Caterpillars

My neighbor suckered me into taking some black swallowtail butterfly caterpillars to raise. I guess it wasn't that hard, since I love to see nature in action up close. I was hoping for just a few little larvae to watch in their journeys to adulthood, but I ended up with ten. Three of them are just babies that popped out of the shell today.

I tried to pawn a few of them off on another friend to raise, but she said she was doing well just to keep her two kids alive.
When I got them on Monday, two of them were black with a white midsection, and no longer than a half inch long. Today is Thursday, and most of them are about two inches long. The little black speckles is the poop from the caterpillars. That is just a half day's worth of poop.


I would tell you more about them, but since I can't give you a really good picture of what they look like, click here to find out the details about their lives and see a picture of what I hope will emerge from my lowly critter tank.

The Pioneer Lens

I am reading yet another pioneer book. I grew up on the Laura Ingalls Wilder series. Before I could read, I remember sitting in my mother's lap while she read it to me. As I got older, I read them myself... several times. I read them again about a year ago. I have always been fascinated by the detail in which they describe life in those days. I have dreamed about making my own maple syrup and pouring it into a pan of snow so that it would harden up to eat as candy.


To say I love these books is perhaps and understatement. I analyze my life through the lens that these books gives me. Sometimes they motivate me. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed at my lack of motivation in comparison with the pioneer women that it causes me to shut down. My life doesn't depend on my canning every tomato from my garden, but I almost feel cheated that it doesn't.


My pioneer lens really magnifies the absurdity of our modern affluence for me during birthdays and Christmas. Laura was excited to get a penny and a piece of candy for Christmas one year. My three year old opens one present, throws it aside, then demands, 'I want another present.' My heart breaks.

Finley's 3rd Birthday

Last Saturday, Finley turned three.



















She even help bake her own cake. Finley dumped in the ingredients, Reanna iced, and I decorated. We were all pleased with the results.



She enjoyed all the cake and presents, and has already been asking if she can have another birthday and be four.

The Neighbors, Part 3: Rose

The years have not been too kind to Rose. I often wonder what she looked like when she was young and just married. Allergies and genetics give her bags under her eyes that always make her look tired. She is fighting off diabetes with excercise and diet. Her doctor didn't think she could do it. Her doctor underestimated Rose. I bet many people do at first.


Rose is white, her husband, Danny, is black. Rose stayed home to take care of their son, Immanuel, until he reached school age. Staying home was the right thing to do, she said. At the time, they were living in the projects... not the best place to raise a child. One night a bullet shattered their front window and knocked the drapes down while Danny and Rose sat in the living room. Rose took cover on the floor. Danny ran back to make sure Immanuel stayed safe in his room. They were determined to get out of the projects, so once her son was in school, Rose went to work.


About 15 years ago, they finally left the projects. A friend of Rose's rented the house to them for a good price, and eventually Rose and Danny were able to buy it from him. Rose planted a flower garden out front, and they have made major improvements to the house since buying it.


Life in this neighborhood hasn't been easy either, however. Because of their mixed-race marriage, most neighbors shunned them, and prejudiced kids would yell racial slurs at Immanuel . The old woman that lived in our house before us once called the cops when Immanuel's basketball rolled under her bush. Rose got teary-eyed as she told us how much she appreciated us just accepting them for who they are.


In spite of all this, Rose is not afraid. Rose is not afraid to tell you the way things are. She is not afraid to open her arms and love those others won't. Rose is not afraid to ask for help when she needs it, and she gives help when she thinks you need it. I wish there were more Roses in the world.

Churchin' It - GC Style

This morning was a struggle. After staying up a little too late, and the kids getting up too early, I was tired and cranky.


I used to like to go to church... when I didn't have kids. The past two and a half year, however, it has been a struggle, so we tend to not go quite frequently. Worship always feels hectic, trying to keep up with two little ones that don't want to sit still. And although Finley has finally gotten over the separation anxiety and wants to go to her class, Joe is another matter. He does not want us to leave him in the nursery. The past three times we have gone, I have ended up in the nursery, trying to get him acclimated. It hasn't worked, and I got tired of missing the message. So I've given up.


I have to admit, though, that GC is doing it right. GC has always been family friendly. In its smaller days, children would run all around during worship, dancing and waving flags. Mothers (at least those comfortable enough to do it) nursed their children in the service, and nobody looked at them funny. Today, the family-friendliness lives on, although things have changed. The converted gym (aka 'sanctuary') is packed. The 'hospitality room' (old school library) is outfitted with ultra-comfy chairs and sofas where the nursing mothers can lounge and watch what is happening via video feed. The foyer is outfitted with a plasma monitor as well, which allows those with restless leg syndrome to watch out there. The coffee shop off the foyer also has a monitor.


Inspite of my crankiness, we went anyway. And today, it was good. Today, we discovered another cozy spot. This small suite of rooms with a couch and two chairs also had a TV. We were able to kick back, relax, and let Joe run around without having to chase him down a hall or aisle.


Now thats what I call church.