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Tuesday, August 01, 2017

Was the Prayer Answered?

A few years ago we kept a family prayer box.
Our daughter was probably in fourth grade and our son was in second.

We told them that they could write down anything and place it in the box and we would all pray over the box and share if/when the prayers were answered. "Ask God for anything and thank God for anything," I encouraged them.

I felt like this would allow them to say what was on their little hearts freely, knowing no one else could see what they wrote AND see how real God is when prayers were answered. This would encourage them!

I imagined what they wrote: for a puppy, a new toy, trip somewhere, super birthday party, etc.

Well...

Flash forward and our daughter is a rising junior in high school and our son is a rising freshman!
(When I started this blog he was one and she was three maybe)

We moved a few months ago and I came across the prayer box!

Smiling I sat down and opened it!

Tears came as I gingerly opened each written request.

Then, came one of the most surprisingly honest requests I'd ever seen.

After I read it, a few times, I thought about asking her if the prayer was answered.

Saturday, July 08, 2017

Rules

Our daughter is really into Cosplay. We've grown accustomed to receiving packages from China, wigs from local beauty stores and fully, professional looking videos of her, uploaded onto  Musical.ly, by our creative 16-year-old.
But I learned that we need to set some ground rules when Cosplaying.

Recently, we had a visitor. An older, friendly man who was talking with Daddy about life insurance. I introduced myself, and our son and daughter did too before they went off to their rooms.

A few minutes later our daughter, nonchalantly, walks into the kitchen. Dressed in character. A Korean male character. Softly singing in Korean.

Not surprisingly the conversation switched from life insurance to silence.

"What are you looking for?" Daddy asked her as she looked around in the fridge.

Literally taking on the character, she answered in Korean.

"English Maurissa!" Daddy responded.

"Oh!, she laughed. "Do we have any Sushi left?"

You could see the confusion in the man's face. He was puzzled but seemed to come up with the explanation.

 "Do you all have an exchange student living with you?"

Nah. But it sure seems like it sometimes.


Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Stuck!

Got stuck today.
Not in traffic.
Not in an elevator.

Got stuck in my clothes!

I was running late for a doctor's appointment today. Needed to use the bathroom but no time. The office wasn't too far away.

Traffic was a little slow but got there with a few minutes to spare.

Checked in and hurried to the bathroom.

I'd received wonderful compliments from coworkers earlier about my black jumpsuit.

It was cute but not so much in that bathroom stall.

Why did I buy a jumpsuit with buttons that didn't go all the way down??

I'm walking around in that small stall trying to get the suit down, like a puppy chasing its tail. Then I heard a toilet flush.
This made it worse! Thought I was in there alone.
After a few more stumbles and turns, I heard another flush.

Another person! Oh gosh!

Finally, I was able to get the suit down without ripping it. Another flush!

Realized I was the only one in there... it was an automated toilet. All that movement created flushes.

Finally got myself  suited situated and back to the waiting area.

"Or there you are!" the receptionist said, just as I sat down. "We were worried about ya. Everything okay?"

I just nodded, smiled and wiped the sweat from my head.

Bet I burned at least 50 calories in that bathroom.


Friday, March 10, 2017

Memory


My memory isn't what it used to be but it was pretty good when I was younger. Spending summers at my Godmother's house helped with that. We really referred to our mornings as prison time. Her daughter would cook oatmeal; regular oatmeal. I can still see that little Quaker dude on the box. At eight or nine, he seemed to grin at me while I tried to eat it. We were not allowed to leave the table until we ate our food. Being the leader I was at that time, I showed the others how to gradually put chunks of the lumpy stuff in a napkin. Then, once the warden she left the kitchen the third time, run and put the full napkins behind the curtain. We'd go back before lunch to dispose of it. Needed good memory to do that. Should've had common sense too. Doing that made her think we liked the stuff.

But my memory, at that age, has nothing on our daughter's memory at fifteen. While attending our son's school Open House for rising freshman recently, I also spoke to one of our daughter's current teachers.

"How is she doing in your class so far?" I asked him, shaking his hand.

"She's doing pretty well. She still has to do the presentation, but it's been hard for her with losing her voice and all."

Speechless.

"She was out for the three days when she was sick and it's been difficult for her to talk. The hoarseness has been bad. Feel bad for her."

Yes. You should feel bad for her. I thought.

I was hoping my face did not reflect what I was thinking.

He informed me that she could do the alternative which would be to take a test in place of the presentation. He seemed genuinely sorry for her.

When we got home I told her about the blind-sided conversation.

"Momma, you didn't tell him that I didn't lose my voice did you?"

Speechless again.

Her memory- much better than mine. She actually remembered to change her voice each time she went to that class. And it was believable.

"You may want to look into theater arts. You're good!"

"Well, actually, I-" she began.

"I wasn't serious!" I assured her.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Little Michael Evans

I realize as I type this that I need to get back to posting about our two kids and parenting. May need to give more updated background about them so that you will understand why they are still so amusing after all these years- especially if you are a new reader. They are both so comically, polar opposites, and wonderfully created!

I really thought we would have had our own sitcom by now but that would be impossible without consistent posts. And believe me they are still funny. So are "Dude" and I.

So our youngest is 13 now. He is still afraid of people in costumes and not ashamed of it. He is intrinsically motivated, loves God, does exceptionally well academically and socially, is the best dancer in the house and many affectionately call him "Little Michael Evans" from the show Good Times.

A few Sundays ago, we were sitting in church waiting for Praise and Worship to start and one of the leaders of our church made his rounds to say hello.

"Hey Buddy! What's going on?" he cheerily asked as he athletically-like, patted our son's chest. He then moved on and said hello to the rest of the family. I noticed the look on Myles's face but before I could say anything the music started.

I found out why he had the odd look once we got in the car after service.

"I don't like when he pats my chest," he told us. "It's weird."

Dude  Daddy addressed it. "He probably does that to all the boys. Not a big deal."

Oh Lord, I thought. I was waiting to see what Little Michael Evans was thinking.

The look on his face. Now I guess it's important to mention and necessary for some to get this story. The man is White.

"Back in the day, men patted little boys on their heads," Daddy told him.

Myles said something as he looked out of his window. It was inaudible. I was glad.

"What is it?" Daddy asked him as we turned slowly out of the parking lot.

"I'm not a-" he began.

"Your're not a what?" his sister asked him. She was sitting in the back next to him.

As I began to give my spill on it he finally said it:

"I'm not a monkey!"

There was a moment of silence. Then I couldn't contain my natural reaction. I squealed with laughter. I couldn't stop.
Then Dude Daddy and our daughter joined in. Myles didn't find it amusing.

"Where did you get that from?" I managed to say while wiping my eyes.

Weeks before that incident in church, we had a visiting minister (White too) who was over many of the Assemblies of God around the United States. He mentioned this when he spoke.

"I've been the over seer of the Assemblies for more than ten years now..."

Myles nudged me.

A few minutes later the speaker said something about people sitting around singing "Kum ba yahs".

Oh Lord, I thought as I closed my eyes and waited for our son to respond.

"Momma! Overseer? Kum ba yahs?" he whispered and shook his head.

I did too. At him.





Thursday, December 01, 2016

No Talking!

During the last thunderstorm, our son said, "Shh!"

Laughing, I told him, "It's okay. It's just thunder."

"At Grandma's house we have to turn everything off and we can't talk," he informed me.

Shaking my head, I walked to the window to see if the rain was letting up.

"I remember those days. We had to sit quiet until the storm was over but I thought it was only for lightning."

Either way, it was one of the many stories I have about the old days of growing up. Didn't realize she was still doing that.

"Grandma said we need to do the same thing at home."

I explained to him that it was okay and that my mom had probably grown up with someone telling her that and she passed it on.

I started thinking about my younger brother. Now just behind me at 43. During those times when there was a storm, not only was he quiet, but you could find him clinging to the bed; under it. He would sweat as if he did something really bad. I would get in trouble for laughing at him.

Still can't, for the life of me, understand why we couldn't talk during a thunder storm.

"Thunder is just sound. It's a little different from lightning," I said.

Our son shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know but Grandma gets really serious 'bout that. We can barely move until it's all over."

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Weighed Down

Times have been tough as I approach fifty. Yep, the BIG 5-0. Well, I will be 45 in a few months but just thinking 50 is around the corner makes my craziness feel warranted; excusable. 

I've been more forgetful than usual. Me! I'm the one who usually remembers specifics about things decades ago. I remember playing pencils with the pencils we were supposed to be selling in the school's store in elementary school. I remember how many chops it took for me to break the school's president's pencil in the back of the store.And what we she said to the students doing the right thing selling supplies. 

Nope. Now it seems that I hear, "Remember? I told you blah, blah, blah." a lot. 

I have been trying to stay proactive when it comes to my health. Even though I'm not always  consistent, I give myself credit for doing it when I do. 

My clothes were fitting me a little looser recently. It was almost unbelieveable. With getting back into the teaching groove, still transporting our kids around daily and other things, I hadn't truly noticed how much weight I'd lost and how quickly. But with all the chaos of life it hit me- like a big truck of chocolate and potato chips. I had to talk to somebody fast!

As I stood on the scale, I talked to a close friend on the phone. 

"I told you I'm stressed out or something," I whispered as I closed the bathroom door. 

"How much weight have you lost?" she asked. 

I began to weep. I smothered my cries so my husband and kids couldn't hear me. 

"How much weight? It's okay. You will be okay girl," she tried to convince me. 

I was almost inaudible. "Thirty pounds," I managed to say. 

"Woah," she whispered. Not sure why she was whisperingt. 

"And no one noticed that you've lost  that much in just almost a month?" she questioned. 

I slowly slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor. "Nooooooo. And that's the sad part. My husband. My kids- none of them have noticed." 

I couldn't take it. She tried to calm me. After we hung up, I just stayed there, on the floor, sobbing. 

Knew I need to get a grip but geez- I was down to what I weighed before having my son!!! H'e's 13 now. 

After a few minutes I wiped my face and went to bed. I was thinking I would need to possibly talk to a counselor or someone the next day. Losing this amount of weight in a short time- meant stress city and instability. 

The next morning, I woke to the sounds of my husband yelling in the bathroom. 

"Myles! Maurissa! Which one of ya'll been messing with this scale again?" 

I sat up.