caffiene free

I switched to caffiene free cola when I was pregnant with Morgan, and because there's no difference in price (and not too much in taste), I've stuck with it. On rare occasions, I'll have a regular, full-strength can of soda. Like tonight, when my 12-pack wasn't cold and ready for my straw. So with my freshly popped popcorn, I indulged in 12 ounces of pure caffiene. And here I sit. Awake.

For the past 45 minutes I've been lying in bed revisiting the day's events. What started as bedtime prayers turned into compounding thoughts...

Worship felt flat this morning. Our favorite music man was, I assume, out of town. He and his family are prayerfully considering a call to the Lutheran motherland, Kirkwood, Missouri, and visiting the prospective congregation to learn more. From what I understand he'll have the opportunity to transform the traditional. Say good-bye to your red hymnals, Kirkwood, and get ready to crack a Mac! If he accepts, today will only be a small taste of what's to come until our own church finds someone to fill his talented shoes.

Scott's grandma is in from Texas. We spent the afternoon at his parents' house enjoying the weather and the new Sun Setter awning, along with the company of Grandma. She's in the same place as some other ladies I know... experiencing, for the first time, life and travel as a widow.

On our ride home this evening, we were approaching the busy intersection near our neighborhood and noticed a young boy, maybe 13, crossing the street during our green light. His fingers were in his ears and he was looking absently ahead. I noticed he wasn't in the crosswalk, but instead in the middle of the road. We made our Michigan left and he continued walking southbound in the middle of the traffic lane. I grabbed Scott's cell phone.

"Nine-one-one. What's your emergency."

"Hi. We're at the intersection of [mile road] and [north/south road] and-"

"Are you calling about the wandering boy?"

"Yes, he's walking right in the middle of traffic, and appears to be a special needs child, and he's headed southbound on [road]."

As we ended the call, our car was approaching the boy. Scott was slowing and pulling towards the shoulder.

"I feel like I need to get out of the car."

I called out the window, trying to get his attention and encouraging him to get over on the side walk. Suddenly I was out of the car, nearing him. He was panicked. Cut knees and shins. Dirty face. Scott put the car in park and he, too, got out.

The boy was receptive to Scott and sat on the curb of this busy road. As Scott tried to ask him questions about his name and address, a young man emerged from the black Ford Escape that had stopped with us. His female companion stayed in the car as he got out to talk to me, and we spoke nervously about the unfolding events until the police arrived.

The two officers didn't stop to ask any of us questions. Instead I nervously mumbled a bunch of stuff about how we found the boy, and they continued to the curb. Scott stood there with the officers and the scared boy as I watched from a distance. They asked if his name was Conner. As he rocked back and forth, he repeated, "Conner". But that's the only understandable thing he muttered.

Scott was asked for his name, address and phone number and we got the "We're all set here. Thanks." And we drove away.

Debriefing in the car, Scott told me that it was his impression that this child had been missing for 24 hours. The officers had said things within earshot of Scott like, "looks like him" and "24 hours" and "does this sound like the description?"

I was still really edgy on the way home, and Scott and I continued to hash out the information as we walked into the house. This boy has been on my mind all night. I have been praying for his safety, for his family and for his health. I'll never know what happened to Conner, but it's my hope that there's a happy ending.

And so the clock on our desktop has just changed from PM to AM. Midnight is here. And in order to have a quality day tomorrow, it's time to give sleep a second chance. Maybe this time with some peace of mind.

strawberry season

As a child, my mom always took the three of us kids with her on fruit picking missions. We picked strawberries, blueberries, peaches and apples. Green beans, too and I think maybe even broccoli? I'm fairly certain my involvement in the actual picking was minimal - Sarah was always more into that than I was.

Today, though, I went to pick strawberries. Twelve pounds, to be exact! (whoops... I guess I got a little carried away!) Morgan stayed at Grandma N's house and I drove 30 minutes one way to harvest some ripe berries. This is the first time I've actually taken the initiative as an adult to do this, probably because this is my first summer since... well... let's just say, this is my first summer at home, not working, since I was 16 and bagging groceries at Great Day.

So needless to say I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. And I will feel even more accomplished when I get the strawberries cleaned, mashed and made into yummy freezer jam. The other nine to ten pounds will probably end up bagged whole for the freezer. You never know when you might need a strawberry sauce, right?

bargain shopper

My Aunt Kelli has a thing for garage sales. She can't resist the low-priced treasures. After every visit, their truck seems to have more in it than when they first came to town. She is always razzed for her shopping, but now our family can divert some of their affectionate teasing over my way.

I have a newfound love of garage sales and Craig's List. If there are colorful, plastic toys lining the driveway, you bet I'll slow down to take a closer look. If there's a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe or Picnic Table listed online, I shoot off an email just as fast as I can.

For $34.50, I've managed to add some pretty great toys to Morgan's collection. But the buck stops here... for now. My quota has been reached, and I've been kindly asked to take a break from my bargain shopping. Here's what our money has managed to get us:





As Rod Roddey would say,
"All this can be yours... IF... the Price Is Right!"

la basemont

Think French. While I have no idea if "la Basemont" is anywhere near a correct translation, it was the name Scott used to describe our fine dining experience last night. In the basement. Complete with jazz. No candles. Just a table for three, complete with open ceiling spider webs, and the beautiful sounds of a dehumidifer running in the backround. At least Scott was smiling.

We have been without air conditioning since Friday night, and saying that our weekend weather was hot? Well, that's an understatement. The humidity that has accompanied our 95 degree days has been unbearable.

I've felt nine years old again for the past three nights. Only this time it wasn't Sarah four feet away in the next bed. And instead of an oscilating fan on our dresser, taking turns waving back and forth, Scott and I had the ceiling fan on full blast. Windows open. Dampness in the air. Summer jammies and the feeling of a sheet just for security.

Morgan's been handling the heat wonderfully. Sleeping well, as her own little fan keeps her cool. Windows open. Dampness in the air. Down to her diaper and the feeling of her fleece blanket just for security.

We plan on being rescued this afternoon just as soon as the repairman can arrive. Ironically, the cold front will be just a couple hours behind him.

a little more time?

Yesterday I was excited to try out the pool I bought for Morgan last year on clearance. After climbing the ladder to the rafters of the garage, I retrieved the purple, plastic pool and filled it up, hopeful that Morgan would take to the water in the same way that she enjoys baths. It had several hours to warm up, and I also added a couple pots of hot water from the house. The result?

Day 1 - Thursday

Once I pulled Morgan from the pool and offered her a new

garage sale find, she was happy as could be.

Day 2 - Friday

No chance to even take pictures of Morgan in the pool. She started quivering as soon as she caught a glimpse of the pool, and once I put her in, it was over. Here she is, still crying afterwards on the towel.

breakthrough

At age 14 months, Morgan has finally deemed crawling an acceptable mode of travel. I'm not sure why she suddenly changed her mind on this. She just decided Saturday morning that, "Oh, I guess I can do this (sigh). If I must." Of course our praise thrilled her, and she realized that this wasn't just an necessity, but a huge accomplishment, one worth documenting on video. I thought the day would never come.