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I was trying to think of another mom who might want to start running with me when it occurred to me that I have several young women closer to home and easier to coordinate schedules with.  Duh,  a houseful of teen girls.  I convinced/enticed/guilted my two older teen daughters to do the coach potato to 5 k challenge with me.

What better time to start running than at the end of June?   The one running class I took in college was called walk/jog/run but affectionately called jog/run/die by everyone who survived it.  I took it as a summer course, in West Texas.

I'll never forget running a timed 5 mile run at 3:00 p.m. dropped off in the middle of nowhere with 3 men from my class.  The teacher did not run the course with us, claiming administrative work, so we had to make it back to campus alive to record our time with the teacher.  I ran that run in blistering heat in record time.  Such good time in fact that my teacher accused me of lying and wouldn't accept my time.

I ask you- how fast would you run if you were a small female alone on a barren stretch of highway with vultures circling (literal vultures, this was the dessert) and your classmates barely a smudge on the horizon?  I booked it.  If I hadn't been so worn out and sick to my stomach by the time I made it back to my ice-tea slurping teacher I would have socked him.  I wish I had at least thrown up on him but there was no moisture left in my body.

I've heard recently that my college alma mater has done away with graded P.E. classes. Maybe other small females were more successful with their upchucking.

Our running will be far gentler and vulture-less.  I won't be motivated by fears of ruining my GPA if my running isn't fast enough.  In fact I can't think of how I'm going to stay motivated, except that my daughters will chide me and now;

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I heard something yesterday on the radio that hit me the wrong way. It was a couple of DJ's discussing how God had put a "cause" in their life by making their daughter have Autism.  The manner in which they discussed God giving parents a cause made the child seem secondary, it cast the child's suffering as a footnote to the great blessing the illness brought into the parent's lives.

It turned God into the supernatural intentional inflictor of medical suffering.  It turned parenting with a cause into something akin to a politically correct Munchausen by Proxy.

It turned my stomach.

My sons' illnesses are not a blessing to them.  God didn't strike them with it so I could write an awareness blog.  A fallen world blessed them with two parents who were both unknowingly carriers of messed up recessive genes.

Is God in control?  Can he bless the situation?  Can he work this to good in my children's lives?  Is the suffering my children may have to experience because of their illness primarily theirs?

I say yes.  Romans 8:28 is a good place to start.

If I find a place where I can reach out and connect with other parents of chronically ill children, great.  I hope to.  If I can give advice to a new mom that helps her get better treatment for her child, wow, that's huge.  But it's not about me; it's not about my identity.

My two boys have a job.  They need to grow and be the men that God intended them to be, even if that means working around and through their illnesses.  My job is to help them along the way.  They are not a cause, they are children.  They are individuals.

I am blessed through them, but that's incidental.




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Today while running errands we stopped at a public restroom.  My 17 year old daughter was trying to help my 4 year old get soap from the strangely high-hanging soap dispenser.   The soap shot out with amazing force at a 45 degree angle straight into my son's open mouth.

It was rather a shock and I was hard pressed to get the foaming soap out of my son's mouth while he danced with mini-hysterics before anyone called CPS on us.




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1. Generally I don't feel that I have much to add.  All anyone has to do is check Facebook and they are sure to read at least 5 pre-made banners varying from profound to treacly-sweet that pretty much cover the concept of any holiday.  
2. I generally forget about holidays until it is irrelevant.

This year I thought Father's Day was last weekend.  I planned ahead and cooked my husband's favorite summer meal, only to realize when my 12 year old informed me as I served the meal with a flourish, that once again, I had the wrong date.  My husband didn't mind.  He is not very sentimental and any reason to have his favorite meal is just fine and dandy.

However today is Father's Day; I'm relatively certain because I googled it twice. So here goes:

I have a great Dad, made obvious by the fact that he never killed me when I was snotty.  I was snotty pretty continually.

I have a great father-in-law,  made obvious by the fact that he always compliments my cooking even when I don't serve meat.

I have a great husband, who only laughs a little at me when I can't remember dates.

I have 4 boys who will grow up someday to hopefully be dad's too.

I have an all-powerful Heavenly Father that loves me and cares for me.

It's a rich day, even if the special meal was eaten last week.

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Question:
During what parenting activity do you have to explain/apologize, "I'm not shouting at you because I'm angry; I'm shouting because I'm so scared."

Hint:
It's an activity that makes almost anyone wish for valium.


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 On our date last night my husband and I did what most married couples do even when we try not to; we discussed the children.  We both agreed that we didn't want them watching movies and lying about all Summer.  We weren't sure what we wanted them to do exactly.



Our 17 year old daughter solved the "what" dilemma for at least one afternoon by driving home with a roofing nail in a tire.



I had no idea how much fun the younger set would have changing the tire.