Crouching tiger, hidden Judah ...

Every once in awhile, I think I get embroiled in the *muck* of life that I am tired and weary of all that seems raining down. Last week was a bit like that -- a two-day project that has turned into seven days and counting, getting busted by the building inspector on said project when I thought I didn't need permission (and neatly dodging the $1000 fine that he threatened me with), drama with neighboring landlords where my tenants are being accused of drunk and disorderly conduct that they didn't have anything to do with because no one bothered to check the facts (anyone heard of slander?), and general exhaustion on the home front as Daylight Savings kicked our butt and took some names. Yup-- that kind of week. No one died, but outside of real tragedy about the most blah week I could imagine.

Amidst all that, I almost made a big mistake. I almost cancelled our weekend plans to go visit my grandparents in Maine just to keep working on these decks that are consuming my life. I'm so glad I didn't. The life lesson that is being ground in this month is that work (as much as I normally love it) gets to stay at work, and home gets to stay sacred time. The two days that we took off and headed up to Maine turned out to be two of the most refreshing days we've had in what seemed like years. Rachel didn't have to cook, I didn't have to do anything but play golf at Hickam's Backyard Half Dozen -- I kid you not, my grandfather (who thinks big... all the time) made a six-hole golf course in his backyard-- and chase around two small boys.

(And apparently eat.... not that I could ever keep up with Judah, who started eating right about 12 months old-- in what we thought was a growth spurt-- and hasn't stopped eating since.)

Perhaps my favorite time of the entire weekend was Friday night, just before the twenty-somethings arrived, when Elijah had my Gram and Gramp (who he calls GreatGram and GreatGramp... no pauses in those words at all) all to himself reading a story. He knew the story by heart, which shocked my Gramp and delighted Elijah. Each time my Gramp would ask him what the next line was, he would giggle before he "read" it, just in ecstasy at the attention and delight he was receiving.

It was an amazingly good time. In times like this, I am so thankful for the "eyes of the storm," the sanctuary that we can find under God's wing amidst the struggles that plague us.

The best part was-- we got an invitation back!! We can't wait to find a time to go see them again. ( Judah thinks so too !! )

Vegetables and I...

... have had a long and somewhat adversarial relationship. Just last year, I was disgusted that my beautiful wife had asked me to cook for a night and had left me with rotten broccoli for beef and broccoli, of all things. So we had a lovely dish that was heavy on the beef and a teeny-weeny bit light on the broccoli. When I got the inevitable criticism, I angrily retorted that if she didn't get me broccoli that was half orange, I wouldn't have to throw it away, at which point she started giggling. Apparently organic broccoli doesn't have to be forest green like the genetically altered stuff. Who knew?

And yet, in part because my mom so lovingly poured good nutrition in vegetable form into us as children, I have slowly come around to the realization that I don't like vegetables, but I feel better when I eat them. And thus Rachel wants me to tell you about the delicious kale soup that I made us on Sunday.

It's supposed to look like this:

Even more insulting, the difficulty level is "Easy." Easy? I'll show you what's easy. Making pancakes from scratch? Easy as pie-- actually easier. Making tapioca pudding? Simple. Boxed mac and cheese? With my eyes shut. Cakes, cookies, brownies, stroganoff, Italian food, even pan-Asian cuisine... easy. KALE? NOT EASY.

First of all, no one told me that you were only supposed to put the leaves (and thus, not the stalks) in the stew-- that might be where it acquired its deathly bitter taste. Second, my wife forgot (and to be fair, I didn't ask) to tell me that half of the stew was going to our good friends-- thus, I ruined two meals instead of just our own. Finally, and probably most importantly, no one told me the one thing that needs be told me (and my grandfather Wilson, and Elijah Wilson-- he comes by it honestly) before any culinary adventure: don't mess with the recipe. I don't like tomatoes, so I would have cut back except they were in a can and I couldn't. Thankfully, I could scale back the green peppers and add a few extra onions. Sherry? Don't mind if I do-- I doubled it. Didn't have saffron, so I left it out. A little extra pepper, and it all smelled delicious.

The one small problem was how it tasted.

I think that's how we all felt. And now my family knows. Don't trust this knight with vegetables. He simply doesn't value them enough. On a good note, we thankfully had some leftover waffles that I had made that morning-- delicious! Have a wonderful night all!

A Return Trip to the Commons

So apparently what happens when Rachel leaves town (to be fair, tonight was just one town over for work) is that these boys head on over to the Commons and hang out with the weedheads. I mean, not WITH the weedheads, although we were close enough that I was afraid Elijah was going to ask them "What you doing?" like he did the attractive jogger as she cruised by us tonight. I'm not sure who was more startled, she or I, though she at least had the wherewithal to reply "Jogging. And you?" like three-year-olds asked her this all the time.

The residents of the gazebo that resides in the (sort of) center of the Commons tonight, however, in addition to their leaves of choice, also had some crazy dance music and what I'm going to term yoyos on crack-- something on a string that they spun around their bodies like a rhythmic gymnast... it was entrancing! ( And free! which is always a plus. ) Anyways, as usual, Elijah headed right up the steps like he owned the place and the dreadlocked girl closest to him waved and was going to let him come right on up and join them until this killjoy dad put the kibosh an that... I just saw him waltzing blithely into a yoyo at full speed and seeing this carless trio see how fast a red Radio Flyer wagon (courtesy of the wonderful Auntie Laura) really can get to an ER. Anyways, it was a wonderful trip (capped off by a trek to the top of the overlooking hill) that was the centerpiece to a wonderful evening.

But it made me nostalgic. The last time I did this with the boys was about four months ago, when Rachel went to Atlanta, and we waltzed around the gazebo all on our own... they're so much bigger now. As I wander aimlessly down memory lane tonight, here's some photos of the boys on their adventures late last autumn... have a wonderful night all!!

Judah, the thief of hearts :)

Hi all! I [Rachel] decided to hijack Micah's blog here because 1) his life has just been all drama recently, and 2) watching my son yesterday was one of the most precious experiences I've had with him yet in his 12 months of life and I don't want to forget about it.

Judah and I went to the car garage to get my inspection sticker (the car originally failed but we had the problem fixed and now needed the pass sticker as well as an oil change and an alignment). In all truth, I hate hate hate car issues and car work because it becomes a stressful time of figuring out how to get where and changing car seats and money and everything else that comes from car issues so I was anxious to just get it all done. Ina graciously took Elijah to breakfast with her and I figured I could entertain Judah while the car work was being done.

Well, I was wrong. I actually didn't NEED to entertain Judah because he quickly became 'friends' with one of the gentlemen pumping gas. I wish I could have figured out what his name was but he had a thick accent and some language barriers. But he loved Judah and Judah loved him! He would go outside and bang on the window and make Judah giggle. He'd come in and Judah would run to him with his arms up and he would pick him up. Judah would smile as he gave him hugs and follow him around whenever he came back inside. We were there for over an hour, but this man didn't lose interest. He and the other men there were patient with Judah's cries of frustration and laughed when he would try to run away from me into an area he couldn't go. The gentleman was from Jordan and so we chatted a bit about my boys Lebanese heritage. At this point, Judah went from being "my baby" to "my cousin." It was like we were family. Judah even waved to him while he pumped gas outside in the cold. When it was time to go I thanked everyone and Judah screamed and arched his back to avoid leaving. The gentleman came up and waved through the car window. I couldn't believe that this man, who was likely in his forties, spent over an hour playing with a one year old he'd never met before and loving all the attention and care Judah was giving to him!

I often dread when I need to bring my boys somewhere in which they need to sit and be quiet for any period of time. We can do it and we do it but it is a lot of work and very stressful for Micah and I. I am fully aware of my responsibility as a parent or a friend of a parent to love children of all ages, care for their needs, and teach them what they need for life. But how easily do I forget to stop and learn from them!

As I left, I was reminded of an amazing sermon I heard about a child's place in the kingdom of God. Matthew 18:3 says, "And he [Jesus] said: 'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." While it is important for us to teach them, children can and do minister to people as the Lord directs them and we can learn from them! Judah taught me so much in that hour about what loving a stranger meant and how it looked. While he might not have realized it (or maybe he did), Judah ministered to that gentleman and to me yesterday. He made the day a little better and brighter, and without any words at his disposal broke down a multitude of language and cultural barriers-- not a bad day for just turning one!

EPIC FAIL, but...

God is still great!

I am writing this post with wet hair, and I haven't showered in two days. (Yup, that's the kind of week it's been so far.)

So today at work was REALLY unexpectedly stressful... parenthetically, I don't know why I'm surprised by the stress lately-- it seems like a little bit of a time of character growth, and as the story will illustrate, I could probably still use a decent bit.

Anyways, I ran home early after work and fixed the broken step at my tenants house (lawsuit averted!) and came home looking for a quiet place to rest after a stormy opening act. Not happening! Poor Rachel hadn't been able to do our banking because our car was broken, the wonderful friend we have who repairs our car was running late because he had to fix a car emergency 45 minutes away, and in likelihood Rachel was going to have to drive my truck to work-- which is really hot in a sexy-girl-driving-a-truck kinda way, but an accident waiting to happen in a more realistic view of life.

Oh, and our two knights-in-training were literally yelling so loudly that Rachel and I had to just about scream at each other to be heard. Yesterday, when faced with the same situation, I prayed. Today, I forgot. Epic fail. Finally, after five minutes of screaming at each other just to have a conversation, Rachel headed off to the bank (walking) and left a spinach-covered boy (my fault) and a manaical little towhead with me.

I'm honestly not sure what was the final straw (I think it was Judah screaming after the fifteenth time I tried to calm him), but something snapped. I have a TEMPER, and hopefully none of you that read this would have guessed (yeah, I'm pretty sure you know me better than that), and I just FIRED the baby spinach packet straight ahead. Through the window. Followed by the mini cutting board. Apparently I have a good fastball. Elijah and Judah both freaked out and started screaming even louder, bringing Rachel back running in fearing for their safety, and I went to look at two neatly punched holes through our kitchen window-- on the coldest upcoming night in a month. Ugh. EPIC fail.

But God is still good. After half an hour (or an hour) of calming the children, sweeping the glass and making a "blackout curtain" out of spare rubber, we sent Rachel off to work in h er newly repaired car (Thanks Drew!) and with the promise of a new pane of glass and a storm window, things were looking up a little bit. I still felt a little bit in a daze of shame and remorse over my temper tantrum (you'd think at thirty I'd be getting over them by now).

We actually had a lovely night until Judah got fussy and demanded his end-of-night bottle, which I was all too happy to oblige him with. I retrieved a bottle and turned the water on... only to see the kitchen faucet explode upward and water spray like a bazooka five feet high, spraying the ceiling fifteen feet away and soaking the entire room before I could even turn the water off. If it didn't almost destroy my kitchen and all my financial records, I'd be giggling. :)

But this I can say with confidence:

" ⁴ One thing I ask from the LORD,

this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.
⁵ For in the day of trouble
he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent

and set me high upon a rock. " --Psalm 27:4 + 5

Good night all!

Yup, I've got it pretty good :)

Today is a good day for this post, because in no particular order: our car got rejected for its inspection sticker, I've spent half the day (while at work at my full-time job) trying to fix the heat in the house I property manage because the tenants broke it and then told me that the electricity in their hot water heater was off, the cost of flying to visit Rachel's parents doubled, and the boys both had major meltdowns and went for their nap two hours early.

I still stand by the fact that I've got it pretty good.

Why??

Two words (should be four, but she killed both her potential middle names when we got married): RACHEL NIMON (or THE QUEEN, as you will... both two words :)

Sometimes you just need a good reminder. Mine came about a week and a half ago when a good friend and his son dropped by for dinner around 6:30. Mind you, we eat at 5:30, but 6:30 is about the time that he can make it out of work, pick up his son, and get home so that he can start MAKING dinner. I commented to him that he's a much better person than I, because if I'm unfed by 6:30, it's generally not a pretty sight-- morning or evening.

Anyways, he came in and started feeding his son-- but I think what caught my attention (in the best possible way) was just how thankful that he was for everything that I take for granted. He was grateful for the cold food because it was food that he didn't have to cook. He was thankful for the company and the conversation because his wife has to sacrifice and work 10:30am- 7pm so their schedule balances. He was grateful for friends to share his day with and that Rachel kept refilling his plate.

And was I, the ingrate, thankful for much of that... nope. It had just passed me by how much Rachel gives to me and the boys daily of herself without (at least much of the time) us really noticing. When I walk in the door and see this blissful scene (yup, those are my shoes)

-- it's all courtesy of Rachel, and for that I want her to know (on a day where so far Murphy's Law has really seemed to walk unchallenged) that I am THANKFUL for her. In all likelihood, if you're reading this post, she's blessed your life too. (That, or you are reading my blog for the first time and think I'm really mushy... read some of the other ones!!)

God has blessed me with a good wife, and for that I agree with the proverb, "A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies."