It Takes Two...

"You're sure you don't mind running out?"

Maggie was already pulling on her grey peacoat and wrapping a long turquoise scarf around her neck.  "Of course not. I'll just pop down to the corner market. You can't very well have cinnamon rolls without cinnamon!" She laughed and tugged an old felt hat over her unruly curls and then, tucking the cuffs of her pajama bottoms into her boots, she peered up at her sister and grinned. "Is there anything else we need? You do have coffee, right?"

Elsa nodded and silenced the timer on the stove. Pulling on oven mitts, she reached into the oven to pull out her grandmother's ceramic bowl; the warm yeasty bread rising up above the surface and pressing against the blue-checked tea towel she had draped over the top.  "I went to the store after my tiff with Rob and I guess my mind was elsewhere. He just made me so mad..." Her voice trailed off prompting a sympathetic squeeze from her sister. Elsa shrugged and let out a long sigh. "It's really not a big deal. Listen, if you hurry, I'll have the dough rolled out and ready for the good stuff when you get back. I have a couple dollars in my purse, if you need it."

"Don't be silly. I got paid yesterday and after paying the rent, I think I have just enough money leftover for a jar of cinnamon," Maggie teased. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

As the apartment door slammed shut, Elsa opened the cupboard door and gathered the other ingredients she needed in order to make their mother's famous cinnamon rolls.  Lining up the brown sugar, butter and raisins, she flipped on the radio before dipping her hands into the dented canister and sprinkling the countertop with a generous dusting of flour. Singing along with Ella Fitzgerald, she dumped out the warm dough onto the floured surface and kneaded out the air bubbles, the familiar yeasty fragrance filling her nostrils.

For a moment, Elsa was transported back to her childhood kitchen, covered in flour up to her elbows and helping her mother roll out the dough for their Saturday morning breakfast.  Cartoons blared from the living room and her mom hummed, "I Can't Stop Lovin' You," while she worked the dough.

"You know, Love," she murmured to her oldest daughter. "Bread is the perfect food to prepare when you're working through a problem. Bread dough loves to be pounded on and pushed around. Work out your frustrations on a lump of dough and you'll feel better."

Elsa smiled at the memory. Knowing her dad, the girls' mother had plenty of frustrations to work out. That's probably why Mom made cinnamon rolls every Saturday. To push around and pound on the dough instead of Dad. In spite of his faults, her mother had stood by him through all those years, even with his conspiracy theories and irrational fears making work hard to find and even harder to keep. Unbidden, her thoughts floated back to her argument with Rob, stirring up a familiar dialogue. So, he forgot our date. He said he was sorry, right? Yes. But this wasn't the first time he'd missed an engagement. Well, last time you gave him the wrong restaurant. But he didn't have to be so rude about it yesterday. Flouring her rolling pin, Elsa pummeled the sweet dough and was surprised to find that with each roll, she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.  He did text this morning with new reservations. Proof, I suppose, that he wanted to make it right. Once the dough was pressed into a thin rectangle, Elsa slathered butter over the smooth surface, turning the spatula back and forth. I guess it was all just a messy misunderstanding. I should let it go, but...

She was shaken from her thoughts by the rattling of Maggie's keys in the door. "I'm back! Did you miss me?" she hollered. Thumping the jar of seasoning on the counter, she unwrapped her warm layers and grinned, her nose and cheeks pink from the frosty morning air. "It smells good," she quipped as she pinched off a piece of dough and popped it in her mouth. Elsa playfully slapped her sister's hand away, scolding her with a look learned from their mother. Maggie laughed and tucked her legs up under herself, perching on the kitchen stool to watch her sister work.

After a generous layer of brown sugar, a sprinkling of raisins and a heavy dusting of the recently fetched seasoning, Elsa rolled up the dough, sliced it into hearty rolls and popped them into the oven. "Do you want a cup of coffee while we wait? It'll be a spell for them to rise and bake." At a nod from her sister, Elsa filled a mug with fresh coffee and slid it across the countertop, picking up the new jar of seasoning to put away. She paused. "Uh, oh. This isn't cinnamon, Maggie." Her younger sister snatched it from her hand and squinted at the label.

"Chicken jerk? Oops. Well, uh, they'll be spicy!"

Elsa clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You really need to wear your glasses when you shop!"

"You could have read the label, too. Where are your glasses?"

"Shush. Can you pass me the phone."

"Who are you calling at this hour?"

"Rob. You just reminded me that it takes two to make an accident."

__________________________________

A flash-fiction piece inspired by The Great Gatsby quote, "It takes two to make an accident." And also inspired my very own kitchen-catastrophe when I really did mistake chicken jerk for cinnamon in a batch of cinnamon rolls. That spicy accident ended up in the trash, but not without teaching me a lesson about reading labels carefully!

Need Some Grease?

I could hear her long before I saw her.

Squeak

It sounded like she was in the culdesac across the street.

Squeak

Yep.  Here she comes now.

Squeak

Around the bend of the street.

Squeak

Stopping at each house.

Squeak

Our mail carrier in her mail truck.  The one with the squeaky wheel.

Squeak

As she drove out of our neighborhood, I couldn't help but shake my head in wonder.  Everyday for the past month she has squeaked around our subdivision.  For a month.  She was certainly driving home that old adage, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease."  Or at least, should get the grease.

This persistent (and truly ear piercing) protest from her vehicle needs some attention.  Perhaps it's just a squeak ... or perhaps it's an indication of a more serious problem with her truck.  I bet Tom & Ray would tell her to get it checked.  But then, it's not her truck.  So maybe she doesn't see it as her problem.

Each day that she noisily proceeds around our culdesac, she is driving home a message to me.

I have my own squeaky wheels.

As I go about my days I have a problem with squeaking:  speaking brashly to my kids, choosing to be lazy over productive, throwing "what about me?" pity parties, sighing and rolling my eyes when exasperated, opting to pay attention to the internet instead of my kids and passing judgement on people different from me.

Squeak, squeak, squeak ...


In the same way that the squeaks of the mail truck indicate a internal problem, my squeaks are evidence of internal problems, too.  On the outside, I am still motoring around and mothering well, but my heart could nevertheless use some attention.

Jesus talked about this once when He was visiting Jerusalem.  He had a little run in with the Pharisees regarding Jewish rituals, a question about whether or not Jesus' friends followed all the traditional rules of washing their hands before eating.  Jesus responded with a fierce accusation.  He scolded the Pharisees for being overly-concerned about outward cleanliness while inside their hearts were sick.  While the Jewish leaders were obsessed with being sure that whatever went into their bodies was pure, Jesus was more concerned with what was already inside them ...what was the condition of their hearts?

²⁰ He went on: “What comes out of you is what defiles (pollutes) you. ²¹ For from within, out of your hearts, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, ²² adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly. ²³ All these evils come from inside and defile (pollute) you.”  (Mark 7:20-23, emphasis mine)


Those are some pretty strong words - many of which I'm quick to dismiss.  But ... if I'm truly honest, my squeaks are as a result of some of those internal problems.  And here's a few more that I would have to add:  Selfishness, disrespect, laziness, judgmental attitude, rudeness, self-centeredness and ingratitude.

Squeak


What, then, is the remedy for this squeaky heart condition?  I would have to say that we have to submerse ourselves in God's word.  If we fill up our tank with the wisdom and truth of the Bible by spending regular time reading and studying Scripture, I believe that we will see our heart changed.  God's words to us in His Bible are the grease for our squeaky wheels:

¹⁰ I seek you with all my heart; 
   do not let me stray from your commands. 
¹¹ I have hidden your word in my heart 
   that I might not sin against you.
Psalm 119:10-11

Seek God.

Know His commands.

Hide His word inside.

Squeak less.

What about your squeaky wheels? How about a little of God's good grease?

Talking Wrong :)

I have a tendency to periodically speak ... wrong.  What is going on in my head is not what comes out of my mouth.  At all.  And usually, I hear myself say the correct word, so I'm oftentimes perplexed by my audience's perplexity.  I make an ordinary announcement ... and something like this follows:

Laughter and giggles ...
"What?  Didn't I just say ...."
"Nope," snicker, snicker, "You didn't.  You said ..."  Hee, hee!

I would like to blame it on the kids and my having given birth to them and half my brain, but I'm afraid I've been this way a long time.  There are two particular memories I have of talking wrong that still come up in conversation ... proof that talking wrong has been a life-long trait.  Both transpired before we had kids.

Article of Evidence #1

One evening before Christmas, Brett asked me what I would like as a gift.  I was standing in our closet putting away clothes when I replied in a sing-song voice, "Leather Boooties!"

Brett turned to me, with this "what in the world?!" look on his face, and asked, "What did you say?"

"Wool socks."

"That's NOT what you just said."

"Yes it was."

"No.  It wasn't.  You said, 'Leather Booties'."

"No!  I did?"

"Yes.  You did."

We still laugh about that one!

Article of Evidence #2

One morning, we were hanging out on the couch reading the paper.  Brett asked me what I wanted for breakfast.  I thought for a minute and responded with, "Pizza, pizza, slooooww."  

This time I knew that something strange had escaped my mouth and I busted up laughing.  

Brett, looked stunned, "What?"

I clarified:  "A piece of cold pizza."  Ahh-haa ... 

Growing up, we often enjoyed eating a piece of pizza from the night before.  We had a tradition of eating out at Pizza Hut on Saturday nights during swim season ... and having a little more the next morning for breakfast.   Pizza Hut is truly the best cold pizza.  Right out of the box.  Mmmm ...

Yeah ... that was memorable.  

Now, seeing as my mouth doesn't always cooperate, is it any wonder that sometimes our kids talk wrong, too?  Some of my favorite miss-speaks of the kids are from when they were little.  When Aaron was about three and in full-construction-obession, he would get really excited about his construction trucks and say, "Excagrrraaator!" for excavator.

I also remember when Norah would call her little, pink, pig friend, "Pliget" in place of Piglet.  I was so sad when she started saying it right. :(  She is also famous for shouting, "I'm so exciting!" when she was thrilled about something.  Yes, she was exciting in her excitement about being excited.

One of my favorites from Ashley is from just after Lydia was born.  We were riding somewhere in the van and Lydia was crying.  And crying.  And crying.  Sweet Ashley piped up from the seat next to her, "It's okay Weeda Mae."  Weeda = Lydia ... when you can't say your L's.  Mae is Ashley's middle name.

I corrected her, "That's sweet honey, but her name is Lydia Rachel."

Long pause ... "It's okay Weeda Mae Wachow."

Little Lydia still gets called Weeda Mae by her Mommy. :)

Right now Lydia is still stuck on "Ma-ma" as her most favorite word ... and it can mean a variety things.  Even with her limited vocabulary, she has said a few things wrong - even with just that one word.  She is rather obstinate about calling Daddy "Ma-ma" ... even when she's being corrected and looking very repentant and sad.  She's supposed to answer, "Yes, Daddy" at the end of her little disciplinary chat ... but often will pout out her lip and mutter a little, "Mow Ma-ma".  Her little, "Thank You" is even a little reminiscent of "Ma-ma" as is "More, please."  I guess it's all in the context!

All this talking wrong reminds me of a skit that Steve Martin did years ago about teaching your kids to talk wrong by giving them the wrong words to use.  Every now and then when the kids (or I!) come up with a real zinger, Brett or I will quote him:

"Wouldn't it be great if we taught our kids to talk wrong? Like on their first day of school and they have to go to the bathroom. They raise their hand and say, "Mambo dogface in the banana patch?"


As it turns out, however, we don't have to be taught to talk wrong ... we can do that all on our own! 

Failure Is An Option ... I Guess

Yesterday I went to one of my not-so-favorite places.  The dentist.  To all you dentists out there ... please don't take offense.  :)  It's not a terrible experience, but I don't rate it up there with, say, Disney Land or the a trip to the Grand Canyon ... or even dinner and a movie.

In the past several years I have become much more diligent in my dental appointments, mainly due to a dreadful bout of gestational periodontal issues when I was pregnant with Ashley.  Don't ask me why my gums would be affected by my growing belly, but they were.  Eight months pregnant and an ouchy mouth ... and the threat of pre-term labor is not a great combo.  Unfortunately, my body didn't want to be normal and I have continued to have some mouth problems due to hormones and nursing.  Again ... what's the connection?  Who knows?!?

Anyway, due to this history, I have become quite faithful to flossing daily and brushing my teeth regularly.  Why would I go into such lovely detail for you?  Because yesterday my hygienist pointed out not one, but TWO cavities!  I have not had a cavity since I was six years old ... and it was in a baby tooth!  I don't think we even did anything about that one ... we just let it fall out seeing as it was already wiggly.  And the crazy thing is that, because of my current mouth-recovery-program, I have been going to the dentist every 4 months ... which means these two developed pretty quickly.  I have been assured by the dentist that they are small and will be easy to fill, but it's still not something I'm looking forward to.  And add to that the cost!  Gulp...

To add insult to injury, I had to go home and tell my kids.  My kids who brush their teeth haphazardly, floss minimally and yet, who between their 80 teeth, have no problems.  Grrrr.... Now don't get me wrong, I don't want my kids to have cavities.  I am literally quite surprised that we haven't had any yet, but I have celebrated right along with them when they get their "Yahoo!" and their Red Robin dinner card.  It just didn't seem fair. :(

Then, last night as I was putting the older kids to bed, I had an epiphany.  At bedtime we share "Our Best & Our Leasts" of the day.  This is a great time to check in with each other and hear about any high-lights or low-lights.  The kids typically share about times with friends, either good or bad; things they got to do or things they missed out on.  Sometimes we get real insight into their days ("So-n-So was kinda mean to me today.") and sometimes we just get complaints ("My least is we didn't have any dessert.")  Last night, after the kids had shared, it was my turn.  I shared that my best part was having Daddy home for the day and getting to have dinner together.  My bummer was my cavities.  Aaron shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.  Norah's eyes almost came out of her head.  The look of shock on her face was incredible ... and a little unexpected.  She stuttered, "How many times do you brush your teeth?"  I replied that I thought I was pretty careful and responsible to brush and floss well.  And then I added, "But, you can only do your very best ... and that's why we go to the dentist.  We do our part and he does his."  This is where the epiphany came in.

Here was a perfect teachable moment to talk to my kids about failure, about not quite measuring up, about missing the mark, about being unsuccessful ... and about it not being the end of the world!  Somehow (and unintentionally, we promise!) Brett and I have managed to raise four perfectionist kids.  Each in their own ways, our kids set unbelievable standards for themselves and sometimes we have to walk through the wreckage of mistakes and missed-marks.

Last week Aaron was in tears about getting 18/19 on his spelling test.  He had mis-heard his teacher say the word "when" and wrote "win" instead.  A little ironic, no?  That didn't feel like a win for him, even when I hung his spelling test on the fridge.

Norah is super particular about everything and I have some real concerns about future ulcers with her.  :) She regularly gets worked up about being late to gymnastics or school, forgetting her library books and making sure everybody else is walking the fine line she is.

Ashley is a bit more laid back, but she definitely beginning to show some signs of perfectionism.  Lately we have been working on learning to write the ABC's and if she makes a mistake she will painstakingly erase every evidence of the slanted "H" or the squashed "e".  Whew ... she can be quite particular.

Even little Lydia can be a bit picky about things needing to be just right.  She has been known to walk into a room, notice something different and exclaim, "Uh-Oh!"  She also loves to play with her shape-sorter and she will get rather frustrated if she has trouble getting them in the right slots in her usual speedy fashion.  I guess we start early wanting everything to be just so.

In light of these observations, Brett and I have tried to show the kids that inevitably we will each mess up and when we do, the world doesn't come to a screeching halt.  As much as we talk about this fact, however, there's nothing quite like a real life example to show them the truth ... hence my cavity caveat! :)

I'm glad that God opened my eyes to see this perfect opportunity to model to my children how to face a failure:  Extend a little grace to myself, try a little harder to make it right and move on.  This is also a perfect reminder to me that my kids are watching me all the time to see how I will react in all of life's situations.  I hope to be a good role-model for my kids.  And of course, when I mess that up ... I'll have yet another perfect opportunity to show them how I handle that, too!