I like to watch him, when he is unawares. Alone, free, confident. Nobody to hurt him, judge him, confuse him. Not even me.

Run free, my son. Run free.




The root for the word Sabbath, literally means cease, quit. Would you like to quit your job? Would you like a break from your daily responsibilities?

Yes, well, the Sabbath, Jesus said, 'The Sabbath was made for you...' It is a time to benefit us, His children, when we can rest in Him and be refreshed. Beware of anyone who gives you a list of "dos and don'ts" for the Sabbath. Those were the very ones Jesus was refuting in the Gospels. If you are not His child, then you will benefit from rest, too, for the God Almight made us to benefit from this time.

Enjoy what God has given you!



Shoe Fetish

Oooh, I can't resist this one. Even though I am technically diagnosed with a Shoe Fetish, I SO need a summer bag.
I get a chance to win this hotty, if I link over to The Secret is in The Sauce. OK, well, I can do that! The SITSas are having six weeks of give-aways and this is one contest where you don't get any junkmail or annoying phone calls!


. . . because nobody has taught my son that his cute pet goldfish, when it dies, is G-R-O-S-S!!! His dad has let him keep it in a plastic container overnight so that Boo can "grieve."

What you don't understand yet, is that it is not a 1" little goldfish from the fair. This is about 5" from his bulgy eyes to the tip of his fantail. And now that he's been dead for over 24 hours, his blood has started leeching out of him!

AAAAAAAK! I got married so my husband can deal with dead critters - but that meant GETTING IT OUT OF THE HOUSE!!



I Love Mommy

"I Love Mommy" by Lizi Boyd is one of my favorite books for Boo. I love everything about the book. I love the graphics, including the font, the drawings, the colors, the characters, the size, the paper - everything. I ran across it at a local bookstore, which sadly, is no more.

I bought the book because Boo had a rather narrow range of emotions. It was one of the many effects of early trauma. I am sure he had feelings, [aside from anxiety, which he readily knew how to express] but I'm not sure he recognized them, and he certainly did not know how to express them. You may say "Oh so-and-so wasn't very affectionate, either." But that's not it. Do you know, somewhere deep inside you, when something is not right with your child? When that rash, that cough, isn't something "normal?" Well, I knew. I couldn't be in denial because he never sat on my lap, never hugged me, never felt pain or extreme cold. Never. I mean never. I had to teach him how to put his arms around me and hug me. I can't explain to you fully what happened in his little brain, but I know, surely as I know there is a God, that he was damaged by being taken from the family he had come to trust. Can you imagine getting all the diapers, crying, messes and duties, but not the cooing, the imitating, the nuzzling? Well, all that's for another post.
I was drawn to the book because it so simply shows a relationship between mom and child, and how the very ordinary things in life form the bonds of love. That mommy "always has a fizzy drink for me," that mommy makes me dinner, prepares the perfect bath and tucks me in at night. Fortunately, Boo took to it, too. We read it over and over and over, literally for years. One day, I took the cover image, printed it on some iron-on transfer paper and made him a t-shirt. He loved that shirt and wore it for quite awhile. Then, like most things, he moved on to other books, other shirts, other characters.
The other night, he suddenly said, in that tight, tear-filled voice, that he missed his "I Love Mommy" shirt and pulled it out of his drawers to wear that night. I was deeply satisfied, that he had such affection for something I made him, but also that he could feel and express what was locked inside of him. We were both disappointed to see that he had grown out of the shirt. Then he said,

"Oma, when I'm a man, and I'm big, could you make me a 'I Love Mommy' shirt that is man-size?"
Ofcourse, honey. Ofcourse I will.



A friend of mine saw my posting about a meal I made at the Shore and didn't realize it was posted from the Shore, using the condo's dishes. She remarked that her mother had the same dishes. She has a penchant for reminding me that she is younger than me, (ahem!) even though we're sort of cyber-twins. I'm not a dish snob or anything, but I am pretty clear about my design preferences. I am, after all, an architect. We, as a type, are known to have just a few opinions about design. So, I cleared that up pronto! and now she wants to see what dishes I actually have. And use. At my house.

My design sensiblities lean toward Modernism. That would be the early 20th Century revolution by the likes of Bertoia, the Eames', Corbu, Wirkkala. Teaks, stainless steel, glass, burlap, earthenware, leather. No space-age George Jetson stuff. No Kitsch. Atleast, not in my house. I appreciate all good design, no matter what style, as well as the cultural relevance of bad design.

There was a "I'll show you mine" thing on a bunch of blogs awhile back. It's a fun, girly thing to do. So, here's a little glimpse of who I am:


This white set is for our everyday. No, I don't use linens everyday. We have Boo, remember?? I moved his plastic place mat off to the side for the effect. :-) Those aren't all the pieces, but it gives you an idea of the clean look I prefer. It's a combination of Crate & Barrel, Target and Craigslist. The lip on the plates are great for a little one chasing peas with a fork.


This Sasaki set is in pale, pale pink with a raw stoneware edge. It is designed by Vignelli and Vignelli, a graphic designer/architect team out of New York. I love how the raw edge looks, and sets it off from the table. Conceptually, it's very East Asian,

in that it is lifted high off the surface, and the raw edge is accentuating it's differentiation from it's surroundings. I use this set when I'm having friends over, and if I'm not serving a tomato sauce. The red-orange doesn't look appetizing on the blush tone. I love the shapes. I could practically eat up those salt and pepper shakers.

Here we are at a summer time potluck. These women are some of the first friends I met here 5 years ago, when we were put together as a playgroup. We got on so well, we ditched the group that put us together, but stayed together as a playgroup!


This is my wedding china. I should say "ours," because I've never met a man that was so concerned about china as my HH. Having a design-sensitive husband is a blessing and a curse, y'know! For those of you who roll their eyes at their seemingly colorblind husbands, think of the alternative!! Actually, I love that HH has a great sense of design. . . we're a great team. Anyway, here's a combination of Mikasa Royal Glimmer, Dansk teak and Sasaki Orbit Gold. I have to credit my best friend, Artsy, for finding me those napkins. They are so funky and work so perfectly with my dishes, to give it an individual flair. I try to put a retro spin on it by combining the settings with teak and vintage pieces. No brass candlesticks here.

For those that have "issues" with using Art in manufactured products, you'll just have to decline the invites to our home! Ha! Actually, I have issues with that too, sometimes. I think Klimt, though, and other Secessionists, are good at transferring to other media like linens, carpeting and decor.

I have sixteen - yes 16 - place settings. Of course I didn't know gold can't go in the dishwasher!! Can you imagine setting out 16 place settings of your good china and then washing them at the end of the evening?? Not this mama!

So, come on over!




I crawled into bed with little Boo last night. He was all cozy from having been under the covers. All warm, doughy and squishy the way little ones get. When I got in, I was cool from being out in the air-conditioning of our house. He entangled his little legs around mine and said,

"Mom, you feel fwesh!"



Fate Accompli

"It was Fate."

"As Fate would have it. . ."

Do you ever say things like that? What is fate? Does it affect your life? How?
It has always struck me that Fate is inanimate, so to speak. To me, it was Nothing, to which we attributed control over our mulitple, combined actions. Fate has no power. . . or does it?

The understood definition these days "the will or principle or determining cause by which things in general are believed to come to be as they are or events to happen as they do." Where did this idea come from? In Greek and Roman mythology, the Fates are any of three goddesses who determined human destinies, and in particular the span of a person's life and his allotment of misery and suffering. But it was Homer who referred to Fate as an impersonal power.

"Impersonal power." Is this your god? Does this god play with us, our loved ones, our future spouses, our very future? Is Fate our fait accompli?



May The Force Be With You

We traveled to our home region over the weekend. We visited MIL, went to a family wedding and on the same night had our High School reunion. I have "car head." And hence, no posts.

On our way to the wedding, I had the chance to be in the car alone, listening to whatever I wanted. (Read: NOT listening to the favorites of a 6 year old.) A familiar song came on:

What makes you say love will end
When you know that my whole life depends
On you . . .

I heard those words in a new way. And they scared me. Yes, scared me. I grew up with that song, and others of that ilk. Then, immediately, these words came to me:

For they exchanged the truth of God for a lie,
and worshiped and served the creature
rather than the Creator. . .*

I came to ponder a rather large notion, "what is love?" OK, so it's a big topic that philosophers, theologians, authors, poets and even scientists have studied for centuries. Here is what I know:

God is love. God = Love. As in many mathematical formulae, the converse is not true. Love is not God. Love /= God.

God is the Author, Source, Initiator, Wellspring. What happens to The Associations, The Beatles, and the millions of us, who worship Love? As the words of the Bible say, we worship the created, the product, in this case, LOVE, and not the Author, without considering the Creator.

All you need is Love? No. All you need is The Source.

*Romans 1:25 (NAS)


6:00 PM EST

and it seems toooo quiet in the Family Room...



Boo's Six



"I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendants after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you."- Genesis 17:7

"For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love He predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will..." - Ephesians 1: 4,5



I believe in diversity. Some of my best friends are Republican.

A couple of months ago, a dear friend lamented having to attend a fundraiser party later that afternoon with her hubs. She half-jokingly asked if I'd go instead. I half-seriously asked what the event was. "Oh, it's for the NRA," to which I piped "Sure! I'll be outside with a placard, picketing!" We both laughed hartily, in that "oh, we'll agree to disagree" kind of way.

Fast-forward to today. I've been having trouble with my thumb. Just achey like I've never experienced. So I made the 45-minute drive to visit my Orthopaedic Surgeon.

Diagnosis: Trigger finger.



My Man

Happy Father's Day to HH, my Handsome Husband.
My Boy Toy.
My Arm Candy.
My hunk.

No cinema idol could stand up to you. The man who genuinely rejoices with me when I find my white summer sandals I thought I'd lost. The man who makes me coffee every morning, even when he himself won't touch the stuff. The man who gives me 20 when I ask for 10. The man who bought me the larger of the 2 diamonds we considered. The man who talks too loudly in the morning, and falls asleep by 9. . . the man who has never seen the end of a video with me. The man who always asks if I want dessert, even though I'm 20 pounds overweight.

The man who made me a mother. Happy Father's Day, dear.


Little One

You would have been seven by now. You would have drawn your dad a wonderful card, hugged him, been hugged back.

I am sorry I couldn't protect you, but the Lord had His plans for you.

We will see you again, too, my dear. You can wish your dad Happy Father's Day then.


A Gentle Man

He was born in Lancaster, PA, to a German Reformed and Mennonite family. He grew up peacefully, in a peaceful family, in a peace loving community. As the youngest (by quite a few years) of 4 children, he must have grown up listening.

And so, I imagine, he kept listening. I think the term these days is “active listening,” but I think he defined it before anyone coined it. He listened to the mentally challenged man that he visited regularly. He listened to the mentally ill man that he met with time after time, for what ended up being decades. He friended the friendless. He listened to strangers while serving the local mental health hotline. He listened to his 2 sons, and turned them into listeners. One of them was gifted to me to be my husband.

He prayed for them all. Considered their needs, and how he might serve them. He never told me this. He’s not one who ever would. If I had asked him point-blank, he would hesitate before admitting humbly that he did. I never asked him, I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.

As a young man, he traveled to Penn State, where he played soccer, eventually to earn an EdD in (career) Counseling. He spent his career listening to young men and women, leading them in the ways that he thought would be best.

<><>And he listened to his Lord. Of this, I am sure.

We all look forward to being with you again, when we meet up yonder. Happy Father’s Day, Dad, you, who were always seeking to be like your Father. We miss you.


A Brave Man

He left his family of 4 children, one just an infant girl, as well as his wife. He got on a plane with propellers, and headed to the other side of the earth. He was accepted into the PhD program in Mathematics at Brandeis University. His dissertation, in case you’re curious, is titled, “The Quotient Variety of a Normal Transformation Space by an Abelian Variety.” Well, OK then!

It was 1961 in Korea when he got on that plane. Roads, except the main streets, were still unpaved. Children played in dirt alleys. Korea was then a part of The Third World. My father had gotten his schooling through some interesting times. He lived through the Korean War as a young man. Born in what is now North Korea, he had to cross the enemy lines to get to the South just for his entrance exams. He and his buddies got their education in bits and pieces, between battles, between gun fire, here and there.  They chuckle in wonder that they got an education at all.

And yet, an entire generation of men got on a plane just like he did to pursue their education. Up until 1965, the US allowed immigration only from European countries, except for very narrow allowances. [That is called “institutional racism.”]

He was neither proficient in English, nor supported financially, nor socially. He spends most of his time studying, barely stopping to eat, sleep or wash. He is living on a stipend while still supporting his family. Overseas phone calls are expensive and unpredictable. No internet, no cell phnes, no Skype. He is still only one of a handful of Koreans living in the Northeast. Not even a Chinese restaurant nearby. No tofu or kimchee or daikon in the grocery stores.

The PhD program requires 2 additional languages other than English or his native language, so he learns French and German, too. Failure is not an option. No such thing as “ABD” (All But Dissertation) a common acronym in academia for the status of those who pursue a PhD and for some reason, never finish. If he fails, he comes home to shame himself and his entire extended family.

He not only succeeds, but finishes a 4-year program in 3. Unheard of.  Then it is 3 more years in this strange land until Korean emigration will let his family join him. When they do, his infant daughter is nearing 7. His sons are physical, strong-willed teens. And his wife.

My father is not an easy man to be with. I didn’t grow up longing to spend time with him. I don't think he ever played "catch" with me, a girl. Nor any of the boys.  He was gone for so much of our important growing years.

Only as an adult have I begun to appreciate him for all he is, all he accomplished, all he gifted to us.

Happy Father's Day, dad. From that little girl.



You may have noticed the odd spelling. The inconsistent spelling. Corea? You mean Korea, right? Right.

The notion of using the English alphabet to write a word that doesn't come via the alphabet is a challenge, and one that linguists have and do argue ad infinitum. Remember Peking now Beijing?? The nation of my birth, was at one time known as "Korye," pronounced more like Go-ryuh, with a rolled "r."

The nation of my birth was at one time more commonly known as Corea, or a variant, like Coree, in French. However, during the Japanese forceful occupation, the story goes that the Imperialists deemed it inappropriate for its subject to precede them in international listings. So Korea we became. (J, K, L, ....)

In rejection of the Japanese subjugation and continued prejudice toward Coreans and Corea, I had decided to spell Corea with the "original" C. Then I realized that anyone trying to find me via the search word "Korea" wouldn't be able to find me. So what do I do? Stay with K? CK? KC? C?

Add to this confusion that I've had a different thought lately. The land of my birth, to which I still feel great compassion and affection, is now known throughout the world as Korea: despite the cruelties of Japanese kidnapping of girls and women to serve as sixual slaves, the involuntary medical experiments, the cultural and personal repressions.

I'm thinking that we can now say to all that: It doesn't matter what your intentions were. You intended it for harm, but it has turned out well for us. You are nothing to us now. We are now victorious as a successful country. . . now known as Korea.

What do you think?




You know how a kid can be like a pinwheel of elbows and knees? My kid can come over to kiss me and kick my shin, bruise my thigh, elbow my boobz and bonk my nose before landing a wet one somewhere southeast of my nostril.

I had just finished reading him a bedtime story. He rolls over to give me a hug, so I playfully say pre-emptively, "Don't squish me!" To which he quips, "You have a really squishy part: right here!" and pokes my muffin-top belly.

Smart aleck kid.


Goodbye for now

"We plan our days, but God orders our steps."
Only He is eternal. . .



Doppler Effect?

And some how, it's become Friday night.

The week stretches out before you...Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday...even Wednesday. Then WOOSH! the train of time zips past you and it's the end of the week. I am living in my own time, and yet time seems to pass me by like the Doppler effect of a passing train.

It was THE perect weather for me today. In the high 70's, sunny, then a cool evening. We stuffed a lot of things in today and I've never seen Boo so thoroughly happy. We:
1. Rode a surrey:

2. Sat in the cool condo and did some drawing:


3. Built a castle with mom (architect and architect-in-training)

4. Played in the water:

5. I got to take a long walk - ALONE - on the sand bar:

6. Flew a kite

7a: Terrified his father:

7b: Terrified his mother:

7c: . . . and terrified the other parents!
THAT, is a full day.


History Lesson

When we got to the condo here at the beach, Mr. Curiouser ran through his litany of questions. What's that black box above the range, mom? I told him it was a really old microwave.

"Oh." Silence. "Does that mean it lived a long, long time ago?!"


Playing Around

Still 2 full days to go. Another morning spent on the deck, drinking coffee! Watching folks bicycle and jog down the boardwalk.

We took a drive yesterday all the way down the island. It was a beautiful clear day. There's still a week to go before real season starts so it's still pretty peaceful. Um, except for the renovation going on next door. So, we saw parts of the island we didn't know existed. Beautiful blue water, really atypical for the Atlantic.

We took a break at a playground for Boo to burn up some energy.

Thanks to my friend Paula, for teaching Boo this face.


Bokchoy Boy at the Beach

Imagine if you will, that every day, you had to eat...umm, let's say Chinese food. You know, there are millions and millions of Chinese who eat Chinese food...every day. Three times a day. But you? ya might want a sandwich, or spaghetti or salad after a day or two. Well, meal after meal of sandwiches and pizza and I'm ready for some East Asian fare. [Yunz know I'm not Chinese, right? Yunz know it's just an example, right?]

I was out buying a new camera. It was one of those days where the air conditioning in the car cannot keep with the heat outside. I saw an Asian grocery store in my travels so I braved another stop and bought dinner fare. I had to improvise, not having the ingredients I'd normally use, but it worked for us. So, here's our meal from tonight:

Clockwise from the salmon, the little black square is a pile of dried seaweed, Shanghai bokchoy, small bowl of kimchee and large bowl of watercress. We take a spoonful of rice, put it on the square of seaweed, add other ingredients, then wrap it like a burrito and pop it into our mouths.

Boo is a pro at it!

In fact, we have to fight him for it!

Megan, I want you to notice that there is bokchoy and watercress on his plate. It's not a set-up. Anyone want to join us for the next meal?



One thing I love almost as much as drinking coffee on the deck, overlooking the ocean, is riding bikes on the Boardwalk. If you don't know, these have to be the foot-brake, no gear type. No trail bikes. No racers.

Bright and early before the sun gets too hot.

Then stopping for a cooling drink.

This little boy works hard.


Beach Shots

It has been killin' me since my camera died. I just got a new one, figured out the buttons, loaded the program, and finally ....drumroll....

Loaded up for the beach:

Booboo and HH:

View of "the boys" from our deck:

You have to play frisbee...

and ya gotta build sand castles:

...and this is just to prove I really am here, too!


Math Whiz

5 year old, soon to be 6 year old Booboo has been a math teacher lately. He gives out math problems and we are expected to raise our hands. So yesterday, he says, "Mom, I'm going to give you a toughie because you're really smart. Umm, what's 12 + 2?"

I think that might make up for last week, when he said, "Mom, are you fat?"



Fractal Geometry

The sound of the waves....
The sound of the waves....
Like God whispering to me: I AM here... I AM here...

Last night, as all 3 of us snuggled together in the beach condo, HH said, "It's wonderful to hear the waves." Boo questioned, "What waves? Isn't that the air conditioning?" We both whispered, "Listen..." Thereupon my child's face appeared the most serene, comforted smile...a sparkle of fascination and appreciation in his bright eyes.

The drive to The Shore in season can be brutal. The 100 miles trip can take 5 hours. We decided yesterday that we would take our time. We left late, after the rush of people trying to get there by 2:00, the start of the "Saturday to Saturday" rental week. We breezed through the City, and breezed down the Shore Highway. We left the Saturation Point and arrived to feel a cool breeze and 73 degrees. We ran to the beach, started promptly making a castle, then Boo and HH ran back and forth, back and forth, playing "tag."

Then we had sushi delivered to us for dinner. Then out on our deck. Watching. Listening.

The waves.
The waves.
The waves.

The God Who Created All Things would make even the lapping of the waters in a pattern so intricate, so interesting, that our souls, made in His image, would be soothed.



Saturation Point

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.

Then God said, "Let there be an expanse in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters." God made the expanse, and separated the waters which were below the expanse from the waters which were above the expanse; and it was so.
- Genesis 1:1,2 & 6,7 (NASB)

But a mist used to rise from the earth and water the whole surface of the ground.
- Genesis 2:6 (NASB)

It's supposed to be 83 degrees now; it's supposed to feel like 93. The weather report says the humidity is 69%. To me, it feels like 99 degrees and 99% humidity. And in today's case, the sun is only making things more intense. In other words, it's stinkin' hot. My glasses fog up outside. My hair's frizzing out. I can practically see the mold growing. It'll probably help the weeds to thrive and the vegetables to rot.

Adam and Eve had constant communion with God Almighty and they were never going to grow old! My wrinkles are definitely still on me and I have to struggle to have communion with God. He's always here, but I'm not always in prayer with Him. But the glory is, despite the Fall, God allows us to have communion with Him, to have eternal life. As adopted heirs through Christ our Lord. In heat, cold, sun and rain. The "good" times and the "bad." Amazing. I wish I could remember the Spirit saturates my soul more thoroughly than the humidity clings to my pores.

Now you'll have to excuse me. I've got to go put on some hair gel.




We're doing some alternative therapy for Boo. I believe his early pains have caused some neurological mis-wiring. Part of the therapy is an exercise that requires total quiet and dim lighting. Boo and I get set up.

I ask Boo to close the door and tell daddy we're doing exercises. He yells, "Dad! we're doing exercises!" Starts back, then turns around and adds,
"Just wanted to tell you dad, so you won't destroy us!"



Oh that reminds me...

Seeing my little guy sitting on the floor (previous post) reminds me. We loved that house. It was designed in 1956 by a Penn State Architecture professor by the name of William Hajjar. True to Modernism, it blended the indoors and outdoors artfully, so that each room had a view to the sky, the garden. Boo is looking out the living room's glass wall. Each room had a feature that made it harmonious, not overwhelming. Mahogany paneling. Double height living room. A balcony-like den. Borrowed light.

Even as an architect, the best feature was the heating system. We're talking the 50's and yet the "cold" tile floor Boo was sitting on was actually WARM! Hot water pipes ran underneath and provided radiant heating through the tiles. It is wonderful to always have your feet toasty warm on those cold central Pennsylvania days. No more drafts up your ankles!

Did you know radiant heating has been used for centuries? It was most widely used by the Coreans, who helped to popularize it. It is called "ondol" in Corean. The flue for the cooking fire connected to a tunnel system that ran under the floor of each room. The part of the room closest to the kitchen was the "upper room," and was reserved the the elders, while the youngsters sat on the colder end.

So! summer's here and I can tell you're not feelin' it right now. I'll remind you about this post around November, OK?

Snack Time!

I'm playing FriedOkra 's game today. What are our 10 favorite snacks?

This is an important question to us, because since Boo could eat, he would eat 24 hours if he could. As soon as he was old enough, I had to create a really strict regimen of Breakfast, Snack, Lunch, Snack, Dinner, Snack. Because like I said, he'd eat 24 hours a day. Those "Snacks" were like mini meals! For example, one of his snacks as a toddler was whipped sweet potatos, honey and yogurt. I mean this kid ATE. He was never chubby, but he sure was ummm... "healthy." Here he is at 10 months, exploring under my piano. You wouldn't know it by his physique today, having turned into a lean little guy. He's always been a great fruit and vegetable eater. His favorite foods include tofu, fiddlehead and bean sprouts. I'm doing all I can to keep his friends' eating habits from influencing him. Like when a class mate said of his snack, "Ewwwww! peppers are stinky!" Nice, huh? The first of many peer-pressure battles! Oh would they stay that easy!
I do all I can to AVOID the yucky stuff:
High Fructose Corn Syrup
Red- OR blue-dyed anything
Artificial anything - fat, sweetner, coloring, flavoring
I also try to GET the good stuff:
whole grains
low salt
low fat
natural, unprocessed foods.
All conventionally grown vegetables and fruits get washed with Environne's Fruit & Vegetable Wash.
Not in any order:

1. Annie's Cheddar or Graham Bunnies - VERY yummy. Totally organic.
2. Newman's Own Popcorn - natural, low salt
3. Bell Peppers or Baby Carrots
4. Raw Almonds - Almonds because they are the best ratio of nutrients to fats out of all the nuts, and they taste great. Pistachios are also a family favorite. We don't know about their fat content. We don't have time to think aobut it because the bag usually doesn't last 2 days.
5. Cheese sticks - I just pick the one that has the least amount of salt.
6. Yogurt - Stoneyfield Farms is our favorite. They're usually organic and I like their philosophy.
7. Low Acid Orange Juice - one of the only juices that naturally retain all their nutrients
8. Honey Oat Pretzel Sticks - for some reason, the Honey Oat flavor seems to have a portion of whole grain in them
9. Fruit - Fuji apples are a favorite. Also Champagne mangos. Grapes. Orages.
10. Peppero Choco Sticks - OK. This is totally unredeeming. It's got processed flour. Chocolate. Artificial everything. But Boo loves it. And it's Corean. And I don't want you to think I'm a nutrition goody-goody.


My Father's Eyes

Booboo loves to dress like his dad.

HH, as an Executive, often wears a jacket and tie. So, at every opportunity, Boo wants to dress like his dad. To church, to the take-out Chinese place, to Field Day at school. I admit, I have fears that the older kids might tease him; call him names. I know his acceptance by other children is more important to me, when as yet he is unawares. Many days, I have had to gently coax him out of a tie and button-down shirt. Sometimes, the tie is striped and the shirt is plaid. He is only in Kindergarten, and like most kids that age, he doesn't see the detailed differences in people. He sees only the similarities. It never occurs to him to describe someone by their skin color or disability or difference.

I cannot dampen his spirit, when he is so unflinchingly delighted when dressed like his dad, and proudly says "I look JUST LIKE DAD!"

I wish I would so innocently, unhindered, seek to be like my Father in Heaven.


I miss Ma...

We've been in and out a lot. It wasn't until yesterday that I realized the home phone didn't work. So, I had to call the phone company. I don't pay the bills, so I had to remember the name of the company. . . Transit? No. Transome? No. Oh, Trinsic!

So Trinsic, the phone company, had to get Verizon, which owns the lines, to come make the repairs. Then Matrix called back to see if all was well. Matrix?! I thought it was a solicitation, so I hung up on this woman. Bless her heart, she called back. Twice. She told me Matrix is what Trinsic used to be - oops!
I asked the Verizon technician if we could get another outlet. Well, no, because that would be Trinsic. Or Matrix. I'd have to call Trinsic/Matrix, then they would come to put in a new outlet. Now, we could change our service to Verizon so we'd have the same company handling our phones and our lines, but in about 6 months, Verizon is going have all digital service available in this area. Is that all clear?

All that to say that you can now call us on our old-fashioned connected-to-wires phone that rings in our house, OK?

I miss Ma Bell.