Officially jinxed

I know, I know. What in the WORLD came over me when I wrote those words..."seemingly alright...rockin' immune system...probably jinxed myself..." PROBABLY is an understatement. Last Wednesday morning Dan and the kids woke up happy and healthy, and I woke up with an ominous ache in my throat. Dan had told me part of his sickness involved a sore throat, so that's the last time I'm sleeping next to him when he's sick, I thought indignantly. Tangent--do you think I should write all my blogs like I'm in a novel? A novella perhaps? Get back to the story before you lose people, I decided hastily.

Long story short: Thursday was worse, my glands were now swollen enough to resemble a small goiter. At this point I couldn't swallow my saliva so I was spitting in a cup and I decided that if it was not better in the morning I might A. shoot myself in the head, or B. go to the doctor. The doctor was "surprised" I tested positive for strep, and I was "surprised" I didn't shoot HIM in the head for being "surprised," but instead joyfully accepted his prescription for Amoxicillin.

After taking only 3 of the 30 pills I must finish, I felt like a human being again. It took less than 24 hours before I could swallow without distorting my face like I was in a low budget horror movie. I feel sooooo much better.

Die streptococcal pharyngitis. DIE.

On that happy note...here's some incredibly random pictures for your viewing pleasure. I realized I haven't been posting pictures lately, and that I never showed off the boys bunk beds. Or the cute hand painted letters Auntie Becca gave them for Christmas. Only 8 months in the house before the boys room was finished. Not bad.

Not-so-funny funny story

My not-so-funny funny story begins with the fact that my children (and now husband) have been sick for the last few days. Fever, vomiting, higher fever, body aches, cough, sore throat, headache. Pretty much you name it, they've got it. And the mommy who's been coughed/vomited/heavily breathed upon? Exhausted, but seemingly alright. God bless my rockin' immune system...there are benefits to years of working in a disease infested ER. I realize I could be jinxing myself with that statement, but let's move on.

The health of my family should give you a better insight into my state of mind as I finally made it to Winco to buy much needed groceries yesterday. The kids were still feverish, but we needed crackers and chicken noodle soup and children's ibuprofen, so I bundled them up and prayed the checkout lines wouldn't be 7 miles long. After pulling out of our driveway, I realized I should get the mail that's been piling up in our mailbox. (Our mailbox, along with 16 of our neighbors', is down the street half a block, which makes parking on the street very convenient and getting our mail every day...not so convenient.) ANYWAY, our mailbox was stuffed with 98% junk mail and 2% bills and at the red lights on the way to the grocery store I was sorting through what should be dumped in the recycling bin and what I needed to keep.

We finally made it through Winco and home with a typical amount of grocery store drama, I proceeded to dump a ridiculous stack of worthless mail into the recycling can. It took me 3 trips to haul in all the groceries as the kids fought over which color cup they wanted their chocolate milk (grocery store bribe) to be poured into at lunch time.

I'll get to the point of the story, which was the not-funny part. This morning Jake got to go to preschool which he missed yesterday. He didn't have a fever, and frankly I needed Sir Whiny Pants out of the house for a few hours. After the drama of getting the two kids ready to leave the house, I grabbed my purse and went down the stairs in the garage to buckle them in their carseats. Hmm, I thought as I looked through my purse. Where are my keys? I went back into the house and turned everything upside down. No keys. And I'm seriously hearing ear-piercing screams from the garage, which is wide open to the neighbors who are probably seconds from calling 911. The screams were related to which kid got to hold the balloon we got at a birthday party the other day. I searched the car. No keys. Perfect. I've lost my keys and my mind. I did have a key to our other car, and miracle of miracles...Dan got a ride to work this morning. So even though we were already late, I switched out 2 carseats and 2 whiny children, and drove recklessly to preschool.

I dreaded going home after dropping Jake off. I knew I'd searched EVERYwhere for my keys, and both kids were swearing they'd never touched them. I was going to have to tear the house apart. Then Ty and I pulled in to the driveway and I saw it...the big blue recycling can. Thank you God that it had just been emptied, because that thing is a monstrosity. I picked through the milk carton and flattened cereal boxes I had dropped in there last night, and got to the pile of junk mail. Underneath that...TAH DAH! My keys.

Just one more reason to despise junk mail.

WHAT??

We have major news here at the Stump house. We're talking serious business. Ground breaking. Earth shattering. Potentially life-changing information you all should be aware of. Are you ready?

Ty has ended an addiction. He has said "no" to ketchup 3 days in a row. Those of you who have been over for dinner (or any meal including breakfast), have had us over for a meal, or have read virtually any one of our blog posts know that ketchup has been a monumental part of Ty's existence since before he could say the word. In fact, I looked back on an old blog that refers to Ty's favorite new sentence, "no teh-tup head, daddy pank a bah-bahm." Which, translated means "No rubbing ketchup on my head, or daddy will spank my bottom." He was 1 1/2. We've had to lay the law down multiple times that ketchup is not for putting on pancakes, in soup, or by itself for a pre-dinner snack.

I was surprised that he didn't ask for ketchup a few days ago when I gave him some Mexican casserole for dinner. I was in shock when he asked for Ranch dressing instead of ketchup for his Dino chicken nuggets 2 nights ago. And last night I just about fainted when he scraped off the ketchup on his hot dog and insisted on dipping it in Ranch.

Does anyone know if Costco will exchange industrial sized bottles of ketchup for cases of Ranch dressing? I'm thinking I may need that information ASAP.

A year in review

Two thousand and eight, wasn't it great? I know this is late, but it could just be fate. Some things I really just have to state. I might write them on slate. Or in ketchup left on Ty's plate.

Ok, so I'm no Dr. Seuss. The rhymes are getting ridiculous. Like Ty would leave any trace of ketchup on his plate...or any plate within 2 miles for that matter.

I did this last year for 2007, so I guess I have to do it again. I mean GET to do it again. Here's the highlights, lowlights...and any other light that was mildly interesting to the Stump family in 2008:

Cleanest moment of 2008: Wood Village house on the market
Worst spring break of all time: vomit-fest '08
Biggest change of 2008: moving in to our awesome new house
Worst (surprisingly) Ty injury of 2008: the king of goose eggs
Best list of kid quotes: summer one-liners (or 2 paragraphers)
The blog I'm most proud of: 7 years with my dude
Favorite extended Stump family moment: Rebekah Jane Lillie makes her appearance
Jake's biggest change of 2008: starting preschool
Biggest life changing weekend for this wife and mommy: a heart revived
Worst near death experience for Ang: sinusitis vs. spontaneous head explosion
Most accurate portrayal of our every day life: a post about nothing

There you have it. 2008. The laughs, the tears, the hurts and the joys. A window into our world. Hope you've enjoyed my stories as much as I've enjoyed telling them. And living them.

I'm confident 2009 is going to be another great year. Oops, can't use the word great because that's clearly supposed to be used with 2008. Hmm, anybody have a word that rhymes with 9? I guess I have a year to think about it. Stay tuned.

Oops

So for some reason that last blog post didn't include the rest of my thoughts. I thought I had saved that instead of published it, but since I've been able to get out of the house the last few days, I've been ignoring blogger completely and enjoying the Oregon rain as it melts away the last bits of snow.

Anyway, I was going to say something like, "we had a nice Christmas even though half of our gifts never made it here because we couldn't get out of our driveway to pick them up, or UPS couldn't get into our driveway." We're hoping to remedy that today. We're off to pick up the bunk beds that I had to show the picture of to my kiddos on Christmas morning.

Bunk beds...nothing cooler for a 4 year old named Jake. Nothing more life-threatening for an almost 3 year old named Ty. I'll keep you posted on all the late night fun, and all the head injuries to come.

Scratch that

I just looked at my last post. Snow? Beautiful? Maybe the first few hours. Few days at the most. 2 weeks and almost 2 feet later the snow has gotten a bit old. I'm downplaying it. It's gotten REAL old. We're talking older than most stories in the Bible. In fact, the way the local news has been covering it, Portland's "Arctic Blast '08" is the biggest weather news since Noah's flood.

A few cute pictures is what I could take away from this. Years from now I'll be looking back and remembering the sweet moments of cuddling with the kids, hot chocolate and marshmallows, folks dressed up like Eskimos.

Jack Frost nipping at our nose(s)

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! Isn't it beautiful? My parents braved the 2 blocks and brought over a sled for the kids to bring them back to their house for Sunday night football. We had such a great time attempting snowball fights (snow was too dry, bummer) and wiping snot off little faces. Loving it. Dan had school cancelled on Monday, a 2 hour delay today, and hopefully the extra inches that are supposed to fall tonight will mean he'll be home until after Christmas! This teaching gig is pretty nice. Anyway, snow pictures and 1st Christmas in our new house pictures, for your viewing delight:

Dan and his Dad ventured out in the snow to cut us down a beautiful 10 dollar steal of a tree. You can't quite see it well, but the kids helped me decorate it. The bottom left part of the tree was sagging with ornaments, and the right got shafted until I suggested those branches were looking a little lonely.

"Tiny tots, with their eyes all aglow..."

That's what we witnessed last night. Christmas spirit through the eyes of a child. It was Jake's preschool Christmas program, and he could not have been more excited. Or more of a handsome dude in his new tie. If you've never been to a preschool Christmas program, or if it's been a while, I'll give you a brief synopsis of how things work: You must arrive forty minutes early, not only to drop your child off in his classroom, but to find a remotely decent seat. If you are going to save seats for relatives, you must come ready for an intense battle of passive-aggressive facial gestures that imply "we're in a church so I'm not going to physically harm you, but you can't seriously be thinking that you're going to be able to sit directly on top of my coat and purse that are saving a spot for grandma and grandpa."

Then comes about six or seven false starts where the lights go down and people get quiet only to realize that half the kids aren't in line to come into the auditorium because they are either in the bathroom, or have run back to their classroom to retrieve something vital like a chewed up pencil they're planning on showing great Aunt Bertha after the show. Then as the first class walks down the aisle every child stops when they get to mom and dad for the ever important cheesy-grinned photo op. Sorry, my child definitely slowed things down with this one...of course we didn't end up with a good picture, but oh well.

Next is the 3-5 minute period where the teachers attempt to get the kids lined up in their assigned rows which no doubt is the same spot they've been practicing in since the beginning of September. Another 2 minutes to get everyone to stop wildly waving at mom and dad and shouting, "I'm right here, guys!"

Then the music starts and you cannot help but laugh until your stomach aches and tears are streaming down your face. They've obviously been told to sing loudly, which clearly means scream at the top of your lungs even when you don't know the words. Hysterical. Here's some great (and very short, don't worry) examples, the first one from cousin Matty's class:

This continues for about an hour, and then there's a cookie and punch reception that is the highlight of any preschooler's young life. Exhaustion takes over, for every child and parent and anyone within a ten mile radius of the building, and though the car ride home may include some whining and tears, the Christmas season feels officially kicked off. Happy Birthday, Jesus! We can't wait for more celebrations of your birth.

Best friends

Happy birthday to my bestest friend in the whole wide world! Megan Nichole (I prefer to pronounce the "ch" because I think silent letters get shafted) Wood. I am so very blessed to have you in my life.

First random favorite memory of Megan...our answering machine when we lived together in college stated, for a brief period of time, "Hi, you've reached Angela and Megan, we're busy putting on our flannels, so leave us a message." You must know that we sang the words "putting on our flannels" and that "flannel" was pronounced much more like "flaaah-null." Great song written and preformed by some great friends back in the day. Good times. We certainly milked that song for all it was worth. We actually have a magnificent talent for milking any old thing way beyond the limit. Like milking for instance. We found away to use that phrase "milk it for all it's worth" in just about every possible scenario. We even used extremely exaggerated milking hand motions when words were not enough. Meg's hubby Eric might recall that one of the Indians in the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland appears to be milking a cow when he's actually beating drums. Moving on.

Second random favorite memory of Megan. She loves to buy things if they're a good deal. Lots of times this means buying things in bulk, which didn't always work well in a small dorm room. She also loved to mix her cereal. One scoop of Kashi Good Friends cereal with one scoop of Kix. One night I had a dream, a VERY vivid dream, that Meg and I were shopping at some ginormous warehouse like Costco which had shelves up to the ceiling, and she comes around the corner hauling a bag of cereal that was bigger than she was. "Ang!" I can still hear it, "Look at this amazing deal!" The ridiculous bag had about 7 different kinds of cereal in it, all layered on top of each other.
Oh my sweet Megan! Thank you for so many memories. For so many yet to come. Enjoy this birthday. I love you! (And thank you Faith for this picture you took months ago. I swear I'm going to change my ways and start taking thousands of pictures of myself. Starting...tomorrow.)

3 random thoughts

Number 1: a picture of the Stump side of the family...because according to some people (you know who you are, you lucky buRN) I never post pictures of myself. Or my hubby. Or anyone else besides my children.
Number 2: Jake's prayer last night included praying for the needy kids around the world. "I pray that God would give them lots of toys like Tonka trucks and Hot Wheels, and...water, and...garbage cans so they can throw away their garbage...maybe pink garbage cans, that'd be good. And food..." From the mouths of babes.

Number 3: Ty threw the largest tantrum in recent memory today at Big Lots as we were leaving the store. He wanted to go back and look at the "craps". He meant crack, er sorry, I mean CRAFTs. With the way he continues to butcher that word, I doubt he's destined for creativity. Or winning a spelling bee.

Thanks

Before I start rattling off about Thanksgiving, let me just give a shout out to my mama. Nanci Noren Alcorn was born on November 30, 19?? (I actually do know the year, Mom. Just thought you'd want to keep everyone guessing!) Thanks, Mom for making me laugh and making me think, and always making me feel loved. It just doesn't get better than having a parent you actually want to hang out with! Thanks for modeling for me how to be a wife and a mom who is joyful to be where the Lord has placed her. Happy birthday Mom, just one day late on the blog, not too bad considering I'm the one who wrote a post about Christmas in mid January. I love you!

Whew, this last week has been LONG. Long in a very good way. I think this was one of the best Thanksgiving weeks I've ever had. I keep saying week and not weekend because our Thanksgiving started last Monday when our baby niece arrived from California. Oh yeah, and her parents Jane and Curtis, I guess they came then also. But let's face it, baby Bekah's chubby cheeks and angelic face pretty much stole the show. Although if you ask my boys, Uncle Curti's endless supply of energy (never-ending games of tag and races and wrestling) took Grand Prize. Your mom's not paying me to say this, Jane, but the house across the street from us is for sale. You'd get a lot of free babysitting. I'm just saying.Here's the quick rundown of the week: Monday night was an open house for the baby; delicious desserts. Tuesday afternoon I hosted lunch over here with the Stump family and Ann's parents. Wednesday my mom came over for dinner last minute (Pops was sick at home) and told us grand stories of their weekend in Florida with Tim Tebow. Lucky bums. Thursday we got to spend the whole day with the Stump side of the family. So much fun. I really can't tell you how much my in-laws rule. I can't say a bad thing about them. Honestly, I've tried, it can't be done. Then Friday we pretended like it was Thursday again and my mom hosted the Alcorn gang for some great family time and the full turkey dinner (and what a turkey it was...delish!) I just have to say that living so close to my parents is NOTHING like you see in the show Everybody Loves Raymond. I love being able to hang out in the house I grew up in with my own kids! Dan's in-laws rule, too. We're pretty blessed. No, VERY blessed.

I've decided that I'm on a cooking strike for the next few days. First of all, I don't have any clean dishes, and second of all, I cooked enough in the last week to sustain a small country. Chocolate chip cookies, pizza-pasta, Caesar salad, garlic bread, dump cake, nacho chicken casserole, broccoli au gratin, blended jello salad, pumpkin bars, apple pie, chocolate log cake, and a few PB&J's, grilled cheese's and Easy Mac's for lunch.

(This was much cuter in person, sorry the picture cut off your face, Bek.)

Thankfulness, thankfullness, thankfullness. Really and truly, that's what I feel. Thanks, Jesus, for your life and for your death. Thanks for the Alcorn's and the Stump's. Thanks for our marriage that just keeps getting better. Thanks for Jake and Ty. Even when Ty is too wired on excess desserts to take a nap and Jake insists on Dino chicken instead of turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.

A post about nothing

I haven't been blogging because I haven't felt like there's anything blog-worthy going on in our lives right now. You're not interested in the daily blah happening around our house. Or...are you? One of the most popular sitcoms ever created was Seinfeld, a show about nothing. Maybe my blog will become as award winning as that TV show. Who needs Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer when you've got Dan, Ang, Jake and Ty? The blog about nothing. Hmm, intriguing.

If our life was a sitcom, here's what our script might look like:

It's a typical Thursday morning. Ty stumbles into Dan and Ang's room at 5:30am, sobbing that he's afraid a bad dream is going to come and that he is sick and needs some medicine. Ang stumbles out of bed tripping over clean, but yet-to-be-put-away laundry on her floor and almost decapitates herself on her dresser. Ang walks Ty back into his room where Jake lay snoring, 1/2 his body on his own mattress and 1/2 on Ty's. Ang sits on the floor next to Ty's bed and pats him on the back until his whimpering subsides. She closes her eyes for just a moment, waking up 15 minutes later to the combination of a stiff neck and a right arm that has fallen asleep behind her head which makes her ponder, through her delirium, chopping her painfully tingling extremity off so she can go back to sleep as soon as possible. She crawls back to her bed and falls asleep 5 seconds before Dan's alarm goes off.

Dan gets up and gets ready for work while Ang tosses and turns, completely in awe of how tired she is and yet she still cannot fall back to sleep. She finally nods off again 4 seconds before her alarm goes off, which means her typical alarm clocks (Jake and Ty) are sleeping in. Ang hits her snooze button (anybody heard the comic Gary Gulman on snooze buttons? "9 minutes? 9 minutes is not a snooze...90 minutes, that's a snooze. Honestly, have you ever woken up from the 9 minutes refreshed? The 9 was all I needed, 10 minutes would have been overkill, I would have been groggy.") On any other day the kids sleeping in would be spectacular, but today is a preschool day. This doesn't compute with Ang until she hits her snooze button for the third time. Then she jumps out of bed and realizes they need to leave the house in 15 minutes.

Flurry of activity, including Ang getting breakfast for 2 cranky kids, dressing them as they eat their cereal, and trying to find Jake's backpack and lunch bag to pack a nutritious snack for him to take to school. As Ang is putting Jake's shirt over his head while he takes another "humungo" bite of cereal she sees a bald spot on his head which coincidentally is the same location Ty whacked him on the head with a toy a month ago causing blood to spurt forth.Jake and Ty fight over who gets to push the garage door opener as Ang grabs 3 jackets, Jake's backpack with Go-Gurt and Juicy Juice tucked safely inside, and her purse and stares longingly at the empty coffee pot. A full blown wrestling match has broken out in the garage and Ang ends up pushing the garage door opener herself which focuses all preschooler/toddler anger in her direction. Ty opens the drivers side door and proceeds to take 2 minutes to get into the backseat and sit down like a normal human being in his car seat so Ang can buckle him in. Ang turns off the overhead light, the flashers, the windshield wipers, turns the radio volume down and pushes closed the cup holders Ty has messed with and searches for her keys. Ang groans loudly realizing her keys are not in her purse, but laying right next to where her purse was on the kitchen counter. Ang runs up the garage stairs to the kitchen and vows that today is the day she'll start an exercise routine...after she takes a 90 minute snooze.

Ang finally starts the drive to preschool, pulling out of her street directly behind a school bus which stops about every 6 or 7 feet to pick up more children. There are only 3 stoplights between the Stump house and preschool, but every one of them promptly turns red when Ang drives up. Finally pulling in to preschool, Ang finds the closest parking spot. Jake gets angry and Ty starts weeping because they're not parked directly next to Mrs. Weber's white Chevy Venture minivan. Ang reminds Jake to be a good kid today as she's reminding Ty it's time to get out of the car. Ty crawls out of his car seat and into the front seat to begin his exit routine. A torrential downpour begins as Ang realizes the jacket she brought for herself doesn't have a hood. Ang repeats the words, "Get out of the car, please Ty" between 8-15 times while Jake is literally pulling on her leg. "We're LATE, Mom." Ang closes her eyes and counts to 10 while Ty starts to hyperventilate because he can't get his jacket hood onto his head properly. Ang vows that today is the day to start anger management classes.

Ty makes it out of the car and onto Ang's hip and they run inside to drop Jake off into a half day of finger/sleeves-up-to-the-elbow painting and getting in trouble at recess. Direct quotation from Jake to his teacher, "Mrs. Weber, if you keep yelling at me, I probably won't come back to preschool." Ang is assured by Mrs. Weber that she was NOT yelling, and that she won't be devastated if Jake never returns. (A parent-teacher conference held later put Ang and Dan's minds at ease, that their child is not nearly the biggest trouble maker in that class. And encourages them to be praying daily for poor Mrs. Weber.)

When Jake is at preschool, Ang and Ty run errands...Starbucks, the Dollar Tree, Fred Meyer, Walmart, Winco, a different Starbucks, and return home in enough time to put the groceries away and clean up the bomb that was breakfast while Ty watches part of the Elmo DVD that Ang can recite from memory. Time to return to preschool to pick up Jake.

Lunch time, wipe Ty down from head to toe and attempt naptime which he has been rejecting for the last few days. Ang sets Jake up on the computer on pbskids.org and barricades Ty's door so he won't be able to get out even if he doesn't sleep. Then Ang climbs into a hot shower and doesn't come out for hours.

Jake insists on playing Mario Cart on the Wii, and Ang fine tunes her skills enough to get first place on Rainbow Road, which is by far the hardest course. Ang is feeling pretty good about herself until she realizes it's 3:45 and they have to leave by 4pm to get to Dan's basketball game. Ang says out loud to herself, "I can NOT believe I'm waking up my child from a nap that he's been fighting for 3 days," and then she does just that.

Oh my gosh, are you still reading this? I'm just going to stop right there, for both of our sakes. Thanksgiving is coming, yummy food and lots of great family time. Auntie Jane and Uncle Curti and our adorable new baby niece we've never held are coming on MONDAY! We have a lot more excitement coming your way, I promise. Soon, Marla. Soon.

The boys and I are at my parents house so Dan can get some work done for a class he has to take. The kids are watching "Air Buddies," and I am bored. Thus this post. I copied this from someone else's blog and edited it for myself back in March, so now I'll repeat this fabulous and time consuming all-about-me-post (highlighting my children this time.) I've obviously edited some of the questions, like for instance my children have not yet had their first job. I know, we're just too easy on them.

JAKE:

Age he'll be on his next birthday
Favorite place to visit

Favorite movie

Favorite foods

First name

Middle name

Last name

Bad habit

Because he's clearly so stressed out. Not because he sees me do it.

Hobbies

TY:

Age he'll be on his next birthday

Favorite place to visit Exotic, I know.

Favorite foods

This kid is a carnivore. "Where's the beef" should be written on his tombstone.

Favorite movie
First name
Middle name That's supposed to be Daniel Boone, not a freaky gun wielding wild-eyed wacko. Ok, so it's a freaky gun wielding wild-eyed Daniel Boone. Sorry kids.

Last name
Bad habit
Hobbies

Seriously, I should count how many times a day Ty washes his hands. It's not because he's got OCD, it's because he loves water...and destroying my bathrooms.

An ode to the toilet

Some of the most terrifying moments in my life have begun with hearing the words "I pooped." If you're in the mood to reminisce with me, click here.

Today one of the most beautiful moments in my life started with those same words. Ty had hopped up onto the toilet by himself without my knowledge and did his business like he'd been doing it for years. For the last few weeks it's been hit and miss (pun intended), and I've always had to pretty much force the, um, bowel issue. But I haven't changed a dirty diaper in days. For weeks I encouraged, reminded, bribed, nagged. Today I did none of that. And the sound of the toilet flushing and the words, "bye bye, poop!" never sounded so good.

Glorious. Diaper is spelled h-i-s-t-o-r-y at my house.

Tricks and ridiculous amounts of Treats

Let me just start off by saying that I'm recovering from Halloween night shift in the ER right now, so I doubt very much that I'm going to be super clever in this post. But you don't care, because all you want to see is some pictures of my babes all duded up for trick-or-treating. So...come back later if you want any deep perspectives on this holiday experience. Actually, I've already posted too many deep perspectives in the month of October, so this will be it. I know it's November 1st, leave me alone.

Jake, the cutest Spidey west of the Mississippi. (Not sure why I'm using that phrase...probably because I really just wanted to type Mississippi. It makes me feel like I type 400 WPM. Or that I'm back in the 2nd grade winning a spelling bee.)


Ty, nearly obsessive about his love for football right now. If I had a nickel for every time we told him that the chin strap was supposed to go under his chin. He insisted it was to be used as a mouth guard. When this kid is passionate about something, get out of his way.


Brothers. Someday soon they'll be too cool for Halloween. Wait, free candy? Nevermind.


This is actually the best picture I got of the cousins together. Karina, please tell me you got something better?



The future Mrs. Stump. Whether it's Jake or Ty, Megan and I have already planned a wedding for Jenna.


Pumpkin by Dan.

Pumpkin by Ang. Dangit, even my husband is more artistic than I am.

Quote of the day

We had just dropped Jake off at preschool this morning and Ty and I were headed to Karina's house for sister/little cousin time. Ty absolutely LOVES Karina's house because she took him by himself the other week when Matt and Jake were at preschool and he got to do some creative activities that he never does at home. You'll recall that I'm the not-creative-at-all sister. At least that's why I thought he loves her house. Here's what he told me this morning.

"Yeah, mom, let's go to Karina's house and do some crack!"

I believe the word he was looking for was craft, though we don't use it at our house very often. I realize Karina and I are different mommies, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't let Ty smoke crack at her house. Now, her own kids on the other hand...

Thanks for the scones, coffee, and crack, J. Let's do it again soon.

A heart revived...same chapter, 3rd verse

My final (I think) major reason for being at the Revive Our Hearts women's conference, at least that I'll blog about, has to be my favorite. Ready for it? It was my sister. Karina Franklin aka J. (pronounced Jay-dot) Alcorn. Laughing with her, crying with her, talking for the first time in years without interruptions (named Jake, Ty, Matt, and Jack) and most of all learning to appreciate how different we are.

I've always known we had different personalities. From the moment she started creating secret clubs where she was "President" and I was "member", or playing office where she was the boss and I was the secretary. We used to play Little Orphan Annie and she was always Miss Hannigan while I wore the red curly wig. She was the oldest and I was the youngest, and we fit that stereotype quite nicely. She was academic and I was social. She was organized and I was scattered. She had brown hair and I was blonde. She was responsible and I was...social. She talked theology and I cracked jokes. Somehow we hardly ever fought. We knew we were different and that was fine.

I have told many people that I think as we've grown older we've grown more alike. We got married 7 weeks apart (the Franklins were first, even though Dan and I had been talking about marriage before J. & her Dan even got together, but you can tell I'm not bitter at all). We had our first babies 3 months apart. Being married and having kids forced me to become more organized. It forced Karina to be more flexible. Our differences aren't as obvious these days. After all, we're at the same stage in life. We live in the same city. We're both raising two young boys. And we're both married to guys named Dan for goodness sake.

I think it took a weekend away together for me to once again realize we will always be different. And I that absolutely LOVE this! Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought it would be better if we were more alike. That we would appreciate each other more if our personalities were somehow morphed into one. But God showed throughout the weekend how much we can learn from each other because of how different we are. Now I have a decent self-image, but if I would have been talking to myself the entire weekend, I probably wouldn't have learned a darn thing. I don't want her to be me, and I'm sure she doesn't want me to be her. We are unique individuals who may have had a lot of the same life experiences, but God was and continues to be teaching each of us different things.

And now I will celebrate our differences. I feel like I'm in some sort of diversity parade when I say "celebrate our differences" but I can't come up with a better phrase than that. Anyway, here's some examples of how different we still are:

• At the airport we were choosing snacks to take on the plane. I got Cheez-it Snack Mix and she got Organic Nut and Seed Mix.
• At the Cheesecake Factory she ordered pear and gorgonzola salad and I got chicken carbonara dripping with butter, cream, and bacon.
• She took pages of notes during the conference and I never took out my pen except to write my name on our name tags.
• She bought approximately 47 books and I bought 2 CD's and one book.
• I went to bed with my makeup on (I figured my excess weeping had washed most of it away) but she cleansed, exfoliated, moisturized and repeated.
• She woke up early in the morning and did yoga before getting ready, and I woke up with barely enough time to shower, only because I couldn't really say with a clean conscience that my tears had deodorized my entire body.

There you have it. Two different Alcorn girls became two different women. Shocker. God reminded me how good different really is. Being different doesn't mean we can't appreciate each other. In fact, I think it makes us appreciate each other even more. Wouldn't it be a boring world if there were only one type of person?

Two sisters. Each seeking to follow God's leading in their lives, and each being lead to different experiences. My sister is trying to walk the walk. I'm trying to walk the walk. And it is going to look different. You know why? Because we're different. We don't need to be the same. Just because we have the same God doesn't mean we have to look the same. David was a king. Joseph was a carpenter. Peter was a fisherman. Same God. Different people.

Thanks, J. for the reminder. I sure do love you. I hope you can learn half as much from me as I have from you.

A heart revived...part deux

#2 reason why God brought me to the Revive our Hearts women's conference: to show me that I am indeed...wait for it...a woman.

As I alluded to in the last post, I'm not, nor ever have been a girly-girl. Some people may take this to mean that I was/am a tomboy which was never/is not the case. Are you enjoying the way I'm encompassing my past/present in each sentence? Let's move on.

I have always enjoyed prom dresses and makeup and though I prefer green, pink is definitely in my wardrobe. I try to be very sensitive to others' feelings. I could be the spokesperson for how chocolate eases all pain. But part of my identity seems to have been wrapped up in the fact that I don't cry very easily. My husband, coming from an estrogen dominated family, appreciated this quality from the moment we started dating. He also appreciated that I didn't need him to bring me flowers, and that I may have laughed in his face if he ever wrote me a poem. I was the girl who wasn't very needy or prone to spur of the moment weeping for no reason.

And then I got pregnant.

I knew I was in for it when I was only about 8 weeks along with Jake and I started tearing up when I heard the song "Butterfly Kisses." In the past that song had either made me roll my eyes and groan, or actually physically ill. Then the tears started flowing freely at about 10 weeks every time Extreme Makeover Home Edition was on. "It's just so wonderful!" I'd sob as Dan stared at me wide-eyed. I had to change the channel immediately if I saw a Hallmark commercial because I'd have pretty much been a sobbing heap on the floor. I was sure I was headed straight for an institution. Poor Dan. Poor, poor Dan. He thought he'd married a rock. The pregnant me was more like an overstuffed jelly donut ready to burst at any moment. And I'm not talking physically, though looking back at pictures that is quite an accurate analogy. When Dan reads this he may think I'm exaggerating. First of all, I NEVER exaggerate. And second of all, I tried my darndest to hold it together when he was around. I was tough, I wasn't an emotional basketcase. I didn't need him in an institution also.

ANYWAY, back to the lesson learned. I knew during pregnancy that God was rocking my world, but instead of embracing it, honestly...I fought it. For a while I thought I would have to learn to accept my new perpetually tear-stained self. Don't get me wrong, both my boys have brought me to a new level of emotions, and I am truly grateful. But after the hormones subsided a bit, I was able to rebuild most of the wall that holds back my tears. I had an image to maintain, you know. I'm not needy. I don't let emotions cloud my judgement. Here was my kicker: what I believe should effect what I do, not how I feel. Faith wasn't about emotions for me. It couldn't be, because emotions are deceitful, aren't they? I might allow myself to feel like something was right, when I knew it was wrong. But I was WAY past that balance between fluffy faith and rigid faith. Shutting down my emotional self led to a very boring and thus quite unfruitful spiritual life.

I was squelching the Spirit.

I can't tell you exactly when it happened, but somehow about a week before the conference, God started to prepare me for some serious soul scrubbing (I stole that phrase from Joni Earekson Tada). I began to feel that spark in my soul, and it moved me to tears. My wall, a wall built mostly with pride, was starting to crumble. More pieces fell to the ground at the beginning of the conference. And then it happened. My wall was demolished during an incredible time of worship. I knew I was on holy ground, and I let God's presence wash over me like a raging river, and He burst my dam of pride.

I surely couldn't fight it, so I decided to go with it. And there I was, in a room full of 6,000 woman, shamelessly sobbing my eyes out. I have to interject here that I am not an attractive crier. Some people have the sweet angelic face with waterfalls of tears magnificently cascading down their face. Personally, I go for the bloodshot-eyed-don't-own-waterproof-mascara-snot-cascading-down-my-face look. It was not a pretty picture...and yet it was. A beautiful picture in fact. I'm a woman. Women cry. Good golly do we cry. I swear that the sheer liquid weight of tears I cried this weekend was more than all of 2007's tears combined.

Then again, these were the soul cleansing tears, and I'm pretty sure they weigh more.

I will always battle my pride, as long as I am on this earth. I don't want to be weak. And yet what have I learned? "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." When I am weak, I am strong.

I don't want to be needy. But that's what God calls us all to be. You know why? Because we are. Needy for a savior. God, please don't let me forget how perfectly right it felt to need your presence.

A heart revived

Hey, sorry for the long absence from the blogging world. I am back from one of the most thought provoking, emotion-stirring, and spiritually challenging weekends I've ever experienced. My dad sent my sister and I to a conference in Chicago put on by the women's ministry called Revive Our Hearts. I am honestly going to take weeks, months, and hopefully actually my whole life recalling the events that took place, so be patient with me as I sort through the impact this weekend has had on my life as a daughter, sister, friend, wife and mother.

I'm already going to promise at least two other blogs about this weekend, but let me just start by admitting that I was a little skeptical about going to a woman's conference. After all, I'm the girl who will always choose Batman over Sense and Sensibility. I wrestle with my boys instead of crafting with them. I firmly believe that needles are for vaccinations, not knitting. The thought of Martha Stewart makes me nauseous. You get the point. I told my sister at the beginning of the weekend that I wasn't quite sure what God had planned for me. I got three answers. I'll tell you one now, and you'll have to stay tuned for the next ones.

#1 reason God brought me to the conference: To show me that I'm often a wimp. John Piper was the only man to speak at the conference and he reminded us that "wimpy theology leads to wimpy women." I don't want to be a wimp. I want my theology, my belief about who God is and what He has purposed for me (specifically as a woman), to be based on what the Bible says not on simply what I feel like at the moment. I'm unreliable and inconsistent. God is not. The foundation of biblical womanhood...not.

It was amazing to me that each speaker was so different and came from a huge variety of walks of life, but each conclusion was the same: God teaches us through the Bible that He has a unique and wonderful purpose for women, and that we will never be truly satisfied until we embrace His calling on our lives.

I could share ten thousand incomplete thoughts on what was said and what I learned, but the conference is summed up quite beautifully in this "True Woman Manifesto" that we had the opportunity to sign at the end of the conference. If you're like me, I often don't even take the time to click on people's links, but I promise you, this one is worth it. It's a high calling we women have. Some of this stuff is hard to swallow from our society's perspective today, but I'm choosing to believe that my all-powerful and all-knowing God knows better than me. His plan will always be better than my plan, whether I understand it or not. Hopefully these excerpts will encourage you to read the whole thing, and (to all you ladies out there) possibly even sign it yourself.

We affirm that:

• Scripture is God's authoritative means of instructing us in His ways and it reveals His holy pattern for our womanhood, our character, our priorities, and our various roles, responsibilities, and relationships.
• We glorify God and experience His blessing when we accept and joyfully embrace His created design, function, and order for our lives.
  
• Selfish insistence on personal rights is contrary to the spirit of Christ who humbled himself, took on the form of a servant, and laid down His life for us.
  

Two peas in a pod

This is a complete rip off of one of my sister's blogs, but at least I'm giving credit where credit is due. Thanks J. for the inspiration. (Her name actually has no J.'s in it, and never has, but that's another blog.) Her post compared motherhood to cheerleading, and since I was never a rah-rah girl, I can't add to those similarities. But I did find it quite amusing, and since I'm all about stealing ideas from other people...here you go.

Similarities between an ER nurse and a mom:

• The uniform. Scrubs are pretty much glorified pajamas, and my typical mommi-form of mismatched pj's normally doesn't get changed until Ty's naptime, unless we have morning plans. And sometimes even if we do. At work, or at home, there's something to be said for comfort...and the fact that you'll most likely get blood or other bodily fluids on them imminently.
• The "please don't panic" speech. The abrasion on your knee is not fatal, doesn't need immediate surgery, or even stitches, and in fact, it barely even warrants a bandaid. The fact that you're screaming only makes me want to show you what real pain is all about, it does not evoke sympathy. Chill out. (Don't worry, I do kiss my kids' owies and make sure there are no internal injuries. But if the tears are disproportionate to the injury, my eyes start to roll. I can spot a crocodile tear miles away.)
• You have to master the everything-is-going-just-as-planned-face even though inside you're thinking, "Lord, help us all."
• Multi-tasking is a must. Getting a complete medical history from a patient while taking vital signs and doing a head to toe assessment as you start and IV and draw blood. Kinda like flipping a grilled cheese sandwich while wiping one child's nose as you help the other draw a perfect circle, all while having a serious conversation on the phone.
• Prioritizing is key. The guy without a heartbeat trumps the request for a bedpan. Sorry. Catching Ty as he attempts to run down the street after the ice cream truck will come before Jake's request to help him color coordinate his 463 Hot Wheels.

and finally:

• They are both very rewarding. Watching the relief on a person's face after giving them drugs to stop a potentially fatal allergic reaction, talk about immediate gratification. Watching Ty pull himself together within 10 seconds of starting a potentially fatal temper tantrum at Walmart, priceless.