The M&M Story

Sometimes I think if I breathe too deeply the bottom on my life is going to fall out, and I'll start plummeting down into a dark abyss, much like Alice and her infamous rabbit hole. I only say that because right now, things are good.  Really, really, really good. And I'm not sure how I feel about that or even how to respond. Recently, we found out we were moving to a new place, like in a new city that is not St. Louis. I think it sent a rippling shock through my extended community, as I'm sure most people thought I'd never leave where I was. Too much here, roots running deep, family, a legacy to leave. But. This means a new start for my little family. An amazing job for my husband. A new house for me (no rehab, at least this time). A new community where there are no expectations of who we were in our past life....the widow, the little boys who lost their dad, a Hauser (my family name that runs through the roots of the Christian community in St. Louis). A commu

So...well...I haven't blogged in ages.  I'm full of excuses. Excuse #1:  I choreographed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat  at Westminster.  Amazing cast. Amazing dancers. Amazing fun. Hands down--one of my most favorite musical experiences. Excuse #2:  As only God would pen for our story, we found out on May 14th that Todd will be teaching College Chemistry at Liberty High School in Liberty, MO. Yes, we are moving westward. Journeying to an unknown territory, just like Lewis and Clark. Excuse #3: We thought our house would have to go on the market, but after a whirlwind few days, our house was sold before I had to pack up all my "knick knacks." Crazy awesome. Excuse #4:  I had the brilliant idea to drive...yes, drive...to NYC to see dear friends (with a quick stop in Philly) in just under a week. Yes, I saved our family lots of money by the non-purchase of plane tickets, but when I asked my children what they liked about our trip, they both piped,

I love that my children are their own unique persons. I love the way they look at the world.  I love the way they make connections and observations about people and ideas. But sometimes...well, many times....I tend to open mouth, insert my fist or my foot or whatever large piece of furniture is in reach, and am humbled greatly by their tender words. For Brian's birthday every year, we typically go out to dinner or engage in a family activity that he would choose to do.  Bowling, pizza at Dewey's, steak and Rocky Road ice cream at home. This year we went to Fitz's for root beer floats. As we perused the menu, Max piped up, "Mom, I'll have a quadzilla, please." Ahh...too cute.  I laughed.  Out loud.  It sort of escaped the filter I try so desperately to employ. Max, confused by my response, immediately said,   " Mom! Why are you laughing?  All I said was, I would like a quadzilla, please." Trying sooo hard not to keep laughing, I replied, &qu

As I little girl, I loved....wait....repeat in all caps....LOVED watching the yearly Christmas specials on television.  Right after Thanksgiving, I poured over the weekly TV guide (remember the paper version?), highlighting all my favorites.  There was The Year Without a Santa Claus .  I was definitely Team Heat Mizer.  Cold Mizer had the chill and the height, but Heat, he had the sass.  Then there was Rudolph and Charlie Brown and Frosty and the Grinch. Loooved the Grinch in all his humor and grinchiness. I marked each and every one on my mother's calendar, happily anticipating several evenings of laughter, hot chocolate, and blissful escapes to chilly claymation wonderlands.  But in all my giggly girlhood, there was always one that rather rocked my world. That little drummer boy. I think every emotion pulsed through my eight...nine...ten year old self as I watched this 22 minutes year after year.  Fear. Laughter. Joy. Tears. Those evil bandits. The persevering drummer boy. Th

Most nights when we sit down together for dinner, we reflect on our day by naming our A and our Z.   A couple of years ago when we were visiting my college roommate and family, we were introduced to this idea.  I think their family called it Hi/Lo. My boys renamed it at some point to A and Z. Recently, my sweet Briggs explained his Z.     "My Z is that I almost cried in class today.  We were watching Ramona.  She ran away and when her family saw her again, I had to hold my cry inside. I didn't want to cry in front of my friends."  As he finished saying the word friends, he burst into tears.      Fighting back my own tears at his sweet story, I responded: "You don't need to hold the cry inside anymore. It's always okay to cry at home."  He nodded between sobs and crawled into my lap. I wanted to hug away all his pain.  "Feel better?"      As his cry tapered off, "Yes, much, much better."

I think I'm just beginning to breathe again. Another start of the school year.  August?  Gone with the wind. September? Washed out to sea. October?  Thank God you are here, but don't run away too fast!! I just pulled out my pumpkin candle yesterday.  I need a little time to enjoy it before we are singing Christmas carols and sipping hot chocolate. So much has happened in the last two months.  I'll reflect and write about it later.  But before I forget, there are a couple little conversations with the boys that deserve some screen time. M:  Mom, what color is an omelette? Me:  Well, it's typically white on the outside, or maybe a light yellow. M:  No, the kind of omelette you wear around your neck. Me:  Do you mean an amulet? M:  Oh, that's it. B: Mom, why is it bad to point your middle finger at someone? Me: Well, it's a gesture that says to someone that they are stupid or that you hate them. (The best analogy for a 7 year old.) B:  But what's a

I've never been one to stringently follow the rules or conform too much to the next best thing.  Sure, there have been moments when someone says go right and I head left and oops, maybe I should have gone right. And there was that time in 7th grade when all the girls had these wedge shoes called Yo-Yo's, and my mother wouldn't buy them for me. But for the most part, the freedom to create or invent or re-arrange has blessed my life immensely. Mosaic art has been around for centuries. It was the Ancient Greeks that took it to the next level and raised it to an art form. They used the pebble technique with precise geometric patterns to create detailed scenes of people and animals. The styles and skills evolved through the years, but the art of making mosaic has generally stayed the same. Small pieces of glass, tile, stone arranged together to create a picture or design or pattern. Each piece being important to the whole design. Several summers ago, I was in a small group t