Ups, downs, and what-have-yous

Maybe someday I'll start writing shorter, more frequent posts instead of saving up my thoughts. Or not. At any rate, here are some ups, downs, and what-have-yous from the last couple of months.

Easter season

It has begun! The Easter season is such a glorious time—the beginning of spring and the special celebration of Christ's victory over death. It's all about newness of life and confident expectation.

God created the seasons, and we can count on spring arriving every year after winter. Yeshua, the Passover Lamb, rose from the dead, and believers can count on Him raising us up on the last day. At the moment God gives us spiritual birth, He makes us new creatures and seals us with His Spirit (2 Cor 5:17; Eph 4:30). Yahoo-hallelujah to that!

Some reasons why 150 eggs weren't nearly enough

And then there's the big Easter egg hunt. I began my own hunt weeks ago for tiny treasures. Many shopping hours later, it was finally time for the fun task of filling the eggs. As it turned out, I was short on a few colors, and all of Jackson's yellow eggs had gone missing. (Each grandkid has an assigned color so there's an even distribution of treasure.)

I bought a few more packs of multicolor eggs, but couldn't find all yellow—the bulk option of 2000 for $140 notwithstanding. I ended up settling for assorted colors with designs on them, so Jackson's getting a new assignment this year. Crisis averted.

Sweet sorrow

On Valentine's Day, my kids' dad passed away. They had been taking care of Clyde for 8 months while he suffered from cancer. Thankfully, they got to share a lot of precious moments with him, but probably none more so than being at his bedside when God took him.

Zach was the only speaker at his dad's memorial service. With my son's gift for writing and plenty of prayers to get through it, he delivered the most beautiful, fitting eulogy I've ever heard. All of my kids—Angy and Darrell, Zach and Kelly—made the service one that even Clyde would have liked.

They held it on serene, rustic property, in a building called the Alamo. It was set with intimate table rounds and soft lighting. The dress code was jeans and boots. "The Pilgrim" was the featured song, and the playlist after the service was outlaw country music and classic rock. And the obituary cards were printed with Clyde's favorite picture of himself—in his 30s wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt.

For the slide show, Angy and Kelly located almost 200 photos, most of which they had to scan. Zach selected the background music that would have personal meaning to his dad. And Darrell set up and tested the AV equipment for a seamless presentation.

Everything fit together to create a special service. And although Clyde had told the kids he expected only 5 people to show up—3 of them just to make sure he was dead—over 80 people came to pay their respects and share their memories.

I savored the extra time, the meaningful time, spent with my kids and grands that week. What sweet sorrow it was to comfort a grieving granddaughter who's ready to go to heaven so she can be with her grandpa ... to hold a weeping grandson who longs to see his grandpa "just one more time."

Sending farewell messages to their grandpa via balloon

Being with Mom

I stayed at Mom and Rex's house while Rex was cruising around the Caribbean. Mom had been really sick the week before and didn't want to be alone. I didn't want her to be alone, either. An awesome mom with as many kids and grandkids as she's got should never have to be alone anyway.

Rex left on a Friday, and Dale spent the night with Mom. I arrived on Saturday and stayed through Thursday morning, when I met Angy in a parking lot and handed off Mom to her. Then Angy drove Mom to the next drop-off, where Romaine picked her up to take her gambling in Mississippi. We had Mom covered, and she was well aware of the plan.

However, when Dale returned Saturday afternoon, which I thought was just to have some of the chicken chili and cornbread I made, he brought an overnight bag. I told Dale that I'd already grabbed the guest room, so he'd have to sleep on the couch. He was surprised that I was staying because Mom had asked him to spend the night again. Apparently, she was hedging her bet in case I didn't sleep over.

Speaking of the guest room, I was so settled in after a few days that I did a complete overhaul of the room. Compelled to make better use of the space, I rearranged the furniture. Then I got rid of the clutter and gave the room a thorough cleaning, all to make it more to my liking. At least I stopped short of drilling holes in the wall to rehang the mirror, on the off chance that Rex wouldn't like the new arrangement. I'm not that obtrusive.

I set up my temporary office in the dining room. Work was atypically slow that week, so I was able to enjoy a daily lunch break with Mom and quit working at 5:00. We got into a little routine of having a cocktail, then watching "Wheel of Fortune." Mom's really good at the game, but when I make it a contest, she chokes.

As I started work on Monday, it was eerily quiet in the house. I got up to investigate and found Mom in her bedroom, watching TV with the sound so low she couldn't possibly have heard it well. I asked what she was doing in there. "Just trying to stay out of your way," she replied. I assured her that she wasn't in my way and urged her to go about her business as usual.

Mom emerged from her room, but she was still keeping quiet. I told her more than once that a little noise wasn't going to disturb me. Even so, when I was on a call with a colleague, I noticed Mom tiptoeing toward the garage with a bag of trash like a burglar trying to sneak off with a bag of loot.

My colleague is well acquainted with my brand of humor, so I knew I could get away with giving Mom a hard time. "Woman," I called out, "stop making so much racket! I can't work like this!" With a sheepish look, she mouthed "Sorry." Mom is so cute.

During the day, she would alternate reading a little, watching a little TV, gazing out the window, taking the occasional phone call, and just ambling about the first floor of the house. "Mom, don't change anything because I'm here," I said. "Just do what you normally do." She replied, "This is what I normally do."

Mom during a Sunday visit

I can't tell you how many times Mom hugged me that week, longer and tighter than usual, or how many times she expressed her appreciation for me just being there.

Although I visit her nearly every Sunday, I saw for the first time what life is like for Mom nowadays during the week. It made me ashamed that I rarely call her between visits. The weeks fly by from one Sunday to the next for me, but how they must drag on for her. So yes, I've been trying to do better about calling.

But enough about me. Have you called your mom lately? Whether her days are quiet or busy, you know she'd love to hear from you. And you never know when it's going to be the last time.

Egg hunt palooza

Easter is hands down my favorite holiday. I love everything about it ... the special celebration and remembrance of Christ's passion and resurrection, the Lord's Supper on Good Friday, the new springy clothes, the Easter service on Sunday morning, the family gathering afterward, and the hunt. (Click if you want to read about last Easter and my thoughts on Christians having egg hunts. FYI, I think it's A-OK.)

"To the victor go the spoils" is fair for a school or neighborhood egg hunt, but not for mine. I was thinking about how to make the playing field level this year so my little darlins' could equally share the spoils, and I came across the perfect solution on Facebook (see, it's not a total waste of time). You assign each child a color and have them hunt only for that color of egg. Pure genius.

I separated all the plastic eggs by color and bought color-coordinated gift bags for the kids to collect their eggs in. After spending many hours and dollars shopping for little toys and other treats, I spent an entire afternoon filling 120 eggs, carefully choosing what to put in each egg so everyone would get the same amount and get the things they would like. For example, hair ties went in the pink and purple eggs for the girls, and tiny military vehicles went in the blue and green eggs for the boys. I overbought as usual, so instead of having just one item per egg, I had to really pack stuff in.

Another good thing about a color-coded egg hunt is that for the older, more savvy hunters, we could hide the eggs in harder-to-find and harder-to-reach places, and for my little Sara, in more obvious places.

But best of all, the kids didn't have to be in a frantic frenzy to find eggs before someone else did. I gave them their bags, clearly explained the rules, asked if they understood the rules as I had explained them, and then calmly led them outside where they took their time enjoying the hunt, secure in the knowledge that their eggs would be waiting for them.

Exclamations of "Pink!" "Purple!" "Blue!" and "Teal!" could be heard across the yard. Christian had taken note of Zach's observation that the green eggs were closer to teal. I still maintain they were pastel green, but I must admit that next to the bag, which was a lime green, they did have the appearance of teal by comparison. I wonder ... from whence could my son have possibly inherited such persnickety-ness ... or perhaps it's the admirable quality of keen observational powers. Yep, I'm going with that last one.

Afterward, the kids sat on the patio to open their eggs and discover their treasure. The mood necklaces were a popular item. The boys seemed particularly interested in checking the color for changes, several times reporting the current status of their mood based on the chart that came with the necklace. At one point, Ezra said in his quiet, sweet voice, "Look, Nana ... I'm happy and romantic." Then Christian blasted into the room, screeching, "Nana! I'm happy! And calm! And relaxed!" I agreed with the mood stone only in that the boys were happy. Obviously, it's not an exact science.

I had given my big darlin' the choice of hunting eggs outside or inside, and Jackson chose inside. So I hid his yellow eggs in my bedroom, bathroom, and closet. The little bottles of scented hand sanitizer (one of his obsessions) didn't fit inside the eggs, so I hid them as is. After he would find a couple of eggs and a couple of hand sanitizers, he would start to leave the room, so I had to keep telling him there were more. I guess he was just in a hurry to inspect his treasure.

Then the little darlins' got to hunt in the living room for one big egg each with their name on it that held special prizes. And finally, I had my big girls (my daughter and my daughter-by-another-mother) hunt for little envelopes. I told them that two were in the living room, two in the dining room, and two in the kitchen. Kelly's three were marked with a foam letter K and Angy's three with an X since I had no more A's in my stash of foam letters.

Each envelope held a Kohl's $25 gift card. (Girls, don't expect this to be a new tradition.) I made them work for it, though. The hunt took quite a while, and I had the best time giving hints and frustrating the heck out of them, but in a good way.

How did I manage to get this far without talking about the food! I'll tell you this ... it's hard to beat a good sandwich. And who wants to cook on Easter anyway? The day before, I bought choice deli meats, cheeses, and potato chips. Then I made some good ole ranch dip—the kind that's been around for over 50 years and still reigns as the best—a big bowl of fruit salad, and a Holy Cow cake made with yellow cake instead of chocolate, which I will now call Toffee Caramel cake. It's the kind you eat no matter how full you are. And knowing that you'll be sorry isn't enough to stop you.

The most important ingredient for a good sandwich is, of course, the bread. I learned last year that going to Panera Bread after church limits the selection because of the morning rush of customers, so I left early for church and stopped on the way there. I got exactly what I wanted—a large loaf of freshly baked Three Cheese Bread and one of Sesame Semolina. I think I'll add a loaf of Ciabatta next year. That way, everyone will have more leftovers to make toast for breakfast.

And that's the only change I'll make to the menu. We enjoyed it so much that I plan to start a new tradition and serve the same thing every Easter. So maybe, just maybe, you won't have to hear about the food again.

Toward the end of the day, Evyn and Sara each came to me separately and said, "This is the best Easter ever!" I couldn't agree more.

But you know what ... I bet next year will be too.

The hunt

What holiday is better than Easter? None. We go from somber Friday, remembering the horrific death of Christ on the cross as our substitute, to joyous Sunday, celebrating the most important day in history. Since April 5, AD 33, no other day has topped it.

Of course, Christ's resurrection is celebration worthy every day that He gives us breath. As the Scripture says, if He didn't rise, our faith would be in vain. And as Jesus said, whoever believes in Him will never die. I mean, come on ... you tell me anything that's better than that!

The ancient pagan origins of Easter traditions don't mean anything to me. I absolutely adore Easter baskets and egg hunts. The last egg hunt I had for Angy and Zach was in our apartment, right before my kids and I grew up and branched out on our own. They were in their late teens, so Cracker Jack prizes in the eggs wouldn't do. It was all money, in bills ranging from $1 to $20. But I made them work for it. Finding obscure places to hide the eggs, like in hard-to-reach light fixtures, was a good time for me.

Now with five grandkids and a big backyard, egg hunts are the best! Several weeks before Easter, I spent an entire Saturday searching for cool little toys and sundry other items, then filling 138 plastic eggs. Zach emailed me a few days before Easter, saying that Evyn and Ezra were "counting down the days to Nana's egg hunt." They weren't the only ones.

After a delightful after-church meal of baked ham sandwiches on Panera's three-cheese bread, chips with bacon ranch dip and fresh guacamole, fruit salad, and Pig Cake, the big moment finally arrived. We divvied up the eggs among four adults for hiding, or it would have taken me longer to do than the kids could tolerate waiting. Some eggs were fairly well hidden and some were strewn around the yard to give everyone a fighting chance.

The kids were jammed up at the starting gate, which was the patio door. When some brave soul opened the door, it unleashed a chaotic, gleeful ruckus. While the kids scattered, the adults were either watching, taking pictures, or helping. Mom was helping Jackson (we were so glad our big darlin' wanted to participate this year). And I was trying to help Christian and Sara.

Evyn and Ezra needed no help whatsoever. They're egg hunting ninjas. With impressive speed and stealth, those two were laser focused on their mission. I wonder. Did Zach run them through practice drills at home all week? Put them through an egg hunt bootcamp? Or did they just inherit his athletic prowess and competitive nature?

It was interesting to watch the different styles of egg hunting on display. Christian and Sara were laid back, just sort of strolling about. When I saw Christian take time to open an egg to see what was inside, I screamed at him, "Just throw it in and keep moving!" Then he found a pink egg, showed it to me, and said, "I'm going to give this to Sara." How sweet. But what was Nana's response? "Don't worry about that now! Move it, boy!"

It was all over in a matter of minutes, and everyone ended up getting plenty. The kids sat at the big table on the patio, opening their treasures and bartering when a girl got a micro mini car or a boy got a hairclip with a rhinestone flower.

I'm thinking now that I'll be on the lookout for egg fillers all year instead of waiting until a month before Easter. Maybe I should get even more eggs next year, so the hunt will last at least another 30 seconds. And what about when they're teenagers? For five of them, that's going to take a lot of cash. I so love problems like these.


At the starting gate, with ninjas on the left, strollers on the right