How To Get Out Of Eating Your Yogurt

Yesterday Daniel and I had a stand off.

He won.

Here's how it went down:

At lunch time I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and he sat down at the kid table in the kitchen to eat. I didn't give him anything else until he'd finished the sandwich, because otherwise he won't eat it. So far so good. Next on his menu was yogurt. I let him pick out the flavor and he chose key lime pie, which he loves. He took about five bites and decided he didn't want any more.

I took about five seconds and decided he needed to eat it. He asked for it. He picked it out. He opened it. He was going to sit there till he ate it. Half an hour later he was still sitting at the table, singing and talking to himself. After a bathroom break, he returned to the table and still refused to eat the rest of his yogurt.

I was in the living room when I heard the sound of glass hitting the floor. We all know what happens to a glass when it hits the floor. It shattered into tons of tiny pieces, many of which looked more like thin shavings. Frustrated, I used my best Mommy voice to ask what happened. He said, "I broke the glass." Uh huh. I could see that. So I asked, "And how did that happen?"

"I put the glass on my head and it falled off".

(sigh) Guess I'm not raising the brightest of three year olds. He went directly to bed for nap time....And the yogurt went in the trash.

A Few Shout Outs

As we're wrapping up this H1N1 business here at the Peapod, (See how confident I am? No one else here is going to catch this thing...) I think it's time to thank a few folks who helped us through the week.

Starting with Aunt/Doctor Becca (my sister). We called her Monday night with the symptoms Brenna showed and she confirmed that it fit the oink-oink pattern. She also suggested we get Carrie out of the house, helped us figure out proper Tylenol/Motrin dosing, and explained to Brenna what exactly a fever is. Because she asked.

Next up - Michael's mom. She was willing to actually enter the sick house and stay with sick kids so Michael could get out. Not once. But twice! Thanks to her, he got to vote, keep a dentist appointment, go for a run, take lesson plans to school, and get groceries. If Daniel hadn't gotten sick too, she was even going to keep Brenna overnight so Michael could return to work.

Nurse Cindy at the doctor's office - We love Nurse Cindy! She is so good with the kids, especially the babies. When she returned Michael's call regarding child #2 with the flu, she was honest about the Tamiflu and, in the end, saved us another visit to the office. And the copay!

And a big shout out to my mom and dad - who let us (Carrie, Daniel, and I) stay with them for a week. Their normally quiet house was filled with happy baby squeals in the morning and mad baby screams at night. They both took turns helping me get Carrie through her 90 minute fussy fit every night. They played with her in the morning before work and they helped take care of her in the evenings. Dad brought his 'firm voice' out for Daniel when I was running low on patience and needing back up. Mom brought home dinner from Ukrops and also gave Carrie her bottle. On Saturday, after we'd been there all week, they were still willing to babysit Carrie so I could go to work. We are grateful they live close by and didn't mind us hanging out till the kids got better.

It's a bit frightening to have an infant so directly exposed to this flu. I'm still constantly checking her for signs of fever. The older two had what appears to be a mild version, but I know this thing can be awful. We're grateful to everyone who helped us through the week ... Carrie came through ok and that was most important!

Running From The Oink-Oink

Greetings from Grandma and Papa's H1N1 Refugee Camp. Carrie and I have been here for 5 1/2 days now. We arrived Monday evening under the cover of dark, sneaking inside for what we thought would be a short stay. Daniel was with us and we quickly chose up rooms and went to bed.

Back home Brenna was battling a fever of 103.5. She won, but over the rest of the week her temperature has continued to fluctuate between 98 and 102. Michael took the week off of work to care for her so I could keep Carrie away. Wednesday, Brenna took a little field trip to the pediatrician's office where she learned that H1N1 has about a four day incubation period and lasts about 4-5 days in most kids.

Sure enough, come Thursday Daniel woke up with a fever. That was his ticket out of here. (Not that anybody really wants to leave Papa's house, but the boy was missing his daddy.) Michael and Brenna came by to get him and bring us supplies. Diapers and such. Not exactly an even exchange...but we only had a few left. Brenna stayed outside on the steps and we talked through the glass. She and Carrie high-fived the window and blew sad kisses to each other.

Last night I snuck out of the compound and drove home. I needed work clothes and more diapers. Once inside the sick house, though, I didn't want to leave. My bed was calling me. No yelling for me. Sigh. But no one ever said doing what's best for your baby would be easy, so I pulled on my coat and drug myself back out to the car.

Once inside camp, I scrubbed my hands with soap and hot water while singing happy birthday three times over just to be sure I got all the germs. Then I drank a cup of tea as hot as I could stand it to wash down whatever might be attempting to hang out in my throat. Someone should really create an H1N1 germ light that you swipe over your body to see if you have anything still clinging to you. Maybe if the germs showed up neon green under the light we could get rid of them before we passed them on.

Thankfully our Peapod version of the Oink-Oink isn't too bad. A couple of high fevers and a cough. I know this virus has really knocked some people down, but ours has been light. Tylenol and Motrin had done their jobs.

And hopefully, come Sunday, Carrie and I are bustin' outa here and headin' for home. (If not, I bet you anything my husband is planning a Jack Bauer-like rescue mission... somehow I think I got the easier end of this deal.)

A Long Life Indeed

Michael's grandma is 98 years old. We received word earlier last week that she'd taken a turn for the worse and might not make it much longer. In light of that information, we decided to tell Brenna and prepare her for what might be coming. So after dinner we sent Daniel into the living room to play and told Brenna we'd like to talk to her for a few minutes.

As Michael explained the situation, Brenna's tender little heart began to break. Our own eyes filled as hers spilled over. Thinking quickly, we explained that Nan has lived a long life on earth. Her husband and most of her friends are already in Heaven. Her body is old and tired.

I guess we oversold the long life part, because Brenna lifted her head and said, "Mama? Was Nan a ...(long pause) pilgrim?"



Over the weekend, Michael, Brenna, and some other family members drove down to spend some time with Nan. She was doing much better and enjoyed their visit.

Living A Bigger Story

After I wrote the post about Donald Miller's new book, A Million Miles In A Thousand Years, I got to thinking about people I know who have made those incredible memories and lived a bit of a purposeful life. I'm not sure anyone lives an entire life this way. But many people make decisions that lead them through an amazing season of purpose. Here are a few that came to mind:

Ginger and family of Raising A.B.E.L. - I don't actually know Ginger, but I do read her blog. She and her family have just moved to a Young Life camp where her husband will be working for a few years. They've left family, friends and a home they love to do what God's called them to. It hasn't been easy (the camp closed for the flu, they fought wild fires, and had a ceiling leak), but they are definitely living a bigger story right now, listening to the Great Writer.


Dave and Christi- Our friends, who meant to spend a year at an orphanage in Brazil, but stayed for three. They chose a bigger story when they decided to go in the first place, but that story grew a bit when two little boys, brothers, captured their hearts. The adoption process drug out for years, but Dave and Christi stuck with it and changed the storyline for two adorable little guys (who aren't actually so little anymore). Those three years brought a lot of hard work, love, patience, joy, tears, heartache, grief, and faith. When the struggles overwhelmed them and they could have given up on each other, they chose to fight for their marriage. And their story became even larger. Direction and purpose came. And went. And came again. Their story is one worth being told.


Jerry - My uncle. If I thought it was possible to live an entire life choosing a bigger story, one that's memorable and has purpose, I'd hold Jerry up as the example. As long as I've been old enough to understand his life's work, he's been helping kids who don't have families of their own to help them. Some are orphans. Some are in foster care. He's worked in a boys home. He's been a case worker. He has a passion for hurting kids and has recently begun to work with the families adopting them. It's big story ... the kind that makes a good movie and fits the descriptions in the book.


Jesse - Jesse is a friend of ours who has made a career out of juggling. I saw him perform at a birthday party a few months ago and was amazed at his ability to wow an audience. He's a talented juggler. More importantly though, he's found a way to use his talent in a big way. He ministers to kids and families all over the country. A juggling pastor. It's a truly unique and memorable story.


Who would you add to the list?

A Million Miles In A Thousand Years

I was fifteen years old and standing along the Rhine River in Germany. There were small pebble rocks under my feet and trees behind me. The sun was setting orange and pink over the water. Three of my friends stood beside me. The moment was peaceful and quiet. My friend Paige suggested we make a memory, so we all stood still and etched the scene into our minds.

It's funny, I don't remember exactly who the other two friends were. I don't remember why we were down there or what happened afterwards. I just remember standing there "making a memory". And ever since, I've made a conscious effort to create memories in my mind. Not long ago I was reading Paige's Facebook info and saw that under "About Me:" she has written "I collect moments". I think that's beautiful.

Making memories with a purpose is largely the point of Donald Miller's new book, A Million Miles In A Thousand Years. Some of the memories I have, like the Rhine River, are isolated and lead nowhere. They weren't part of a greater good and didn't spur me on in life. Others, like the misery of my first year teaching, are powerful motivators that profoundly changed me and therefore affected every relationship I have had since. Miller's book is centered around the idea of story. Of your life being the story that you tell and it's up to you to make it a great story. To make it count. Memorable in some way.

I didn't find nearly as many stop-and-reread quotes in this book as I did in Blue Like Jazz. Instead, it was an overall, overarching idea that challenges the bored life. If you're stuck in life's routine rut, step up and out into a higher, greater story. Make a conscious effort to do something outside yourself and in the process, create some astounding memories.

There are three or four story lines told through the book that keep interest high and make you want to turn pages. I like that. A good book pulls you into the next chapter when you know you should set it down. Each of the stories becomes a challenge toward doing something that gives you purpose in your life. Something big. Something outside of your comfort zone. Something that forces you to confront fear. The hard part is applying that personally. What Miller is free to do with his life as a single, self-employed man is far different from what I can do as a married mother of three. Regardless of the challenge, responsibility still exists. But then, so does the need for direction and meaning.

There's a story for each of us. We can choose the safe, easy one that comes without real work - tiring though it may be. Or we can step up and make life exciting. Direction. Purpose. Experience. Memories. Story.

I want a great life story. Don't you?

Updated Banner

I've updated the blog banner to include Carrie. I'm keeping the title and url the same for simplicity. We'll just become The Peapod Four (plus one). Some snow day far into the future I'll create a whole new banner with updated pictures of everyone. And if it's a really big snow storm (wishful thinking...more likely to be an ice storm), I'll search out a new background too.

For now, though, it's back to my 'To Do' list of things that actually need to be done...

How Old Do You Look?

I used to be a pretty good judge of age. People who had gray hair and/or wrinkles were old. People who looked like my parents were middle aged. And the rest of us were young. But some time in between college and thirty the lines started to blur a bit. Now I can't tell who's old and who's middle aged. Am I middle aged? What about my friends? I also can't tell the difference between a high school junior and a college graduate. They all look too young. Not that any of this matters, mind you, but I got to thinking about it after a little awkward moment at a party the other night.

I was standing in line, holding a paper plate, minding my own business. Michael had gone through the line earlier, so I was hemmed in by strangers. We were there to celebrate the fortieth birthday of a guy who attends our church. His family had invited a large number of people who are a part of his life. As it happened, I was in line for dinner among folks who don't attend our church.

Just before the line turned the corner of the dining room table, a woman ahead of me turned back and said, "Excuse me. Did you go XYZ High School?" Rather surprised, I told her I had. Then I began searching her face for some kind of recognition. Anything. But I came up with nothing. I was sure I didn't know her. She smiled and expectantly said, "I graduated in 86."

And there it was. Out there for everyone in the dining room to hear. Several people were listening, certain they were about to hear "It's A Small World" playing in the background, no doubt. I knew immediately that she'd misjudged my age. There was no easy way out of this. As gently as possible, I answered "I graduated in 95".

She began to make excuses about how I must look like someone else she knew. The man standing between us, perhaps her husband, began to laugh and tease her. A lady behind me started in on her too. And I was stuck. Among strangers. Looking ten years older apparently, and feeling sorry for the woman who was clearly embarrassed. I tried making small talk about the school, but she was done. She just wanted out of the room.

I got to thinking later how often I try to make these age judgments. When I'm trying to describe someone to Michael. When I'm trying to make notes on a client at work. When I'm sizing up other moms. When I'm surveying a room for potential friends. Pretty much any time I'm out in public really.

And I wonder now how often I'm wrong. Not just a little wrong, but way off. I don't think this is a skill I'll be improving either. Kings Dominion won't be offering me a midway job guessing ages any time soon. The lines are way too blurry anymore. I think I'll stick to 'really old' and 'still in school'. Everyone else is in the middle!