The background.

This is just the background to two more important posts coming up this week.

Fridays are cleaning days ’round these parts.

Working two days a week and being committed to church/school activities the majority of two other days leaves Friday as the day for the dreaded official home cleaning and, the bane of my existence, laundry.

As a side note, my family only has three people. Three. How do I have six loads of laundry to do weekly!?


I cleaned up all morning and actually did not start the laundry first thing after dropping Goob from school because I ran out of detergent. I make my own soap now, but feeling lazy I decided to run out to grab one from the market. Except it was POURING on and off. So that got put on the back burner. (You’ll see why this was such a good thing soon.)

So there I was ready to attack our bathtub in the early afternoon as the last official task. Which, sad to say, really needed to be attacked. I really don’t understand how that much dirt comes off our bodies to make the kind of mess that accumulates in the tub. Anyways again, I spray the entire tub with cleaner, strip down {Sorry! TMI!}, and get in to scrub away.

Let me note here before you mention it that I do realize getting cleaning product all over my skin is probably not the best idea. What can I say? I live on the edge when it comes to cleaning.

I turn on the water.

For a split second, I thought, Wow did I really scrub that much dirt?

And then I quickly realized brown water was gushing out of the faucet.

So there I was; covered in Scrubbing Bubbles and debating the safety of rinsing one disgusting substance with another.

Alas, I stepped out, grabbed some papers towels and wiped myself off.

I checked all the other faucets and just as much brown gunk was coming out.


The water pictured above wasn’t even at the worst. That’s just when I thought to take a picture.

I call the maintenance office and they knew immediately what block I was calling from and stated work had been done on the boiler; to just give it 1/2 hour and then run the water for a little while.

Sidenote: Shouldn’t they warn people about that?

Half-hour comes and go and the water being no better, I’m forced to go and pick up little man from school. We run a few errands; come back home and the water is still just as bad. I need to teach later at our church and I desperately need a shower. I ran the water as long as I could before ultimately deciding to head quickly to my mom’s to shower. Upon calling maintenance, they seemed surprised the problem still existed and said they would have someone check it out. I couldn’t wait on them though, so off we went.

We came home and the water was getting better, but still a light tea color and with particles in it. We decided to head to my parent’s house to sleep as I noted in the previous entry in case the situation wasn’t rectified by the next morning. By Saturday, husby went to check everything out and all was back to normal.

Since this entry is long enough, I will have to leave the actual point of it to the next post.

I will tell you though that I have since learned my lesson about covering myself in Scrubbing Bubbles before checking to make sure I have water to rinse myself off.


Saturday mornings.

We actually don’t get a lot of Saturday mornings like this.

There is usually an event/activity/party to run to or simply the dreaded household chores or errands that cannot be completed any other day.

Due to circumstances I’ll blog about next week, we ended up slumbering at my mom’s house last night.

Which means that we have my daddy’s MacBook to play with.  I mean, seriously, who DOESN’T like Photo Booth?


I love moments like this.

Where is the midst of chaos, confusion, and uncertainty that life can bring–simple respites are offered where laughter abounds in a not oft-used guest room of a house filled with 43+ years of memories; almost 32 of those being my own.

I love you Bancito and Goob.  You are my moments of quiet joy; my breaths of fresh air.

Saturday morning. from Lis C on Vimeo.

The Hardest Part.

There’s something about {most} women, that even from a young age, whenever they hold a baby their uterus will inevitably start thumping. The yearning to birth and hold and cherish a child of your own can be overwhelming.

And you would think that when you actually have a child, that thumping would go away.

Except that when you do have said child, that thumping goes about a foot higher to your heart where it feels like you cannot breathe every time said child whimpers, is out of your sight…

or as will be the case tomorrow, simply, grows up.

There is something about Goob’s birthdays that turn me into a hot.crying.mess. Oh, who I am kidding? I’ve practically lived in the rocking, fetal position in a corner of the attic since he was born. It is not pretty.

Actually, I took the first few birthdays relatively well. There was too much excitement and fun to be caught up in to realize he was not going to stay a baby forever. But then that 5th birthday came. Oh.My.Word. It did me in. Because up until that point I had a baby, then a toddler, then a preschooler. But a five-year-old? Fiercely independent, strong-willed, and no longer willing to be held at a whim. Nope, this was a full-fledged little boy. And my heart started breaking.

I remained pretty much unscathed by ages 6 and 7. But over the last couple of months, it hit me. It hit me hard.

If life goes the way it’s “supposed” to, and Goob–at age 18–decides to go to college away from home, or join the military, or be a missionary, or simply wants to see the world–

Well, then I have one decade left to make every moment count.

One decade. Ten more years. And my little boy will become a man.

It is too much for my heart to take.

You see, every mom will say how much they love their child. And I believe them. But I do not think you know how wrapped up my life is in him. At times, I would say it’s unhealthy. But other times, I treasure how much love I have for him. I think to myself, “If I love him THIS much, how much more does God love me?” And I stand amazed.

Yes, that is the hardest part. To know I will always be his mom, but little by little he won’t need me in the sames ways he’s needed me until now. Especially as a young man, he’ll turn to his father more and more.

I’ll get the shaft and will possibly need to purchase a space heater for the attic. It gets pretty cold up there and there is only so much warming up rocking will do for your body.

Ten more years. One decade. Here’s to making every single one of those seconds count.

Making the decision to have a child – it’s momentous.
It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

– Elizabeth Stone

Top left: 2 days old; Ages 1 - {almost!} 8


Edited to link up with::

The Last Hurrah.

I remember when Goob was a baby saying we would stop doing birthday parties when he turned 5.

Yet, here we are three years after that still having one.

In all seriousness, the festivities of yesterday {01.21.11} really will be the last “big” party. We are blessed that his circle of friends has grown with a new church and a new neighborhood, but our bank account hasn’t {ha!} and honestly, by next year, at age 9 *gulp*, I think there will be a clear distinction between long-time friends who will practically be teenagers, girls no longer being…just girls, etc. So next year, he will pick a set number of {guy} friends and we’ll take them to dinner; a movie; whatever he wants. But as for an official party–this was the last hurrah. 😦

OF COURSE, the first official snow “storm” decided to come on the day of his party. Ah, the memories of his first birthday party in 2005 that had to be rescheduled twice thanks to blizzards. I woke up so worried, but the texts starting pouring in to just make sure we were still having the party and all stated it would not prohibit them from making their way out. Phew!

Here are a couple of pics of the boy enjoying his day {it was a bowling party!}. I cannot believe that in less than two days I will be the mother of an 8-year-old.

Population me.

I recently wrote the above tweet after a bit of envy crept into my heart.  Our church does a really big missions trip to Jamaica, and I would love to go.  I have always wanted to go on a missions trip; to be in a foreign land–out of my comfort zone–loving on new people, bringing aid in a tangible way, and more importantly sharing the gospel message of Christ.

The Lord quickly convicted me that every morning when I wake up, I am in the missions field–in my home, at work, my son’s school, and in my neighborhood.  I do not need to hop on a plane to show the love of Christ; I have to be willing to do it where I am.  And the truth is–I kind of suck at that.

Hearing Matthew West’s song, My Own Little World, on the radio is a constant reminder that I am very comfortable living in…well, my own little world.  To wake up and maintain my routine and spend time with just my family, in my home, doing my own thing, in my own way.  That’s a whole lot of me in the picture.

Yup, population me.

The Word of God shows me lots of ways that I can bless others:

Show hospitality to one another without grumbling.
1 Peter 4:9 ESV

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction…
James 1:27 ESV 

The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”
Mark 12:31 ESV 

And those examples barely scratch the surface of all the ways the Bible notes how we are to think less of ourselves while thinking of others.

Do I open my home freely to friends and strangers alike or am I more content to lay on the couch watching the latest episode of [name that show that’s probably not good for me anyway]?

Do I visit with those who have faced or are facing great trials and times of sadness and may need a shoulder to cry on or an ear that will listen?

Do I show the love of Christ to the three represented families that live on the other side of each of the walls of my home?

Do I give until it hurts?

No.  And that’s a hard pill to swallow.

But the pruning process God puts us through will bear fruit.  Coming to grips with my own selfishness will only lead me to be more aware of those around me I should be talking to; helping; giving of myself to in whatever way I can.

I look forward this year to making sure population me turns into population two.

And from there?

As a certain Toy Story character would say, I hope “To infinity and beyond.”

Lord, help me to see that my own little world is not about me.


Below are the lyrics and video for the Matthew West song.  Enjoy!

In my own little world it hardly ever rains
I’ve never gone hungry, always felt safe
I got some money in my pocket, shoes on my feet
In my own little world
population me

I try to stay awake during Sunday morning Church
I throw a twenty in the plate, but I never give ’til it hurts
And I turn off the news when I don’t like what I see
Yeah, it’s easy to do when it’s
Population: me

What if there’s a bigger picture?
What if I’m missing out?
What if there’s a greater purpose
I could be living right now?
Outside my own little world

Stopped at a red light, looked out my window
I saw a cardboard sign, said “Help this homeless widow”
And just above that sign was the face of a human
I thought to myself, “God, what have I been doing?”
So I rolled down the window and I looked her in the eye
Oh how many times have I just passed her by?
I gave her some money then I drove on through
And my own little world reached
Population two

What if there’s a bigger picture?
What if I’m missing out?
What if there’s a greater purpose
That I could be living right now
Outside my own little world
My own little world

Father break my heart for what breaks Yours
Give me open hands and open doors
Put Your Light in my eyes and let me see
That my own little world is not about me