The Neat Gene

I believe medical facts indicate if both parents have allergies, their children will have a 70% chance of having allergies as well. I ponder this statistic every time I venture into the basement which has been designated as our kids' living space. And wonder if the disastrous area should be, in fact, condemned.

So, instead of blowing a gasket over our kids' penchant for piles and inability to see curdled milk, I give them the benefit of this genetics theory. "Fastidious" would not be a descriptor of neither me nor my hubby. (Who has time to be tidy when there are so many things to do? And now so many episodes of The Big Bang Theory to watch?) But our kids do take slovenly to an entirely new level. I'm not sure what to make of it. Oh yeah, that's right. They are...kids.

typical part of messy room

I thought perhaps when my tots grew older the messes would dwindle. Less poop. Less spilled milk. As it turns out, the messes just become more potent. Bigger. Stickier. Smellier. Often more destruction depending on the particular project.

However. I wouldn't admit this to either of the kids, but they do seem pretty happy when they are in their clutter-filled world. So maybe I should let them keep making those messes. I hope they don't read this post.

They can sure clean up a dessert dish though...

Faith

Clouds. Snow. Sun. I've felt a chill and then been touched by warmth today. With certain devastating events occurring in our community, there's never been a better time to pray for our neighbors. And hug our family and friends. Perhaps we need to make this a practice more often. It shouldn't take a tragedy to reflect on the preciousness of life. But too often, it does.

So, I wish you all peace this weekend. And leave you with a book review: Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza (a survivor from the Rwandan Civil War).  It's not only an incredible and true story–it's a story of infinite faith. A story of inspiration for anyone facing despair.

The Year of Happy

Despite the new year and the fabulous January weather in Iowa, it seems I've been surrounded by a wave of negative vibes lately. I just don't get it. Take yesterday. A friend of mine told me she was tired of coming to work every day and saying good morning to coworkers who only acknowledged her with glum expressions. So, she was going to quit offering her chipper address. Sad. Very sad. So, you know what I've decided to do? Make a point to give EVERYONE a joyful salutation. No matter how many times they choose to ignore me. Because I've been blown off quite a bit in my life time too. (Not all of us are morning people...or afternoon people...or evening people...) But I think we gotta keep making an effort to tell people they matter to us–no matter what their disposition.

Too many people love to play the victim. Myself included. Here's a very trite example. When is Doug EVER going to hang that NYC picture he gave me for Christmas TWO years ago? Darn him. Well, the other day a voice entered my head and said, "Do it yourself." (It was literally my husband's voice.) But he was right. When I dug into the project and lifted the two pound picture with its easy hanger, it actually was quite simple. And you know something else? I felt accomplished! Now, I'm thinking of other home projects I can do. Like an IKEA bookshelf to span the basement. Too ambitious? It is the new year.

I'm reading a book right now about the 1994 Rwanda civil war when the atrocious genocides took place. It certainly makes every complaint I hear seem trivial. And while it makes me feel a great sadness for all the travesties that occur (and have occurred) in the world, I feel a great happiness for my life.

For 2012, my resolutions take a semblance to marketing ploys:

Say hello...like a Dodge Neon.
Just do it...like some tennis shoes.
Don't worry, be happy...like Bobby McFerrin. Now you can sing that song in your head all day.

Happy Batgirl

You're welcome.

Cole loving the world.

Christmas Miracle, Part Two

For those of you following this blog, last time I boasted of a Christmas miracle. Remember the kitty on the church steps? Well. Here's the rest of the story.

"Skye" seemed a bit off since his homecoming. Had he forgotten how much he loved the shenanigans of our crazy terrier? How I cradled him like a baby? He certainly was more exuberant. Not the lazy pile of hair who would only glance at a mouse if it was within reach. And of course there was the eye. Either the cat was in a knarly fight, had LASIK surgery, or maybe, just maybe, he wasn't Skye.

So we took him to the doctor to have him checked, much to my hubby's dismay. But he had been on his own for four months. What else could we do?

The vet's findings:

In addition to being three pounds lighter, Skye reversed his age and gender. He's a she and only approximately one year of age.

Sometimes you see what you want to see. I really missed Skye when he went missing. And when we "found" him on Christmas morning, I was ecstatic.  So, maybe it wasn't a miracle. But I have no doubt it was a gift.

Meet Bernadette. Our newest addition.

Cole and Bernie the Cat