God is Good to the Johnsons

My husband works at a university only a few streets away from our little home. Today, Charlie and I wandered over to meet him for an on-campus Halloween event, and as I did, I observed dozens of students wearing a variety of attire. The only problem was, to be totally honest, there were a few individuals whose getup was such that I couldn't tell if they were dressed up for Halloween...or, simply, dressed . Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that the iconic fashion of the 20s, 80s, 50s, you name it--those decades had their "looks." I remember once a woman in my mother's senior yearbook who had straight blonde locks. In '88 that was a rarity, every other photograph of a young lady hosted a huge heap of hair, and it was striking to see her picture.  But now it's 2018, and while there are a few styles that are characteristic of this decade (namely what my husband would call "hipster hair" or "the business school student look,&q

Al Ser tu mamá es siempre estar preocupada por vos, hijito Me preocupo por tu seguridad física y espiritual. Me preocupo cuando no comes lo suficiente. Me preocupo cuando resbalas. Me preocupo cuando no duermes mucho. Al Ser tu mamá es siempre estar cansada por haberte cuidado durante todo el día porque jugamos juntos y salimos a caminar y cambié la ropa tuya y los pañales sucios. Preparé la comida y doblé la ropa y te abrazaba y te besaba y te cuidaba. Al ser tu mamá es siempre estar enamorada de vos, y de tu papí son igualitos, son hermosos y llenan mi corazón y llenan mi vida. Al ser tu mamá, es siempre estar llena de responsabilidad, y, a la vez, felicidad. Al ser tu mamá, aprendo de Dios y lo adoro aún más porque me creó, y te creó, y creó a tu papá y nos dio la vida y nos ama aún más que tu papí y yo amamos a vos.

I'd forgotten how difficult it is to slither the spatula under their golden, crisp bodies separating transformed dough from it's metal furnace like pulling up a stubborn weed that breaks off in bits unless you tug it just right. And oh I'd forgotten the gentle melt and sugary smooth of satisfying crumb and frost  on my tongue after decorating zombie cookies. I'd remembered what the crunch of leaves sounds like but I'd forgotten how their heaps preserve the rotted ones beneath an earthy stench enveloping the unkempt walks but nevermind that-- because the leaves, they're strewing them with brilliant color all the while. I don't think I ever took the time to know what it feels like to sense a leaf nest in my hair after tumbling. How it cracks and breaks up when you try to slide it out and it takes a minute to find all the pieces and tug them off the locks. I didn't know because before, I skirted outside walks after frost first sna

I wrote the following when I was 13 years old, and I've realized how much I need to revisit regular piano practice because of it: Piano When I am with the piano, We are the only things in the world. My fingers fly freely over the black and white keys, My anger and stress drains out and slithers away. Calmness overwhelms me as I play it all out. The Piano is such a joy to be able to play, To be able to see that you can create something so wonderful for the ear to hear and for the heart to feel and for the mind to absorb. I sing inside- To all the notes. My heart knows peace, As I escape into the piano.

Dressing up, grown up even more fun than as kids because now we're three Dressing up, grown up is a costume ensemble Bert, Mary, Penguin.

Today we got a flyer in the mail that read "FREE PIZZA," from Dominoes. And our immediate question? "What's the catch?" But that's just it. There wasn't a catch. There's a promo code provided that will allow us one free pizza through an online order, no strings attached. Unfortunately, we live in a world of "if..." statements from all kinds of peddlers and promoters, and--with good reason--we keep a wary eye out for too-good-to-be-true presentations. But today, Dominoes, you impressed me. You softened my heart (and intrigued my taste buds). Do I realize that this promo code was probably sent to me so that after tasting your free pizza, I'll want another one and spend some change out of my pocketbook for it? Yep. Most likely. But, amazingly, this first pizza is free. And me and my grocery budget thank you for it. Sometimes, it's good to recognize and to become Free Pizza kind of people--to give, knowing that we might not ge

I can't explain it. But I gotta be honest The rush, the buzz, the colors, the lights they make me sick sometimes. I shy from the smiling people dashing at me from their kiosks  ready to explain to me how their wooden plaque from Bethlehem is the quintessential item to complete my holiday mantlepiece (I don't even have a mantlepiece) or how their hand-crafted-super-scented-explosive-bath-bombs are surely going to make my skin sparkle (sorry guys, I'm not into the vampire look) or how the makeup fiends notice that I left the house un-painted today and are ready to pounce and explain how their mineral makeup magic will transform my look (they don't know that I left the house granola because... well, because today I wasn't in the mood to be done up, and I'm perfectly confident walking around makeup-less while wearing my Jurassic Park t-shirt and my hair in a messy bun). I struggle with the "sale" signs because their "sale" rack h

Duck Face + Duck Towel Dapper Dad + Church-ready Charlie Octopus + Annoyance Dinner + Donuts Toy + Snack...? Pumpkin + Turkish Hat...? Gourd + Swan simultaneously......? Pumpkin + Pumpkin Quilting + Invasion New Place + New Taste

Today was laundry day so I was wearing my stretchy flower pants. They're great. They're loud, they're comfortable. And as I wore them I was wondering how many other hundreds of women wear these same copy of pants from Old Navy, and I started to wonder what those other women are like, and would I be friends with them or would our conversation be nonexistent or would we even cross paths in the first place? Would it be embarrassing and appalling when we saw each other wearing cloned clothing, like when Lindsey Lohan sees her school enemy in Freaky Friday, and they're both wearing the same shirt? (Lindsey Lohan's character, by the way/if you'll remember, turns her shirt inside out after that so that her shirt doesn't "match" anymore and wears it with the crazy messy thread side out the rest of the day). And as I wore those flower pants I was thinking about this conversation I was having the other day with a woman I greatly admire. I don't know i

The best time with you Is when we're all together Hand in hand in hand The best time with you Is when we walk together Side by side by side The best time with you Is when we laugh together All night long, all night.

The fall time makes me stop a while to think of all that's come and past in autumn's leaves, remembrance comes they whisper that this year won't last Just like the others, marking yet A number there on calendars' yore Three hundred plus days of my life of all this year that's passed before And sometimes when I look at what I've done, I shiver with delight. And then I think of all that isn't the unfed goals give me a fright But nay, the year's not over yet I've time to work my hands yet still at learning, growing, working hard accomplishing midst autumn's chill So when the fall time comes around Don't break your heart with what's forgot Take your goals, reflame the fire And finish strong with success's lot.

We were walking past the baseball stadium when the musical tune "Rewrite the Stars" blared from the speakers. "High School Musical. Classic." Kevin said with a smile. I started cracking up. "Same guy, wrong musical," I said between giggles. "No way, this is totally High School Musical!" Kevin responded. "I recognize the voice!" So I told him I'd bet him anything he was wrong. So he cocked his head because I don't normally say that unless, of course, I'm absolutely sure. So after a while of his befuddled expression I said, "Greatest..." "SHOWMAN! Oh...." he responded, looking mildly crestfallen. "You're right" he grudgingly and lovingly responded. **Two days previous** Kevin: Ya-ya... Ya-ya... that's a character from a movie, isn't it? Me: Yep. It's a good one from our childhood. Kevin: Give me another quote! Me: Don't do it Benny, don't do it! Kevin: Another

Four years ago today I was scrambling to pull my long locks into a braid, scrub the peanut-and-airline-apple-juice-taste from my teeth, and give myself an appealing smell with some travel-sized lotion from our hotel as I gazed in the mirror in a cramped International Airport bathroom. I'd just flown home after a week in Florida with my parents and brothers in THE BEST of amusement parks. Oh, and my love interest was on his way to pick me up and drive me home. I tittered and fidgeted and shyly smiled my way down the escalator, out the door, onto the curbside pickup sidewalk. And there he was in his silver Dodge Dakota, his verge-of-brunette hair swished to the side and his delightfully dashing grin smiling up at me as he said "How was your trip?" Butterflies? Jitters? Twitterpation? I had it all. From there, we drove to his parents place to pick up some "forgotten" groceries (to this day I think he just really wanted to introduce me to his mom and dad), and

Today I half-watched Mary Poppins as I took care of my little one and quilted a little bit. You know, the classic with the classy Julie Andrews and charming Dick Van Dyke. I have fond memories of the film from my childhood. But for some reason, so many elements to the movie totally skipped my memory or flew over my head as a kidlet. So today I share some of the things that confused me, surprised me, and/or blew my mind . 1.  1. THE OWNER OF THE FIDELITY FIDUCIARY BANK (the old man that hobbles around and nearly topples over a jillion times during the bank song) was listed as being played by "Navckid Keyd." But when the credits rolled, that name got un-scrambled-up after a few seconds and revealed that this character is played by none other than Dick Van Dyke, who also plays Bert! Gah! I feel like I have to watch it all over again now that I know. 2. Who the heck is Uncle Albert, and why does he compulsively laugh (or cry)? Whose uncle is he? And why are Bert ant Ma

I know there's a lot of studies that show the negative effects of using social media, and there's legit reasons and methodology behind those arguments. But I just for a half second want to stand on my figurative soap box and put a plug in for how awesome I think Facebook is (I kindof use my instagram but not really and I don't have a twitter and I hate snapchat cuz I can't go back and look at stuff...so this is the only social media site I feel I can truly talk about). In no particular order, the reasons why FaceBook rocks: 1. Sometimes it helps me know when somebody is having a bad day, so I can reach out to them. Some of you might be arguing that they're asking for attention... well, sure they are. They need it. They need some TLC and I'mma do what I can to cheer them up. Leaving a comment is not that hard, it's a little gesture to show some love. 2. It's a way to share GoFundMe accounts. When something really tragic happens, often the victim of

Oramos por vos, chiquitín Bello, pequeno, rodeado de maquinas en el hospital... en lugar de ser rodeado de frazadas frescas y limpias en casa. Has vivido sólo unos pocos días, pero ya tienes lugar gigante en nuestros corazones. Oramos por vos, chiquitín, y por tus padres quien están preocupandose día y noche quién viven sin descanso real, sin paz porque la vida tuya, el aliento tuyo, es la vida de ellos, y el aliento de ellos. Oramos por vos, chiquitín, que Dios te cuide en cada momento de tu vida nuevita... y que los ángeles de la vida venidera, y los ángeles vivos de nuestro mundo y los doctores y los enfermeros luchen para tu vida preciosa tu bienestar, tu paz. Te amamos, chiquitín. Que sepas que sos amado, sos una luz brillante, sos un soldadito fuerte, y esperamos que cumplas muchos añitos más. Oramos por vos, chiquitín.

Every day, it seems, I hear about someone's joys and someone's heartaches this dichotomy this juxtaposition this contrast of joy, and pain. God meant for it to be, because he loves us, and we chose it. We chose it. We chose it. And when I struggle with my whole soul to hold the weight with half my heart while flying with the other I learn that what makes  this state of being not a war, but a LIFE is holding one another, as friends and family through the joy and the sorrow with persistent  kindness.

Today, I was sorely tempted not to go because from the moment I woke up a thousand, thousand demons attacked my mind and told me all the reasons why I shouldn't couldn't go to church. And sadly, I listened for a long, long time. But God sent angels to ward off those demons. Those angels-- my husband, who hugged me and found many little ways to make my life easier all morning. My dear, dear friend, who sent me a text expressing her gratitude for our friendship and her love for me. My sweet little baby boy, who giggled and laughed and babbled. He really could have been fussy since he's been teething and has a stuffy nose, but he was so cheerful. And those angels chased the demons away and I went to church and I felt God's love and I'm happier for it I feel holier for it I feel empowered to go forth this week strengthened by the goodness of God and strengthened by his angels.

Yesterday I was substitute teaching in a classroom full of darling children. I had taught at this school as a full-time third grade teacher years previous, and many of them asked me energetically if their brother or sister had been in my class before. One young man asked me with vigor if I knew his brother, and I responded that I didn't. I was surprised when his eyes welled up with tears. "What's wrong?" I inquired. "I feel bad that you weren't my brother's teacher... because he's a really, really good person!" He proceeded to wipe his eyes and take some deep breaths to help himself calm down. ... ... ... Wow. How could I respond to that? I was so baffled and so inspired by his comment. He felt bad for me that I had not had the gift of knowing his brother.  What if we all esteemed our siblings that way? It made me think about my own family and all that my own brothers have taught me, and to be honest, if you don't know my bro

I've written on the daily for 170+ days.  I lose the count of which post is which without my Facebook feed, and I'm not on Facebook every day. So in a few days I'll get my count right again, but until then, I just know that I've written for the better part of a year, on this blog, every day. And I feel like I've reached the writing equivalent of what marathon runners call "the wall." It's not that I don't want to write, or that I can't write, it's that something inside me finds it terribly difficult to go on. I've trained, I've tried, I've given it my all, but it's this mental obstacle I've got to overcome. I must go on, I promised myself. It's not that my words have run out (or that the racetrack runs out), I've plenty more to say (and plenty more ground to cover). It's not that the words have lost their color or their appeal (the scenery is gorgeous still). It's not that I'm losing interest

I've had occasion to care for several infants recently. Although I have a 10-month-old, it's always an adventure caring for someone else's baby. They can't communicate in anything but grunts, giggles, and wails. I know what worked for Charlie, but... he's his own person. And even then, his preferences and needs change so often, I'm still figuring those out. every week I seem to have a new kid. So this week as I held a frustrated little one and did my best to feed him (that didn't work)... Tried my best to swaddle him (he kicked it away like a soccer champion)... changed his diaper (the screams crescendoed)... rock-a-byed (that was a mistake)... I finally got creative and started to sing Boy Scout Songs my Dad and brothers used to chant around the house growing up. I don't know where the idea came from, but there I was, singing "Well, I stuck my head in a little skunk hole" and "Scout socks they're old and they're moldy" an

I'll do better next year. I'll do better next month. I'll do better next week. I'll do better tomorrow. I'll do better today.

After giving me a honey-I'm-home kiss yesterday, Kevin exclaimed, "wow, you have really cold lips." I replied, "Well, I forgot to mention, but one of the things I did today was turn into a Zombie." His eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face, he retorted, "I sure hope you don't eat me." Me: "Don't worry, I'm a vegan zombie." Kevin: "A vegan zombie? What does that mean?" Me: "I eat the same foods you eat, you know... regular food." Kevin: "So no change at all then?" Me: "Except for the fact that I'm a zombie." But now I'm curious, folks, I've given my interpretation--but now I want to know, what does "Vegan Zombie" mean to you? Please note your thoughts in the comments section! 

October 8th, 2001. My only pet I'd ever had, a six-month-old tabby cat named Rontu, was diagnosed with feline Leukemia in it's latter stages. There was no hope for his life, the vet said, even if my young family could have afforded treatment. If you've never loved an animal as a companion and friend, you'll not understand the grief I felt. And if you have loved a furry friend, your soul and mine understand one another in how terrible it is to lose them. We laid him to rest on October 8th, 2001. I tossed one of the last budding flowers of the season onto his cardboard coffin, where my words of love and parting were scribbled on a notebook page above his precious little feline body, before Dad slowly sealed his grave with soil. For a long time I wore his collar on my wrist as a bracelet, left tear streaks on my pillow, took somber strolls around the playground.  It sounds dramatic...but at age nine with a cruel 4th grade teacher, a playground void of friends, and

So, as part of my #StudentForLife movement in continually educating myself, I've become hooked on Ted Talks. They're great to pop on while I'm preparing dinner or folding laundry, it helps the chores seem less mundane. My favorite talks thus far were given by two individuals who each suffer with extremely rare syndromes. Their names: Sam Berns, and Lizzie Velasquez. The main vibe I gathered from both of their messages was simply this: I can be happy, no matter what difficulties I'm dealing with in life , be they physical or emotional or social or spiritual. I hope you'll take the time to listen to their wise words and gather another measure of strength to enjoy life, despite the crap that comes your way.

I'm kind of becoming my own professor...or at least an academic advisor..for a class I'm making up as I go, for a student body of size one (sometimes two, if Kevin comes along). You see, while my main title and full time position is as a stay at home mom, I'm also a part-time professional (I substitute teach a few days a month) ... but you might not know that I'm also a part time student. But the student part is purely by my own choosing, guys. There will be no final exam, no summer break, no midterm cramming. And, admittedly, no diploma. But I tell you what, it's been a blast, and learning is SO tremendously fun. The subjects I'm studying: The construction of fruit preserves 101. Last month Jeni Pittard with Taste of Home and Stacey with Southern Bite  were my mentors as Kevin and I peeled, diced, pectin-ed, and poured. The results were nothing short of jelly-tastic peach and pear goodness. And we may have quoted National Treasure multiple times d

Half a year ago I cut off 20 inches of my hair, and was left with hair shorter than it's been since I was a toddler. Previous to this drastic haircut, my hairdo three days out of four was a bun--whether fancy and intricately placed or messy and held with an elastic, it was my do. A friend of mine, Jessie, once cut her enormously curly and chocolatey brunette hair clean off, and told me afterwards, "I was getting to the point where I felt like my hair defined me. People spotted me in a crowd based on my hair. I needed to throw them off, show them I was more than my hair." While a little dramatic, I really loved her statement, and I suppose that was part of my inspiration for chopping my locks. But I'll be honest. After the novelty wore off and a month passed by, I started to pine for my long, long hair. When it started to get messy or get in the way while cooking or caring for my baby, I'd run my fingers through the strands to pull it up and out of the way,

At market they stand with the goods that they’ve made Like  adult renditions of stands of lemonade From pumpkins to cider to honey to pillows Peaches and veggies and soaps in a row Each comes with a pride in the stuff they’ve homemade Prepared to sell, barter, and sometimes to trade Year after year I return to their stands Coming with cash, leave with produce in hand For farm fresh, handcrafted, I’ve gained quite a thirst So I share well the mantra: buy local first.

Before now, summertime was the only time since my childhood that  I truly, truly had "free time." I mean free time where more than one week would pass without a slew of deadlines or an overwhelming list of "to-do's." While I denied it to myself, I'm realizing I was a scheduled-out-aholic. Whether it was work assignments, class projects, social appointments, etc. etc. etc. I was overloaded with things to do and places to be. But this autumn season, I have the tremendous gift of staying home with my young son. And I'm without a calendar that's filled with gotta-get-done from 6am to 10pm, as I have been almost constantly for the past 16 years. In this season of my life, I'm learning some tremendously valuable lessons. Now, I have to preface sharing these lessons by saying that if you are a working mother or a busy student or someone of the sort, that you can't very well know these things either. I'm merely saying that in my life's ex

I found out someone's world shattered, Someone they loved left this  life. I didn't know them well, not well enough, not well at all. But I knew them. I imagined how everything in their family's world had stopped, sleep, food, they're all irrelevant when your life's love, your life's blood, has passed away At least that's what I imagine it to be, because it's never happened to me before, not quite this way not quite this fierce not quite this kind of loss. I could only imagine it. I could only attend the funeral. I could only do my best to give a heartfelt hug but really, what could I do? I just prayed. And I'll be honest,  I felt guilt when I got home and ate ice cream snuggled my baby and kissed my husband. I felt guilt when I shopped at the grocery store and read a good book in the afternoon and stayed up sewing til late in the night. I felt guilt that I could do the normal things, and

I saw this video last Sunday and it gave me the warmest of fuzzies. Do you know someone like the man in this video? I do. I know several someones. One example: A friend of mine I met while I lived in Argentina, Alejandra, was just like this man. I remember once we were walking together past a front yard where trash was strewn everywhere, a result of stray dogs who had gotten into some mischief looking for some food. The woman who owned the home was hurriedly trying to gather all the trash up, a concerned look creasing her forehead. Without batting an eyelash, Alejandra began collecting the garbage alongside her. As she helped gather the debris, she asked the woman about her day and if there was anything else she could do to help her. People like Alejandra don't hesitate, they just DO. When they see an opportunity, they take it. This afternoon I had the opportunity to help my cousin-sister move. She lives about an hour away, and she just needed some help cleaning and carryi