The Very Hungry Caterpillar and Other Assorted Miracles

One of the types of plants residing in our backyard is a caterpillar's veritable feast. And feast they do. Soon after planting our flower beds we discovered caterpillars galore! They move slowly it would seem but devour every single leaf in mere days. They quickly grow from the tiniest almost unnoticeable little inchwormy caterpillars to giant squishy overstuffed monster caterpillars. And then... they stay!

They drag their grotesquely obese caterpillar selves to our deck and find a place to reside for the next weeks. Close observation last week showed that once an ideal (or in my opinion sometimes less than ideal) location is determined they attached their rears to that spot, hang upside down, and slowly pulsate. It was mesmerizing.

Our deck is frequently covered in chrysalises. Bright green, golden speckled, goo containing chrysalises.

And then the butterflies emerge. And stretch their new wings. And fly.

Sometimes they come back home to say hello. But for the most part we are their nest, and a bird butterfly has to leave the nest someday.

Very hungry caterpillars transforming into butterflies. Miracles occur in this nest everywhere I look.

Nils has two new teeth! Fangs, in fact. They are adorable and just in time for Halloween. What a sweetie.

Nils had his first official playdate when his friend came to play just with Nils. Carolena was at school and the babies got to play together without the tyranny of their older sisters. They had a blast and, as per the usual with these two, spent an enormous amount of time trading pacifiers.

Nils is growing and growing. With all of the crawling and tasting inanimate objects,he appears to be stretching out. My sweet Stay Puft Marshmallow Man better not lose those arm rolls before Friday. He has a costume to don!

Carolena's school carnival was on Saturday. Nils was feeling under the weather so the boys stayed home for football and naps while the girls headed to school. Not surprisingly, she had a blast.

She spent an amazing amount of time glancing around looking for friends and familiar faces. As soon as she found a girl in her class, she was off! I think she'd imagined I would hand her a roll of tickets and tell her to meet me at home later. In fact, I know that's what she thought was going to happen because she told me. Fern gets to do that in Charlotte's Web, so, duh. Luckily, the other girl was also part of a mother/daughter duo so we stuck with them and let the girls do activities on their own.

It was awesome to see Carolena at the carnival. Glancing over my shoulder as she slurped a blue snocone and looked for a friend, riding a pony, chatting with teachers. Everyone seemed to know Carolena. What was once my newborn girl trying to lift her head from my chest in the hospital and see what else was happening is now the girl about whom other moms say, "Oh this is Carolena! We hear so much about her at home!"

Very hungry caterpillars transforming into butterflies.

A Word to the Wise

If you see someone wearing bell bottoms get out a Prius it is probably safe to assume that their "This Land Is Our Land National Park Foundation" tee shirt is not advocating strict border control.

It is probably safe to assume that you are a moron and have misread more than just this person's shirt.

Lady in the Home Depot parking lot, I'm looking at you.

A word to the (un)wise should be sufficient.

Conversational Carolena

Overheard from the backseat of our car yesterday:

Carolena holding an Avengers puzzle, "Hi boys... yadda yadda yadda"

High pitched voice of the Avengers speaking back to her. Then Carolena's voice. Then the high pitched voice of the Avengers.

Carolena: "Hey! Puzzles can't talk! Be quiet boys. Puzzles don't talk."

Silence.

High pitched voice, "Awwww. Okay."

Kids These Days

Nils is a man about town. Geeze, that little guy is fast. You know, you would think that someone in the 80something percentile for weight and 40something percentile for height would be slow. Nope, not this guy.

He is a man on the go. Watch out cats! Nils is coming for you... and your scrumptious delicacy called catfood.

Nils, what a delightful little guy. He knows two words: Dadda and cat. So, the essentials really. At first we thought we were being the overly proud parents, but nope, he consistently calls Chris Dadda and squeals out his own version of "cat" each time he sees one of those furry little devils passes by. Sometimes it's heavy on the "c" sound and sometimes heavy on the "t" - but he knows the word nonetheless.

And then there's this little gal...

These days Carolena spends most of her time working on crafts, coloring, or reading. She is her mother's gal in that sense. She "takes it easy" instead of napping. She loves puzzles and is disturbingly good at them... like... call Oprah good at them. She will talk and talk and talk to you until you are exhausted. And then she'll talk some more. She almost always has a small stuffed animal with her (doesn't matter which one as long as it's small) and likes to open the fridge or pantry and declare that she is "just looking for a little something." She loves "nilk" and "yogret" and coloring with "markros."

Dear God, thank you for these two beautiful children. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

You're the Top, You're a Waldorf Salad

This morning I awoke to a toddler with a booger on her finger and Clifford the decidedly annoyingly big red dog on the television. I spent the morning sitting in an old soccer chair drinking coffee from a swag coffee mug, wearing unwashed mismatched clothing, and working on a dollar store Sodoku book while Carolena rode her scooter around our driveway and Nils took a nap.

Then I washed my face and hair-sprayed the hell outta my hair. I drew on some cat eyes, threw on some bright lipstick, stepped into my heels, and gave everyone in my fam a kiss (and one little gal got a "kissing hand" as well). With the music blasting in the Prius I headed into the city.

It's funny how a nice seat in the theater and a glass of wine can really make you forget you have ever had to use your bare hand to wipe someone else's nose (or hiney as the case may sometimes be). Minutes after arriving at the theater I thought of all of the moms at home in the burbs, donning their maroon t-shirts, and pretending to care about the status of "The Game." Stretching my legs out into my ample space and glancing around the crowded theater I thought of all the schmucks sitting up in the nosebleed seats (you know, the ones I'm too cheap to buy) and sighed at the sheer bliss of it all. Songs were sung. Dances were tapped. I was the King of New York. Er Houston... well, something like that.

As Kelly and I left the theater I glanced down and thought, "oh! A penny!" and just like that the spell was broken. It was time to head back to suburbia. I burst through the door singing, wiped off my lipstick, and threw on pajamas. Dinner from a crockpot, two cute munchkins in a bathtub, and a package from my mom. A beautiful day from start to finish. My life. "It's delightful, it's delicious, it's delectable, it's delirious, it's dilemma, it's delimit, it's deluxe, it's de-lovely."

Anything Goes

I planned to wake up, remember that it's Anything Goes day, and skip out of bed. I planned to peacefully drink coffee in the quiet calm that one can find at 6 am in our living room. I planned to work on the first entry for my new bible study blog (as yet unlaunched as my kids have been waking up at the crack of dawn and that's when I write).

I woke up to a three year old lying down on top of me and whispering, "Here I am." I woke up to a three year old freaking out over blood on her finger that turned out to actually be a booger.

So, we're watching Clifford. No, not the Clifford one would hope. The big red dog. And I have a coffee IV. Nils is eating crackers and playing with toys. My reading of Romans will have to be postponed until tomorrow.

But... it's still Anything Goes Day!! Come this afternoon Kelly and I will be dressed up and enjoying prime seating and complimentary drinks courtesy of my mother-in-law's neighbor's cousin. Yep, really. To a stay home mom, free tickets to a Broadway show are as good as gold.

So, bring me some more coffee, it's gonna be a great day!

Rage Against the Machine

Humor me, I have to vent.

Step One: I went to AT&T because my new phone dies every single day. Every. Single. Day. They gave me an 800# to call.

Step Two: I called AT&T and after a long phone call was told they would send me a refurbished phone (when I bought a new one that is only weeks old and still under warranty) and that I would need to keep the original battery. I pointed out that the battery is in fact the problem and told them I would like them to send me a new battery instead of a refurbished phone. I was told to go into a store.

Step Three: I went back to the store, and they told me to call the 800 number. I refused. So they sent me to another store.

Step Four: The second store told me to go to another store near the galleria (30+ minutes away).

Step Five: Casey's head explodes.

Uh... AT&T... you sold me a phone with a battery that dies every day, told me you would replace my brand new phone with a refurbished phone, have given me the runaround, and I still have the lemon phone. How's that for customer service?

Deeper Waters

And now for something completely different.

I'm treading into deeper waters. I pray that as I enter into the deep the Holy Spirit will give me the stamina to keep treading, the wisdom to remember to float when I'm exhausted, and the grace to toss me a lifejacket when I'm exhausted.

Lately I've been grappling with the question of why. Why? It might be due to the fact that I'm asked that question fifty thousand times a day, but the last weeks I've been continually returning to why. Why?

I'm not even exactly sure what it is that I've been questioning. Something about life. About faith. About why. I'm not sure exactly what the question(s) is to which I've been seeking an answer, but there it's been. Always in the back of my brain, lingering, unresting, asking... why?

So, without certainty as to what the question even is, I have been seeking answers. It's difficult to get answers to questions that I can't articulate. And yet, with prayer, here are some "answers" that I'm pondering lately:

It all started with worship. Worship. Why? I go to church every Sunday. I pray in my daily life. I strive to make my life an act of worship. Why? All of my first answers to the question were unsatisfactory. They all seemed to point toward me. My first inclinations as to why I worship were things that benefit me, but the focus of worship is decidedly not me. Which got me thinking about how God doesn't need me to worship him. I need to worship God. People worship. We were made as creatures who worship. Everyone serves something. I serve the Living Lord. Everyone worships something whether it be money or fame or power or themselves. We worship. I choose to worship God. Worship.

Worship led me to think about humility. Perhaps I ask why because I seek to know my place in the order of things. Maybe this question of why is about humbleness. I look around and know that I am decidedly not God. I worship because it is part of who I am. Who we all are. I worship God because I am not God and God is God. I ask why and I find humility. Humility.

Humility led me to think about grace. It is only by the grace of God that I am free to worship. It is through his infinite grace and forgiveness that I am able to come before him and serve him and bring honor to his name. It is only by the grace of God that I am. Period. Boundless limitless grace.

Grace led me to think about that heavenly banquet. That banquet to which Jesus assures us we are all invited. That banquet to which all are invited and we only need enter. That raging party which has been and is and will continue. Toss me some high heels and a gift for the host. I choose to attend. Heaven.

Heaven brought me to hope. Hope in the resurrection of all things. I have hope in the life to come. I have hope in the days that are to come. I have hope in the Resurrection. I have hope in the truth that things which are being cast down are being raised up. Things that have grown old are being made new. I have hope.

Hope led me to joy. I seek to live in joy. I seek to stand at the foot of the cross and in the light of the Resurrected Christ and live in joy. I have joy in my innermost being. Sure, I have bad moods and bad days (and even crying tantrums if I'm honest). But always I have joy. Deep unshakeable firm foundation joy. Joy.

Joy led me to thankfulness. Thankfulness led me back to humility and worship and heaven and joy and hope... it all leads me to the search for depth. Thankfulness.

Depth. I seek always to have depth. I serve a God who is both deep and wide. I seek depth of faith, of hope, of joy, of love, of life. Depth.

I hunger and thirst for living waters and so I go deeper. I kick my legs and control my breathing and just try to tread into the deep. And I wonder, why?

This morning as I stood and sat and knelt before God all of these things were bubbling within my soul. And I thought of my place in the world and attempted to place my humbleness before God. I am not God. God is God. I thought of his invitation to me to come, to join the party. And accepting the invitation I stood before his altar and received the gifts of bread and wine, a foretaste of that heavenly banquet. I was surrounded by my sisters and brothers and I felt joy. Deep unshakeable joy. And peace. And hope. And I realized that the Holy Spirit doesn't just toss out a buoy. He shows up with a party cruise and champagne. All I need to do is get on the boat.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time people spent evenings singing songs. They played musical instruments. They danced. Once upon a time people worked on fine arts after the daily work was finished. They embroidered masterpieces. They knit and whittled and created. Once upon a time people shared stories. They gathered around the hearth and passed tales of fact and fiction and somewhere in that gray area between down from generation to generation. Once upon a time people sat on the porch. Children ran in the grass. They breathed in fresh air. Once upon a time people read books. They had parlors and libraries instead of media rooms and man caves. Once upon a time people spent time together without getting the perfect selfie, updating their status, or even glancing at a screen. Once upon a time people listened to one another. They learned from one another. Once upon a time people sat together and were actually together. Once upon a time.

Marriage Material

Chris and I have been married for eight years. We've been dating for eleven. In all of those years of dating and marriage how many times do you think I've been to his parents' home?

The answer is: a lot. A lot of times. Over the course of eleven years. Eleven.

Now, remember that.

Chris and I are a great couple if I do say so myself. We really bring out the best in one another and complement (and compliment) one another's personality quite well.

That said, for eight years Chris has been putting up with my untidiness. Now, don't get me wrong, if you come to our house it will look clean and clutter-free (at least I hope), but if you were to open any closet or pantry you would find disarray. Placing pots and pans back into the cabinet in such a way that they nest with one another rather than crashing out on the next unsuspecting cook has just never been high on my priority list. I just open the cabinet, cram those suckers in there, and shut the door as quickly as possible before they all come clanging out upon my feet. And, for eight years of marriage, it's worked out nicely.

For me at least.

A few weeks ago I was at my in-laws' house. Remember how many times I've been there? A lot. So, here I am at their house for the bazillionth time, and I go to toss something in their trashcan. I open the pantry door for what might be the 10,000th time in my life and suddenly I realize something: everything in their kitchen has it's own place.

*mind blown*

Suddenly, I understood why Chris is always frustrated with our shared bedroom closet. His clothes hang in neat tidy lines organized by color and type. My clothes are organized by "is this too dirty to wear again?" I thought back on how every once in a while he stands exasperated in front of our pantry moaning about how he wouldn't have to reorder everything in there if I would just put things back where they belong. (Things belong somewhere in there? *mind blown*)

Chris grew up in a home where everything had it's place.

Woah.

{Right now my mom is probably reading this and sighing and rolling her eyes. She's spent like half of her life fighting the mess and disorder caused by my dad, siblings, and me. Sorry Moom. Oops. I don't think I ever noticed.}

Chris' mother always says that she raised her boys to be marriage material. She did a fantastic job. I laugh that the only thing I had to teach Chris was how to sew on a button. He insists that he never learned but knowing Dianne (who could write the handbook on how to raise sons who are marriage material) I have a hard time believing that.

So, I spent the morning cleaning out the pantry while Chris slept in (and by that I mean he got to sleep to like 730). Of course, the minute he came into the kitchen I knocked a beer off of the top shelf and it crashed to the floor covering everything in beer and broken glass. But that's neither here nor there. What I'm trying to say is... you should see our pantry. Damn. I'm good.

Then I tackled a spot in our kitchen that we've been calling the "wasted prime real estate" by moving our china to higher shelves and more often used items to the prime real estate.  Damn. I'm really good.

Then I pulled everything out of our closet. And reorganized it. And vacuumed it.

Get ready Chris Duncan, it's the new Jan Brady.

My clothes are now all shoved together and condensed to one part of the closet and organized by... well... not organized. That's really asking too much of me.

Feelin' Groovy

Got no needs to do, no promises to keep. I'm dappled, and drowsy, and ready to sleep.

Life around here is groovy. When were not watching old episodes of the Brady Bunch we're "playing Brady Bunch." Carolena is Cindy ("What's my name again? Oh, Cindy."). I'm Carol (I've got the haircut in fact). Chris is Mike (much to his protesting. He wants to be Alice. I find this only mildly disturbing). Nils is Bobby by default. Nils' alter-ego is much better suited to playing Newsies which is when he gets to be Spot Collins.

Thanks to my Svendsen genes bell bottom jeans, we've been listening to a lot of folk music around here now that the power of the playlist has been returned to it's rightful owner. For a while Carolena was insanely opinionated about music. "Pedro dictates much of the meals around here and he has a fairly *limited* palate." Now that I've been given free reign on our music selections, arts and crafts have a slightly different vibe than our old Annie/Frozen soundtrack shuffle. There's just nothing like a table covered in art supplies and Bob Dylan on the speakers. Except for having John Denver on the playlist. Or Cat Stevens... or Simon and Garfunkel... so, we in fact, just make our own playlist and start feelin' groovy.

I think we've listened to the New Seeker's Teach the World to Sing every single day this week. On repeat. I need to restring my guitar, miraculously get rhythm, and then learn how to play just so that I can teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. Well, something like harmony... and nothing like perfect if I'm the one doing the singing. Anyone want to get me a ukelele for Christmas?

All this is just to say, Life I love you. All is GROOOVVYYYY

BOO!

Get ready Mr. Potato Head, I packed my angry eyes...

Yesterday we loaded up the fam and took a trip to one of my least favorite places on Earth: a warehouse store. Which, in Costco's defense, is many people's idea of heaven. For me, going into a huge warehouse of crap is mainly just depressing. That can be a ranting post for another day. Alas, the combination of my children's non-potty-trained hineys along with an empty diaper basket meant that a trip to Costco was in order.

As per the usual we quickly succumbed to the strange universe of the discount warehouse. What else do we need? We pondered the seemingly endless possibilities while Carolena yearned for the end of the trip when she could redeem her prize of looking through the toy aisles.

A huge clamshell of grapes, some dish detergent, and wine were all tossed alongside our haul of diapers, and then we were off to see the toys. As Carolena checked out everything, I perused the toys making mental notes of things that might be great for Christmas. It was then that I stumbled upon a display of costumes. Seeing an astronaut costume I dodged some oversized bears and dashed past the gaudy three snowman tower to check out the price.

I clutched the astronaut costume in my hands, happy with it's overall look and quality. I glanced up a the sign, $14.99 - cool. Then, I read the sign. "Toddler BOY costumes." Disgust came over every fiber of my being. The astronaut costume placed firmly back in place, I backed up to read the signage and found this:

Costco has designated all of these as the "boy costumes."

I snapped a picture, wrote up a comment, which in my opinion was ooooozing with sarcasm, and posted it to Facebook.
And to think I almost allowed my three year old daughter who loves space, watches youtube videos from the ISS, and knows Neil Armstrong's name and why he's famous to get an astronaut costume. Silly me. Luckily, Costco had the "Toddler Boy costumes" clearly labeled lest anyone get confused into thinking girls were good enough at math to be astronauts. Hm... perhaps a firefighter costume... oops... nope... those are boy costumes too. Sigh, what oh what is a toddler gal supposed to be for Halloween? Guess she'll have to go as a housewife again this year.

Perhaps I wasn't clear enough? Perhaps too many people merely skimmed my post instead of reading it? Perhaps the people who were confused are the reason bigwigs at Costco think women are too dumb to be astronauts? How could anyone have thought this was a post about Halloween costumes?!?!

Who the hell even cares about Halloween costumes? I care about the fact that it is 2015 and people are still telling one another that things for boys require brains and brawn while things for girls require tulle. I find it disturbing that this kind of sexism is still being engrained into this new generation.

Dear Costco, it is in fact possible for women to be astronauts. We should encourage little girls to dress up as astronauts and dream of going to space. Astronauts' suits are gender neutral. The dress up version does not need to be labeled as specific for boys.

Then, after my fb post, I found something even more disturbing - normal everyday (supposedly) intelligent people who thought my post implied that I didn't buy the costume because it was "for a boy." What? People actually do that?! People were under the impression that I had put the costume back because the sign said it was for a boy and I have a girl. They thought that my anger was at the fact that this suit was labeled for a boy and that they didn't offer astronaut costumes for girls. I've even gotten suggestions on how to make an astronaut costume for her. What the hell would that even look like? Pink? Bedazzled?

Let me be very clear: if Carolena wants to be a BOY for Halloween, she can. If she wants to wear camo shorts to school, she can. If she wants to dress like a boy every single damn day, I will let her. She can be who she wants to be. The problem isn't Halloween. The problem isn't what C will wear for Halloween. The problem has nothing to do with Halloween.

My children are being raised to be who they are. I want them to like what they want to like. Carolena loves snakes and alligators. She happily plays with trucks and trains. She plays dress up in tulle. She turns everything into her baby. She loves princesses, and dinosaurs, and (gasp) astronauts. She is who she is. I don't need Costco or anyone else telling her that some things in life are designated for boys.  As far as I'm concerned the only thing boys can do that girls can't is pee standing up. Men limit their gender in so many ways by designating things as "girly." Remember the age of sail when brave strong men had to be able to sew? Fine, limit your own lives, don't limit mine or my family's. That is what this is all about. Halloween is inconsequential.

This is more of a problem for girls than it is for boys. In the future, if Nils wants to dress up as Snow White then by all means throw on that costume. We've already got it. He can be whoever he wants to be. What bothers me is that society tells boys that they can be astronauts and firefighters and policemen while girls have to pluck those costumes from the boy department.

If you can't figure that out I can't help you. You are not smart enough for imaginary space walks. Please return your pretend astronaut space helmet and pick up a tulle skirt and fairy wings on your way out.

The Happiest Place on Earth

The kids in Carolena's class made a book recently that she brought home to share with us. There were twelve pages, each with a kid's footprints and the sentance, "{Name's} feet take him/her to..." Each child got to finish the sentence.

Kate's feet take her to McDonalds.
Julie's feet take her to an aquarium.
Phil's feet take him to Chick-Fil-A (as do Harry's feet).
Kara and Eloise's feet take them each home to play.
Pat goes to the grocery store and Jennifer to HEB.
Theresa goes shopping and David goes to a toy store.


Carolena's feet take her to Disney World.