Cici on Steroids

        Cici has roid rage. 

It has been a rough couple of days. 

    

 I have been in a bit of a quandary.  You see, I sit down and look at my life and ask myself, "what do I need to do differently to make my life run more smoothly?"  I come up with all kinds of answers and all kinds of ideas about how to "fix" my life.  I get all excited about the changes I am going to make and feel like "this time" I am finally going to do it.  I am going to "get it all together."  Then BAM, Claire gets bronchitis with a side of an asthma flair up,  soar throat soup, and an ear infection for dessert.  (or something like that).

What follows is ugly, I'm afraid to admit.  I get all kinds of m.a.d.  I just start to feel as though the cards are stacked against me.  There is always some flaw in my plan that I didn't see, some variable that I did not account for.   Then I feel defeated. 

This is usually when I throw out the plan.  I live my life day by day and do whatever it is that I do.  This is a very reactive approach to life.  It often leads me right back to where I started.

You can see the conundrum.  

My focus word for this year is "intentional."  It is the opposite of reactive. 

 I am still trying to figure out how to have a plan while not getting to bent out of shape when I can't stick to the plan.   I'll let you know how it goes . . .

. . .  in the meantime, my two year old is on steroids - wish me luck! 

 



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Today was one of those days when everything goes wrong.  I have been two steps behind since the moment that my feet hit the floor this morning.  Best advice I could give anyone who is attempting this whole Mother gig, "Just roll with it!"

AND SMILE!

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’Twas a sheep not a lamb


That strayed away in the parable Jesus told,

A grown-up sheep that strayed away

From the ninety and nine in the fold.

And why for the sheep should we seek

And earnestly hope and pray?

Because there is danger when sheep go wrong:

They lead the lambs astray.

Lambs will follow the sheep, you know,

Wherever the sheep may stray.

When sheep go wrong,

It won’t take long till the lambs are as wrong as they.

And so with the sheep we earnestly plead

For the sake of the lambs today,

For when the sheep are lost

What a terrible cost

The lambs will have to pay. 6

C. C. Miller, “The Echo,” in Best-Loved Poems of the LDS People, ed. Jack M. Lyon and others (1996), 312–13.

Happy Moments

     Today was one of those days that you soak in like the sunlight on a warm day in early Spring.  We spent the afternoon putting together a porch swing for our front yard.  The weather was perfect and there was a cool breeze that excused  the increase in humidity.  The kids were laughing together and being silly as our seven pound teddy bear of a dog sat like a guard dog, threatening all of the people who passed by.  Even in my irritation at his barking I couldn't help but think it was cute how loyal and protective he is toward our little family.  Rachel sat on our bench stroking his fur, her long brown hair blowing in the wind.
      Adam swelled with masculine pride as he helped his Daddy with the "building."  He read the directions and studied the diagram and bent to gather tools and screws.  He scrunched up his nose and pursed his lips as he concentrated on the great task at hand.  His big blue eyes sparkled in the daylight.  Claire busied herself with whatever two-year-old chore she could sink her fingers into.  She giggled and trotted around the yard in her brand new white sandals.  The girls pranced around the circle at the end of our cul-de-sac donned in fancy skirts made of bubble wrap that floated elegently toward their ankles.  I sat smiling to myself as I watched my boys bonding over tools and my little girls bouncing around in their innocence.
     After the swing was finished, all four children and a dog piled onto the swing in pure contentment.  Overwhelmed by the sight of them all in such close proximity, hapily overlapping in both body and chatter, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pure joy.  At that moment Rachel looked up at me and said, "Mom, since we are having a happy moment right now, can we have a rice krispy treat?
   I love that even she recognized this happy moment.  I am blessed by happy moments like these. 
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Picking up the Shovel

     I have been in a major rut.  This is one of the worst ruts I have been in for a long time.  I just can't seem to get myself out of it.  I have been hating my duties lately.  As I gathered the laundry from each of the bedrooms in the house I could feel the anger well up inside of my chest!  It just feels like I will never reach the summit!!  I keep climbing and climbing and every day I get knocked back down several hundred feet.  I have been getting discouraged and have lost all of my motivation.  As I was vacuuming the small hallway between my entry way and my bedroom today I remembered a story that I had read. 
  
  During the depression, a man had lost his job.  He had been searching for work to no avail.  Finally, he came to a job sight and just picked up a shovel and started digging.  The foreman came to him and said, "Sir, I can't afford to pay you for your work."  The man looked at him and said, "I don't care if I get payed, you see, I have to work."  Day after day the man came to work for no wages.  After a period of time the employer appreciated this mans work ethic and hired him. 
 
  The thing that really speaks to me in this story is that the man recognized that he needed to work.  There are many reasons why we work and only one of those is to get payed.  Good. honest, hard, work makes you feel good inside.  We were made to work.  I think that our society has become so conditioned to desire only ease and entertainment that we have forgotten the true value of hard work. 
     I have been looking at my life from the wrong perspective.  I am never going to reach any certain destination in my line of "work."  No matter what, I am going to wake up to a full workload each new day.  It is not so much in the completing of the work but in the work itself that I need to take pride.  I just need to pick up my shovel and dig in.  I may not "earn a wage" for my work that day, or complete the task at hand, but I have worked long and hard and for that I can be satisfied.   

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My Reality

Ever feel like this??

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A Trip down Memory Lane to Grandma Irvin's House

     We would all pile into the family mini van, usually on our way out of town.  We could never leave without making a visit to our Great Grandma Irvin's house.  With both sides of the family living only a couple of miles away from one another in the small town of Farmington New Mexico, our trips were always jam packed.  As the car slowed to a stop the seatbelts came flying off and we stumbled out of the car, usually exhausted and arguing with one another. 

     Standing at the front door to greet us was my Great Grandma Irvin with her face wrinkled into a smile.  She gave the tightest hugs; my face crushed into her chest and scraped against her glasses that  dangled from a chain around her neck.  We were invited in to her small entry area where she hung dozens of photos with nothing but love and a little scotch tape.  "This is your Uncle Sam's daughter, Angie, and her two babies and aren't they just getting so big!"  "Uncle Robert come down the other day to see me and he brought me . . ." her voice trailed off into the Living area as we all made our way to the sofas.

     My Grandpa Buck sat in the recliner chair next to the window.  He'd lean forward to hug me and my face pressed against the rigid edges of the wallet that he kept in the pocket of his shirt.  I'd glance at the old box TV that sat lifeless on the floor.  I can never remember a time that it was on or in working condition.  Grandma always got out her old marble game and set it on the floor for us kids to occupy ourselves while the adults circulated around the room to look at all of the new photos that Grandma had received.  As I got older I joined the parade around the room.  The photos were both old and new, framed and unframed, some even leaned up against the frame or were inserted into the outside lip of the frame.  Some were labeled correctly and some were not. Some of the great-grandkids were even placed with the wrong parent or family grouping.  We smiled to ourselves and overlooked the mistakes.  Grandma was so proud of her family, of that there was no doubt. 
    Updates from the family and old stories filled the air as my siblings and I shuffled through the glass candy dish next to Grandpa.  He always smiled at me out of the corner of his eye while I separated all of the strawberry candies from the butter scotches and the mints. Among my favorite memories of Grandma's stories is the way that she would laugh when she remembered the year that there was a fire in her house and she moved the family into the chicken coup until they could afford the repairs.  She laughed and smiled as if it weren't a tragedy at all but a sweet memory of happy times. 
     Grandma's pantry was always filled with all of the things that a kid could dream of, however, most of them were stale.  Her refrigerator held flat soda pop and we drank it through a straw.  We would eventually make our way out to the backyard.  There was always a cool breeze and metal chairs with rust spots.   I can remember bird feeders and tomatoe plants. 
     Of course our trip would not be complete without a trip down to Grandma's cellar.  She had Grandpa dig a whole in the ground under their bedroom closet.  She removed a piece of carpet from the closet floor and there was a hatch and a ladder that lead to the celler.  The dirt floor was cool and it always smelled of a musty clay.  There were shelves full of canned foods.  Grandma had an impressive amount of food storage but it paled in comparrison to the chambers that held it.   
     Our visit always ended with a tear in Grandma's eye and a "You come see me soon!" or "You comin' to the reunion this summer?"  She really was the quentessential Grandma.  As I got older I came to understand a little more about my Grandma.  She was always going to lunch with a friend or working at the Family History Center.  She lived her entire life in her own home, she took pride in doing things for herself, and she maintained her positive energy until the end of her life.  She had a love for life and a love of her family that is unmatched.  I hope to be just like her.  Love you Grandma.  Miss you!

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Laundry Tips - Still True

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Practical Advice

Never serve colored beverages at a party . . . NEVER!  (Especially when children are involved).
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Survival Mode

I do not like "survival mode."  This is the mode that I get into when I am barely keeping my head above water and I am doing only the essential things.  This is when I do not plan ahead, I get behind, I forget things, and I have to dig through piles of clean laundry to find socks for my kids.  This is when I don't exercise, I eat things that I shouldn't and I feel tired all of the time.

I plan to break out of survival mode in the near future. Here are some of the things I plan to do . . .

-Get up early to work out.
     This always makes me feel like I am in control.  I have a burst of energy after I work out and this gives me the push I need to start my day off right.

-Plan my Menu.
     When I don't know what we are going to eat for dinner I always feel like I am in survival mode.  I whip something together at the last minute and feel unorganized.  Planning my menu gives me a check point each day so that I know what I need to prepare and I can stay on track. 

-Update my google calendar and schedule some of my important tasks.
     I am not naturally organized!  With google calendar I can send myself text message reminders a day or two and an hour or two before something I need to do. This is saving my life!

-Have a nice dinner and Decorate with my new place mats.
     I have been in a rut.  I recently bought some new place mats so that I could set the table nicely and we can sit down to a nice meal.  I think this will make me feel like "Suzy Homemaker" and I will hopefully gain some momentum. 

What do you do to get out of survival mode???



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Utter Chaos

     "Utter Chaos," she said as I apologized for the state of the morning.  We loaded up the couch into the back of her friend's pick up truck and she was on her way.  I breathed a sigh of relief as I ran back into the house and out of the cold.

      I had spent the morning making small talk with a young single girl who had come to pick up my sister's couch that has taken up residence in my tiny garage for the last couple of months.  Small talk was no small thing on this particular Saturday morning as I cleaned up the dishes from the night before; hand washing pans and cookie sheets and scraping ketchup off of plates and counter tops that the babysitter had left for me to clean.  I shifted from one task to another while trying to maintain a cheerful conversation with the sweet stranger in my home.  I tried to make it seem effortless while I managed the cleanup and the constant parade of demands from my children.  There was crying, fighting, medicine, chocolate milk, cereal, candy, diaper changes, puppy poop, puppy prison break from the backyard, falling off of chairs and exercise balls . . .  and the parade continued.  All the while, she was receiving phone calls and texts from her friend, the owner of the pick up truck who had found herself with a flat tire a few short miles from the house.

      Lemony Snicket's, "A Series of Unfortunate Events" comes to mind.  The morning had played out like a scene from an old movie, streaming in slow motion.  By the time the mended flat tire rolled its way into the driveway it had been about an hour and a half.  "Utter Chaos" pretty much summed it up.  It pricked a little as it rolled so casually off of her tongue.  The comment was innocent enough but it somehow wrapped up my whole life so helplessly in two harmless little words. 

     After the truck drove out of sight with a 15 year old, slip covered, couch hanging off the tailgate,  I took inventory of the rest of my day.  Brittany had my van and I had four little inmates to entertain.  I must admit that my two year old scared me more than the piles of laundry I had stashed in my master closet. 

   I had come home the night before feeling deflated.  I had an unfortunate encounter with an overachieving Mother of four who graduated law school, taught at the University of Texas, home schools her children, maintains a clean home, runs marathons, and is skinny and beautiful to boot!!!  The final straw landed on the proverbial hay stack when I discovered that she is MY. SAME. AGE.  How do some people accomplish so much more in the same amount of time? 
     Fortunately for me, I came home to find my little sister, eight years my junior, with the wisdom of a woman four times her age.  Among other things she said something so simple and yet so profound.,  she said, " Mom didn't graduate law school and she was and is the best Mom in the world!"  This statement made me think about my Mother and all that she is and realize that it really doesn't matter that she didn't do those kinds of things.  She is everything and more that we needed her to be.  If I can become half of the woman that she is then I will feel accomplished indeed.  Then Brittany read me this quote,

 “Because of the conflicts and challenges we face in today’s world, I wish to suggest a single choice—a choice of peace and protection and a choice that is appropriate for all. That choice is faith. Be aware that faith is not a free gift given without thought, desire, or effort. It does not come as the dew falls from heaven. The Savior said, “Come unto me” (Matthew 11:28) and “Knock, and it shall be [given] you” (Matthew 7:7). These are action verbs—come, knock. They are choices. So I say, choose faith. Choose faith over doubt, choose faith over fear, choose faith over the unknown and the unseen, and choose faith over pessimism.  "Elder Richard C. Edgley

  Pessimism and I have been doing a little dance lately and unfortunately, I have been letting him lead.  He is a good teacher, he talks you right through one step to the next, leading you across the floor until you are dancing effortlessly all over the sullen ballroom.

      I have felt the suffocating effects of longing for things that are unattainable for me at this season of my life.  I am confused by the dichotomy of desires within my heart to learn and grow and change as an individual and to serve my family selflessly.     

     I am constantly berated with the messages of today so I found it somewhat refreshing when I recently stumbled upon a passage from a book filled with the messages of yesterday.

It read,  "What about giving the heart? Isn't giving your heart equally as important as giving your mind?  Those women who are experts in giving love, kindness and patience to their families are giving as much, yes, more, than their I.Q.  Isn't the product of the heart equal to the product of the mind?  Doesn't it do as much or more for the betterment of society.  The ladies who donate their I.Q. to society may render a service, no doubt, not if in so doing they rob the home of its mind and heart, what then can compensate for this loss?  And those ladies who feel that they have a gigantic brain must realize that unless they match it with a gigantic heart, they are only half a woman, and it would be far more important for them to stay home and educate the heart than to leave the home and go into the world to share their intellect there.  Their contributions of the heart will do more for the well being of society than their contributions of the mind."  (from the highly controversial Book "Fascinating Womanhood"  written in 1963 by: Helen B. Andelin) 
So I guess this is what I am doing.  I'm giving and educating my heart here at home.  Somewhere in this "Utter Chaos" I am giving my heart and I am teaching my heart about love and patience and tenderness and kindness.  Some days I would rather lead with my mind or let pessimism lead with his expertise in undermining goodness and happiness.  The heart seems the better choice and in time, its grandparent Charity may lead and the ballroom will no longer be sullen but filled with brightness and promise of a whimsical night filled with music and dancing and laughter and hope. 

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Ideals

"Don't ever become so obsessed with your ideals that you forget the thing that is most important - the people in your life."



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Interruptions

INTERRUPTIONS

"When you are exasperated by interruptions, try to remember that their very frequency may indicate the value of your life. Only people who are full of help and strength are burdened by other persons' needs. The interruptions which we chafe at are the credentials of our indispensability. The greatest condemnation that anybody could incur - and it is a danger to guard against - is to be so independent, so unhelpful, that nobody ever interrupts us, and we are left comfortably alone."

-Anonymous

from The Anglican Digest

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The Dreaded New Year

Every year when January 1st lands on the calendar, I feel the pressure.  I know I am not alone in this.    While I agree that the first day of the year is a fine time to have a fresh start, the very notion that we can suddenly be consistent in every ideal is a complete farce.  I have set this standard for myself every year at this time and have found myself in suffocating anxiety three short weeks later.  It is like a broken record and I never learn.

NOT THIS YEAR!

I tell you, it will not happen again.

 First of all, I decided that I wasn't even going to think about making (or starting) any goals until after my kids went back to school.  It would have been fruitless at best to even attempt to make any changes while I had all four "underminers" at home.  Since the kids went back to school in the middle of the week, I gave myself a grace period of a weekend to recover from the Christmas "break."

     In the past, I would investigate all of the dusty corners of my life only to determine that it was ALL important and that it ALL had to change.  I had a very hard time picking and choosing which change was necessary and which sloppy habits I could leave hanging around .  This was all very overwhelming and a real detriment to my self esteem.  My thoughts read,  "As turns out, I am a mess!  How have I been living like this!" and the like.

I tell you, it won't happen again.

This year I have chosen two habits to implement in my life.

We can find my first habit in the scriptures in D&C 88:124

"Retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and your minds may be invigorated."


I will be focusing on the second portion of the scripture and am hoping that the first will happen as a result of the second.  I have found time and time again that when I get up early and exercise, read my scriptures and pray, or any combination of the three, I have a much better day.  I am not going to set the goal to do these other things, I am merely going to get up early, and I am hoping that the rest will follow.

The second habit that I am going to work on this year has to do with a previous post I did about queens.
By 4:00 p.m. when my kids get home, the main areas of my house will be straightened and we will have an "intentional" dinner.  We may be having chicken nuggets, but we will have them together at the kitchen table.  I want my family to feel that there are some things that they can count on no matter what kind of day I have had.  I want the time between when my kids get home and when they go to bed to be predictable and intentional. 

So that's it! Getting up early and having things in some semblance of order at 4:00 so that we can have an intentional evening.  No matter what else gets done or doesn't get  done in my day, it will be a success if I have accomplished these two things. 

Good riddance to overreaching goals that can't be met!

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Being the Queen

I read the following story for the first time a couple of years ago.  If you read it without an open mind you could completely miss the point.  So, with an open mind . . .

When Queens Ride By



John and Jennie Musgrave had eager plans when they married and took over the old farm. But their great faith dwindled as the first years passed. John worked later and later in the evenings. Jennie took more and more of the heavy tasks upon her own shoulders and had no time for the home and children. They were no further on and life had degenerated into a straining, hopeless struggle.


One hot afternoon, Jennie was loading baskets of tomatoes to take to town when the children came running to tell her there was a dressed-up lady at the kitchen door. Wearily she followed the children back and saw a woman in a gray tweed coat that seemed somehow to be a part of her straight, slim body. A small gray hat with a rose quill was drawn low over her brownish hair. She was not young, but she was beautiful! An aura of eager youth clung to her, a clean and exquisite freshness.


The stranger in turn saw a young woman, haggard and weary. Her eyes looked hard and hunted. Her calico dress was shapeless and begrimed from her work.




Stranger (sailing): “How do you do? We parked our car in the shade of your lane to have lunch and rest awhile. And I walked on up to buy a few apples, if you have them.”


Jennie (grudgingly): “Won't you go in and sit down? I'll go and pick the apples.”


Stranger: “May I go with you? I'd love to help pick them.”


Jennie: “Why, I s'pose so. If you can get out here through the dirt.” (She led the way along the unkempt path toward the orchard. She had never been so acutely conscious of the disorder about her. She reached the orchard and began to drag a long ladder from the fence to the apple tree.)


Stranger (crying out): “Oh, but you can't do that! It's too heavy. Please let me pick a few from the ground.”


Jennie: “Heavy? This ladder! I wish I didn't ever lift anything heavier than this.


After hoistin' bushel baskets of tomatoes onto a wagon, this feels light to me.”


Stranger: “But — but, do you think you should? Do you think it's right ... Why, that's a man's work.”


Jennie (furiously): “Right! Who are you to be askin' me whether I'm right or not?


A person like you don't know what work is!”


Stranger (soothingly): “I'm sorry I annoyed you by saying that. If you were to tell me all about it — because I'm a stranger — perhaps it would help. Why can't we sit down here and rest a minute?”


Jennie: “Rest? Me sit down to rest, an' the wagon loaded to go to town? It'll hurry me to get back before dark.”


Stranger: “Just take the time you would have spent picking the apples. I wish I could help you. Won't you tell me why you have to work so hard?”


Jennie (half sullenly): “There ain't much to tell only that we ain't getting' ahead.


Henry Davis is talkin' about foreclosin' on us if we don't soon pay some principal.


The time of the mortgage is out this year an' mebbe he won't renew it. And it ain't that I haven't done my part. I'm bare thirty, and I might be fifty. I'm so weather beaten.


That's the way I've worked.”


Stranger: “And you think that has helped your husband?”


Jennie (sharply): “Helped him? Why wouldn't it help him?”


Stranger: “Men are such queer things, husbands especially. For instance, they want us to be economical, and yet they love to see us in pretty clothes. They need our work and yet they want us to keep our youth and beauty. And sometimes they don't know themselves which they really want most. So we have to choose. That's what makes it so hard.


Just after we were married, my husband decided to have his own business so he started a very tiny one. I helped my husband in the store, but we would both be tired and discouraged after a hard day at the office and we didn't seem to be having any great success. The house got run down and dinner was always a hasty affair, and soon we both started complaining and bickering with each other.


Finally, we decided that maybe I should stay at home and let him take care of his work at the office as best he could. And then I worked in my house to make it a clean, shining, happy place. My husband would come home dead tired and discouraged, ready to give up the whole thing. But after he had eaten and sat in our bright little living room, and I had told him all the funny things I could invent about my day, I could see the change in him. By bedtime, he had his courage back, and by morning he was all ready to go out and fight again. And at last he won.


(Jennie did not speak. She only regarded her guest with a half-resentful understanding.)


The stranger continued: “There was a queen once, who reigned in troubled days. And every time the country was on the brink of war and the people ready to fly into a panic, she would put on her showiest dress and take her court with her and go hunting. And when the people would see her riding by, they were sure all was well with the government. So she tided over many a danger.


“And I've tried to be like her. Whenever a big crisis comes in my husband's business, or when he's discouraged, I put on my prettiest dress and get the best dinner I know how, or give a party! And somehow it seems to work. That's the woman's part, you know, to play the queen ...”


(A faint “honk, honk” came from the lane. The stranger started to her feet.”)


“That's my husband. I must go. Please don't bother about the apples. I'll just take these few from under the tree.” (She took some coins from her purse) “And give these to the children.”


Jennie's thoughts were too confused for speech, but, as she watched the stranger's erect figure hurrying towards the lane, she remembered her words with the pain of anger.


Jennie: “Easy enough for her to set talkin' about queens! She never felt the work at her throat like a wolf. Talk about choosin'! I haven't got no choice. I just got to keep a goin', like I always have ...”


She stopped suddenly and picked up a fairy-like hanky of white linen that the stranger had dropped. Its faint, delicious fragrance made her think wistfully of strange, sweet things. Of gardens in the early summer dusk; of wide, fair rooms with the moonlight shining in them; of pretty women in beautiful dresses dancing, and men admiring them.


She, Jennie, had nothing of that. Everything about their lives, hers and John's, was coarsened, soiled somehow by the dragging, endless labor of the days. Suppose ... suppose ... suppose she were to try doing what the stranger had said, suppose she spent her time on the house and let the outside work go. . .


Jennie (with sudden resolution): “Mebbe I'm crazy, but I'm going to do it!”


Jennie brushed her hair, changed her shoes, and put on her one good dress. Then with something of the burning zeal of a fanatic, she attacked the confusion in the kitchen. By half-past four the room was clean. Now for supper! She decided upon fried ham and browned potatoes and apple sauce with hot biscuits, and pie. With a spirit of daring recklessness, she spread the one white table cloth on the table.


The first pan of flaky brown mounds had been withdrawn from the oven when Henry Davis' car came up the lane. Cold fear struck Jeannie. He could be coming for only one thing. As she stood shaken, wondering how she could live through what the next hour would bring, she heard the words again, “There was a queen once ...”


Jennie (cordially): “Well, Howd' you do, Mr Davis! Come right in. I'm real glad to see you. Been quite a while since you was over.”


Henry (embarrassed): “Why, no, not now, I won't go in. I just stopped to see John on a little matter of business. I'll just ...


Jennie: “You'll just come right in. John will be in from milkin' in a few minutes an' you can talk while you eat, both of you. I've supper just ready.”


Henry: “Why, now I reckon I'd just speak to John, an' then be gettin' on.”


Jennie: “They'll see you at home when you get there. You never tasted my hot biscuits with butter an' quince honey or you wouldn't take so much coaxin!”


(Henry Davis came into the big, clean kitchen and sat down. His eyes took in every homey detail of the orderly room.)


Jennie: “And how are things goin' with you, Mr. Davis?”


Henry: “Oh, so so. How are they with you?”


Jennie: “Why, just fine, Mr. Davis! It's been hard sleddin', but I sort of think the worst is over. We'll be ‘round to pay that mortgage so fast come another year that you'll be be surprised.”


Henry: “Well, now that's fine. I always wanted to see John make a success of the old place, but a man has to sort of watch his investments ... Well, now, I'm glad things are pickin' up a little.”


Jennie felt as though a tight hand at her throat had relaxed. At the kitchen door John stopped, staring blankly at the scene before him ... at Jennie moving about the bright table, chatting happily with Henry Davis! At Henry himself, his sharp features softened by an air of great satisfaction. At the sixth plate on the white cloth — Henry was staying for supper! But the silent depths of John's nature served him well. He made no comment. He merely shook hands with Henry Davis and then washed his face in the sink.


Jennie arranged the savory dishes, and they sat down to supper. Henry seemed to grow more and more genial and expansive as he ate. So did John. By the time the pie was set before them, they were laughing over a joke Henry had heard at Grange meeting. As they rose from the table, Henry brought the conversation awkwardly around to his errand.


Jennie (quickly): “I told him, John, that the worst's over now, and we're getting on fine! I told him we'd be swampin' him pretty soon with payments. Ain't that right, John?”


John's mind was not analytical. He had been host at a delicious supper with his ancient adversary, whose sharp face was marvelously softened. Jennie's eyes were shining with a new and amazing confidence. It was a natural moment for unreason[able] optimism.


John: “Why, that's right, Mr. Davis. I believe we can start clearin' this off now pretty soon. If you could just see your way to renew the terms ...”


It was done. The papers went back in Davis' pocket. They had bid him a cordial good-bye at the door. Jennie cleared off the table and began to wash the dishes.


John was fumbling through the papers on a hanging shelf. He finally sat down with an old tablet and pencil.


John: “I believe I'll do a little figurin' since I've got time tonight. It just struck me if I used my head a little more, I'll get on faster.”


Jennie: “Well, now you might.” (She polished two big apples and placed them on a saucer beside him.)


John (pleased): “Now, that's what I like. Say, you look sort of pretty tonight.”


Jennie (smiling): “Go along with you.”


But a wave of color swept up in her sallow cheeks. John had looked more grateful over her setting those two apples beside him now than he had the day last fall when she had lifted all the potatoes by herself! Maybe even John had been needing something else more than he had needed the hard, back-breaking work she had been giving him.


Jennie walked to the doorway and stood looking off through the darkness. A thin, haunting breath of sweetness rose from the bosom of her dress where she had tucked the scrap of white linen. She wished that she could somehow tell the beautiful stranger that her words had been true ... that she, Jennie, was going to fulfill her women's part. She had read the real needs of John's soul from his eyes that evening. Yes, wives had to choose for their husbands sometimes.


At that very moment, speeding along the sleek highway, a woman in a gray coat with a soft gray hat and a rose quill leaned suddenly close to her husband.


Husband: “Tired?”


Stranger: “I'm all right. Only, I can't get that poor woman at the farm out of my mind.


It was so hopeless.”


Husband (smiling tenderly): “Well, I'm sorry, too, but you mustn't worry. Good gracious, darling, you're not weeping over it, I hope.”


Stranger: “No, truly, just two little tears. I know it's silly, but I did so want to help her and I know what I said sounded insane. She wouldn't know what I was talking about. She just looked up with that blank, tired face. And it all seemed so impossible. No ... I'm not going to cry. Of course I'm not ... but ... lend me your handkerchief, will you dear? I've lost mine somehow.” (By Olive White Fortenbacher, published by Walter H. Baker, Co., 1932, Agnes Slight Turnbull, editor and compiler.)

Tonight was one of those moments when I chose to present the shiny apples.  I went grocery shopping, planned a nice dinner, straightened the house with a little extra zeal, took a little extra thought about what I was wearing, and payed extra attention to my kids.  When James  came home things were in order and of course he was a little surprised and maybe even a little suspicious.  Lately, things have been less than orderly.  It takes effort and planning to be a "queen" and sometimes it doesn't seem all that important.  However, on nights like these, I do believe that it makes a difference.  If mom is in control, smiling, and looking her best, "All must be well in the land."

The kids did their homework early and we were able to have a very nice evening together making Christmas goodies, laughing, and being silly.  They all need that when they come home, my husband and my kids.  Although there is no one there to do it for me, someone must be there to do it for them.  As a woman, I am capable of doing A LOT of things, some things just as good as any man (or better;).  But sometimes . . .  shiny apples mean the most.  Here's to being the Queen! 
As a side note, I must mention that I come from a long line of Queens.  I owe my Mother and Grandmothers a great deal for their tremendous examples to me.  I LOVE YOU ALL!

Proof of our enjoyable evening.

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