough time for me. I was dealing with a specific struggle that was linked directly to my lack of self-esteem and it grew into a large enough problem that I required counseling. I remember very specifically one of my counselling sessions breaking down in tears and telling my counselor, “I just don’t feel like I’m good at anything. No matter what I do, someone is always better than I am. I feel like a plain Jane.”

Now that I am older and have had some time to mature and assess some of those feelings, I see so much more clearly what was going on. The problem was not that I wasn’t good at anything, but that I wasn’t recognized for the things that I was good at. Of course I had the support and encouragement from my parents, but I longed for the acceptance from my peers and other leaders and teachers within my sphere of influence. Despite the fact that I was indeed gifted in some areas, it seemed that I was often overlooked and passed by and I struggled with that. I want to be delicate as I write this. It isn’t that I never received encouragement from anyone. I know that I was loved and encouraged. But I had that perception back then, as my flesh warred against my spirit. I longed to be great and was discontent at constantly coming up average.

Before you think of me as some narcissistic little brat who needed all the glory, you should also know that there are some events that occurred in my life that served to create this need for recognition. I’ll keep it vague because I don’t like to discuss private family matters on my blog, but in short, when I was thirteen, our family took custody of three of my cousins who had experienced a good deal of emotional trauma.

The year that they lived with us was difficult on everyone involved and I think we were all left with a few emotional scars as a result. Because of the needs of my cousins, my own emotional needs were often overlooked-not because people didn’t care, but simply because they didn’t know. I developed this yearning to be seen. I longed to be told that I was great at something and all of that truly took root in that one pivotal year of my life. That’s the best I can do to explain how this deep-seeded emotional need for recognition came about.

When I went to college, for the first time, I felt like I was noticed. I started to receive encouragement from people outside my own family for the gifts that I had been given and I blossomed. I developed self-esteem that I never knew I was capable of. I also, oddly enough, developed a sense of humility that I hadn’t known before. Those were good years for me.

Now that I’m grown, I know the Truth behind why I’ve been given gifts and what I am to expect from them. I realize now that it’s not about me. It’s not about whether or not I get recognition for the things I’m good at. It’s all about Who gets the glory and, ultimately, I believe that the Lord deserves the glory for anything I do. I no longer have this unquenchable desire for recognition. In fact, I don’t much care anymore. I just want to glorify Him and pray that I do that whether I am writing, singing, or just playing with my kids.

But, as I watched Sloan holding his hands out and yelling, “I’m open, I’m open,” and I heard the coach constantly yelling, “Give the ball to Sloan, he’s open,” and watched as time and time again the ball was passed to another kid, all of those feelings rushed back and I began to fear once again. Only this time the fear was compounded because it was for my son. I do not want him to experience those feelings of being overlooked and passed by. The one time he did receive the ball, he shot and missed and my heart broke.

And he’s only five. Good grief. I’m not sure I’ll survive this motherhood thing.

Anyway, I spent much of Saturday night tossing and turning and praying that the Lord release me of that fear. And I feel like I’ve made a little headway. The fact that I’m getting emotional as I type this post shows I have a little ways to go, but I’m trusting the Lord to rebandage the wound that seems to have split ever so slightly.

First of all, I know that Sloan is young and that he will undoubtably experience the pain of rejection growing up and that he will be okay. I also know that it’s okay if he’s not a competitive person. He will find his niche and Lee and I will do the best we can to nurture the gifts that he has. Mostly, I pray that I will be an example to Sloan that it’s not about who wins or loses – it’s about who gets the glory in the end.

After all, that’s the Truth I want my son to learn earlier than I did.

Filed Under: Family, Motherhood, Sloan

Boredom leads to strange things

January 13, 2009 by Kelli

Sloan and I were bored this afternoon and the Star Wars figures were sitting in the doll house. We had a good old time making up a very bizarre story.

The Epic Battle Gone Terribly Awry

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, there was a young Jedi knight, Master Ben Kenobi. Trained in the order of the Jedi, Master Kenobi was a special soul with much to offer to the galaxy. As a young man, Master Kenobi came across a boy who showed great potential for good use as a Jedi and so Master Kenobi took this boy, nourished him and trained him and the boy did indeed grow into a bold and fearless Jedi.

But the boy, Anakin, was brash and impulsive. Those qualities were a great hindrance to his quest in the Jedi order. There was a darkness in him that Master Kenobi desperately tried to tame, but it was no use. Anakin Skywalker gave himself over to the dark side losing nearly all of his human form.

More robot than man, he took on the name Darth Vader and became a fierce and powerful enemy. Master Kenobi was, understandably, disappointed and pained that his star pupil became the very epitome of evil and he took it upon himself to search down his wayward student and destroy him once and for all. Thus began an epic battle.

But Master Kenobi underestimated Vader’s strength and power and he was quickly defeated.

Stealing Kenobi’s light saber, Darth Vader swiftly cut off his former master’s arm. In a most uncharacteristic moment of sympathy, Darth Vader left Kenobi to die alone rather than finishing him off.

Summoning his last ounce of strength, Master Kenobi used the force to pull himself up off the ground and, cradling his limp stub of an arm in his good hand, he fled the galaxy and sped to a foreign and new place where he intended to leave his failures and shame behind him.

For many dark days, Master Kenobi wandered through the rugged, thick terrain, wasting from lack of food and losing his will to survive. But, though he no longer had the mystical power of the force to back him up, he did have physical strength that allowed him to push forward despite extreme weakness.

Then he came upon a most strange and beautiful sight. A large palace unlike any he had ever seen. Pulling his weak frame up, Master Kenobi stumbled to the bizarre structure.

Raising his hand, Master Kenobi rapped three times on the solid door. When it opened, he found himself staring into the bewildered eyes of a beautiful woman holding two screaming babies in her arms. Explaining his situation and his need for shelter and work, the woman nodded her head and told him she had just the job for him.

Master Kenobi, however, was not prepared for the task that was quickly thrust upon him.

Due to this family’s extreme lifestyle, it appeared that the parents were in desperate need of someone to watch their children while they both worked.

Thus, Master Kenobi became Ben-Ben the Manny.

He discovered quickly that he was not well suited for this job. Within the first day, he lost one of the children, a small boy who was quick and sneaky. The girl was a little more manageable, but a handful nonetheless. Ben-Ben sang to her each night, a soft melody that, try as he might, he could not bring himself to stop humming. It was the same melody he had sung to his protege so many years earlier.

One of the more difficult details of his job required changing the constantly full diapers of his young charge. This was all the more difficult due to Ben-Ben’s abnormally small size in comparison to the child. Ben-Ben grew so tired of this cumbersome task that he decided to teach the child the art of using an adult facility.

Unfortunately, this did not go well and Ben-Ben found he had greater messes to clean up. He quickly put the child back in diapers and sent her on her way.

Ben-Ben sighed as he cleaned the bathroom, wondering how his life had taken such a drastic turn.

Looking intently in the mirror, Ben-Ben tried to conjure up the image of his former self. A man full of confidence and self-assurance. A man who was a truely gifted Jedi Master. But, try as he may, Ben-Ben could not summon the force. It’s power took no effect in these strange circumstances.

Every evening, as Ben-Ben slaved over dinner and baked endlessly, he tried to remember the skill that had once been so natural to him.

He sighed dramatically as he set the meals in front of his employers, both of whom took to ignoring him when he lost their son. They now only stared at him with half-smiles frozen on their plastic-like faces. It was unnerving…

The only solice Ben-Ben found were his daily moments of peace in the garden that he had cultivated. It gave him a sense of purpose and skill closely akin to the Jedi powers he had once taken such pride in. In those quiet moments, Ben-Ben felt like Master Kenobi once more.

At night, when the baby was asleep and the house was clean, Ben-Ben lounged on the couch, letting the sweet sounds of Johnny Coltrane and B.B. King wash through his soul. He wondered if perhaps these men were master’s of the force, their music so moved his aching soul.

And of course, every night before bed, Ben-Ben stood at his balcony and looked out at the glimmering, flickering stars that dotted the black sky. He thought of his galaxy, so very far away, and wished that he, once again, could be a great and mighty Jedi Knight.

So, my friends, will Ben Kenobi ever gain back his use of the force and return to his proper position as a leader of the Jedi Order? Only time will tell…

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Random Tagged With: Master Kenobi

Redeeming Halloween

October 28, 2008 by Kelli

As the Halloween season approaches I thought I’d pass on the name of a great book that I think is important for parents to read – particularly those who struggle with the concept of Halloween.

It seems that Halloween has gotten a little bit of a bad wrap over the years. What can be, and should be, a fun, innocent holiday for children has been mired by slasher movies and horror tales of cult-like sacrifices. This, in my opinion, is unfortunate because Halloween is really a fun time for both children and parents.

The idea of Halloween being a pagan holiday is particularly prevalent among christian circles. I understand where this is coming from. In fact, Lee and I really debated whether or not we would celebrate Halloween with our kids. Both of us just assumed that Halloween was a holiday that opened the door to evil and wondered if we should just scrap it. But, when Sloan was born, it broke my heart to think of not dressing him up and parading him around the neighborhood, showing off his cute, fat cheeks and racking up a little sugary delight.

I also couldn’t figure out how to not celebrate the holiday without it seeming weird. Did we hand out candy to trick or treaters, but just not take our kids Trick or Treating? That didn’t seem right because it just makes the practice of Trick or Treating seem wrong.

Did we turn off all the lights and hide in a dark corner all night, ignoring the Trick or Treaters on our front step? That didn’t seem like a good conclusion either because how would we explain that to our kids?

And, while I love fall festivals that church’s put on and have no problem attending them, the fact is, they are still a celebration of the holiday called Halloween. So before Lee and I made a decision, I decided it was time to research Halloween. And I am glad I did!

I came across a book called Redeeming Halloween: Celebrating Without Selling Out. This book was published by Focus on the Family, a reputable christian organization whose focus is, oddly enough, on issues that affect families. I learned a lot from this book.

Perhaps the thing that most surprised me was the fact the Halloween, the original holiday, is not pagan but rather a Christian holiday. It stands for All Hallow ‘een or “the eve of the holy ones“.

Under the reign of Nero, a tyrannous and horrible Roman leader, christian’s were brutally murdered in public places. Literally thrown before the lions, christians in early Rome were martyred for no other reason than that Nero felt threatened by them. In A.D. 610, as the church gained more honor, these martyrs were officially recognized and given their own holiday, All Saints’ Day or All Hallows Day. This holiday eventually landed on the calendar on November 1. It was meant to be a day for the church to remember and recognize the believers who died for their faith.

(Incidentally, if you’re looking for an excellent read on the early Christian martyrs, I highly recommend the book Quo Vadis. It’s a novel, but it’s so historically factual that it barely passes as fiction. It is one of the most fascinating books I’ve read in a long time.)

Now, there is no denying that this meaning of Halloween has been wildly distorted over the centuries. But the fact remains that Halloween is not pagan, and this book gives great suggestions of ways to celebrate Halloween by merging the traditions that we have today, trick or treating, with the true meaning of the holiday. After all, isn’t that what we try to do at Christmas as well? If you think about it, Christmas has also been dreadfully distorted and paganized.

So where did the costumes and trick or treating come into play? The authors state that there is no real conclusive evidence as to where this tradition began but there is some historical evidence that in the mid-1800’s, masquaraders would go from door to door performing plays in exchange for food or drink.

Around this time, a large population of Irish immigrants came to America bringing with them a tradition known as “mischeif night” where they would canvas neighborhoods playing harmless tricks on their neighbors. By the 1920’s, however, this tradition had gotten out of hand leading to true vandalism, so a small town mayor instituted a night where “good” children could go to neighbor’s homes and shops, crying “Trick or Treat!” The idea was that the shop owners should give them a treat so they wouldn’t be “tricked.” Placing this tradition on the eve of All Hallow’s Day was merely a way to designate it as a once a year occasion.

So, for those of you who may be unsure of whether or not to celebrate Halloween, I highly recommend this book. You still have to do what you feel is right for your family, but you owe it to yourself to be educated about the decision you are making.

For those of you who celebrate Halloween but feel guilty about doing so – Don’t! You don’t have to skulk around on Halloween hoping no one from church see’s you taking your kids out. Bottom line is that there are ways to enjoy the innocence and the fun of Halloween without partaking of the evil that pervades.

So, in closing, Happy Halloween!

Filed Under: Family, Life, Motherhood, Random Tagged With: Christians celebrating Halloween, Redeeming Halloween