Pascha baking

Spring Break

Over Spring Break we did a major switch with the bedrooms.
The kids (all 3 of them!) are now in our former bedroom and we're in their's. They have much more room to play and are loving the new setup. They especially love the bunk bed and the colorful quilts on the walls. We were planning to paint the three white walls yellow but were just too tired. And the quilts look great and now we have more closet space.
So here's a few quick photos of the new digs.

You're Invited to a Nightmare! (Release Party)

My novel The Nightmare Tree is being officially released on May 12, 1:00 p.m., at Monkeyshines Bookstore in Calgary. You are all invited to attend! If you can't come, you can always preorder a copy of the book on Amazon.ca (here) or Amazon.com (here). Talk about shameless self-promotion!

First Campfire of the Year

Gabriel blow your horn!

What's for dinner? (An true story from my mom)

Here’s an entertaining dinner menu for you: As some of you may know, Vern has long been wanting a deep fat fryer, and I have long be saying the big NO. Like, where are we going to put it for starters? On the counter with all the other crap we don’t know where to put? And what about all that fat? But alas, he went out an bought himself a deep fat fryer. Now, don’t get me wrong. I do like French fries once and awhile, but have you ever made them at home? The house stinks for days!

Well, yesterday the good and dutiful husband stopped in at the local restaurant supply store and bought 30 lbs. – yes, three zero- of frozen French fries all ready to plop into the huge deep fat fryer now taking up loads of counter space in our kitchen. If a little is good, more is better; right? He also picked up some lovely shrimp, all breaded and ready to go. We have enough of these little critters for at least another five meals tucked away in the freezer next to their friendly companions, the abundant French fries.

When I completed my teaching schedule for the day, I traipsed down from the studio, and in through the back door to the oh-so-lovely smell of hot oil. (I was going to ask him to run and extension cord to the back deck and do his duty out there, but didn’t quite get this request relayed in time.) There was some panic happening in the kitchen at this point. He had placed the pan which holds the oil in the fryer backwards, and needed my help to get it out and turned around and placed in the correct direction. I was a little nervous, but we managed. I tried to stay out of the way of the frying frenzy, but did manage to steam some fresh spinach to counteract the evil effects of all that oil. I have to say, Vern made the best French fries and fried shrimp I have ever had. Maybe all the effort he went to is influencing my opinion, but it was yummy. We had plenty of good-old-American ketchup and cocktail sauce, a little margarine on the spinach, and wallah! – a blue-plate-special!

Just in case any of you are wondering what on earth happened to all that oil after the frying was done, we simply poured it back into the gallon jug and plopped it in the freezer for next frying frenzy.

Well, I don’t know if that was inspiring or frightening! But, if anybody wants to come over and let Vern fry them up a batch of fries and critters, I’m sure he would be more than happy to!! You may even luck out and get a home-brewed beer if you come on the right day.

Happy Wednesday,

Cheryl

Wish you could see that he's wearing cowboy boots too. It really completes the image for me. I know that all of you in Texas would appreciate the whole ensemble. I really debated about letting him dress-up at church but he takes it so seriously that it seems worthwhile.

Raising Men

This is someone's brilliant post that I found inspiring. It also made me feel better about the sword we bought Gabriel for Christmas and the cap guns he received for his birthday.

When my boys were three and four, they spent a good bit of time patrolling the perimeter of the back yard with stick guns. One day they were making particularly gruesome sound effects and my feminine squeamishness, which I try to keep tamped down while mothering boys, got away from me. "I really don't like you pretending to shoot people," I told them.

"We're not pretending to shoot people," my older son said. "We're shooting pretend people. Dangerous ones."

Oh.

As one who has both boy and girl children, I can tell you they're different from birth. My daughter is something of a tomboy, and still she's nothing like her brothers. She has never hit anyone over the head with a zucchini, for one thing. She has never knocked her father's legs out from under him and laughed when he fell on her with bone-crushing weight. She has never lost a toenail or fingernail, climbed higher in a tree than the cats will go, picked up unidentified insects with her bare hands, or picked them up again after being bitten the first time. She has never captured a big black spider in my good Tupperware and left it for me to find unexpectedly while putting away leftovers.

My boys--sweet and well-behaved as they truly are--do those things regularly.

My job as mother is to keep my mouth shut unless death or dismemberment is imminent. "They're boys," Jonathan says, when I come to him worried about their latest escapade. "That's what boys do."

Now, my boys memorize poetry. They clean up the supper dishes, with a little reminding. They tell their sister that they love her, and they prickle with indignation when other boys talk about girl germs. They're not Neanderthals. They're going to be good men, strong and tender, trustworthy, confident, brave.

They aren't learning this from me (except by my refusal to squelch it). They're learning it from their father, grandfathers, uncles; from the men at church who greet them with outstretched hand and expect them to answer audibly and shake firmly, from the men who lead worship; from the male friends who take them up in cherry-pickers, bulldozers, fire engines, and out in boats, who stop by to show them a new motorcycle, who talk to them with great seriousness about dinosaurs, asteroids, and snakes. Thanks to these men, my boys are going to know how to be men--not bullies, not henpicked eunuchs, but men.

Unfortunately, they have many friends who won't know how to be men, who are already less than confident in their maleness.

Some of these are boys whose mothers watch anxiously the whole time they're playing lest they hurt themselves, who forbid toy guns and swords and urge their sons to play "games everybody wins," which to a boy means a game nobody wins, that has no point.

Some are boys whose fathers are gone and who carry the weight of guilt not their own, who feel somehow complicit in other men's abandonments, other men's unreliability, other men's cruelty.
Some are boys whose energy is treated by teachers and parents as a curse, whose enthusiasm is treated as naivety, whose curiosity is treated as a distraction.

It's almost as if some people don't like little boys.

I do. I like their energy, their toughness. I like their forthrightness, their ruthless logic, their dislike of cant. I like their natural gallantry, their instinctive desire to protect those who are smaller and weaker. And I like that they include me in that group, though I am yet, for another few years, larger and stronger than they.

So I sympathize with Russell Moore, who "is aiming to raise up violent sons." Moore is being deliberately inflammatory, of course, but in a very real sense he means what he says:

I am not seeking to raise sons who are violent in the amoral, pagan sense of contemporary teenagers playing Grand Theft Auto video games or carjacking motorists. I want them to be more violent than that.

I want them to understand that the Christian life is not a Hallmark Channel version of baptized sentimentality. Instead, it is a cosmic battle between an evil dragon and the child of the woman, an ancient warfare that now includes all who belong to the Child of the Promise (Rev 12). I want them to forgive their enemies, not because they are good boys, but because they understand that vengeance against the Serpent comes not from their hand, but from that of the anointed Warrior-King (Rev 19), whose blood-soaked garments don’t often transfer to the imagery of a Precious Moments wall-hanging. And I want them to exercise self-control of their passions, not because it is polite, but because they are called to struggle against the Evil One, even to the point of cutting off their own limbs rather than succumb to devices.

And as Gary of Both Worlds says:

Men are in the image of God. And our need to prove ourselves on some field of combat, to confront danger and, yes, to win a beauty, reflect a side of God which few hymns uplift. Men and boys are often bored in church because many churches have become overloaded with feminine sensibilities and sensations.

So men and boys light out, like Huck down the Mississippi--not irresponsibly, but in search of something. Into the unknown, or the backyard, we go, Aslan at our sides. There be wild things here, and adventures to be had.

Love cowboy hats!

Gabe turns 3

I'm a little behind times posting
but decided I should post a photo from Gabe's birthday anyway.
He got completely outfitted as a cowboy! Cap guns and horse included!

I just found this and it's even cooler than seeing Richard's book on the Coteau site!!

Check it out!

Check out Richard's book on Coteau's website.

The Boys

John in 2 months old

In some ways I can't believe that he's already 2 months old and in others it feels like he's been part of our family forever.

Another Year of Changes

Well, the title says it all! Change, change, change. Life in this world is change. As a friend of mine recently said, it’s always new territory when you are moving forward.

Change number one: I change jobs. Still teaching, but a new context. In the spring and early summer, I tutored one student almost full-time. It was a sad affair, really. The girl, fifteen years old, represented to me all the ways in which our secular society has failed its children. I will say no more, but pray for Kristi and her future.

Change number two: I change jobs again. I have been teaching French to Grade 7s since September. Ce n’est pas difficile parce que ils ne savent pas le Francais tres bien… And those of you who speak and write French well can now email me with all my mistakes.

Change number three: Jaime gets pregnant and has a baby! John Francis is a neat little boy in many regards. Conceived and born in the space of a year. Born exactly on his due date (yet another October birthday in the family). Born within the space of four hours, hardly interrupting our normal evening routine. Quite the little package, don’t you think?

Change number four: Lily learns how to read! Lily has taken to reading like a duck to water. Yes, it has been a struggle, as she definitely has a mind of her own. However, she is now reading at grade level—another superhuman effort by my wife, who is somehow managing to raise three children and homeschool at the same time. I knew she was insane when she married me, but this is ultimate proof!

Change number five: my book is accepted for publication. Thanks be to God, my young adult novel, now called The Nightmare Tree, was accepted by Coteau Books. Release date: May 2007. The fall was an intensive period of editing and rewriting, but now, thank God, it is all done. Author proofs notwithstanding, I can move on to the sequel any time. Let all be witness to my New Year resolution: one page a day until it is done.

Change number six: Gabriel becomes a crazy talker. From silence, gestures and grunts (though he has long been able to understand every word we were saying) to full sentences (“me wuv you!”) and whole explanations (“mummy and gramma made dat”). A few slightly embarrassing pronunciations apart (“s*it here”), he is still so cute in his new adventures with language.

Change number seven: I am given the responsibility of serving a mission station in Cranbrook, BC. This group of people has been meeting on and off for a number of years, but in the last year (another change) they have acquired the name of St. Aidan’s Orthodox Church and are officially designated a mission station under H.G. Bishop SERAPHIM. In August, Fr. Larry asked me to be the one who mainly visits the mission station on a monthly basis. In time, this may lead to our moving to Cranbrook to grow the mission full time, but we are still not sure about it. The Bishop’s word should come through in the next few months. Please pray for God’s will in this matter.

And that is it! All the changes wrapped up in a nice complete number. No doubt the next year will bring its own new share of upheavals and surprises. Things we look forward to: publication of my book, a possible move, more job changes, Archdiocesan Assembly, and who knows what… This web site is updated regularly, so please keep in touch with us. God bless you all this Nativity. Christ is born! Glorify Him!

Mail

I love this time of year when you check the mail and the cards outnumber the bills and even the junkmail! I really appreciate all those of you who take the time to write, address and mail (often where I'm delinquent!) Christmas cards. Thanks!

Happy St. Nicholas Day

I attempted to post this yesterday but ran into trouble. So Happy St. Nicholas Day just a little late.

One Month Old

 

School Time

Lily and Gabe love their school desks and I'm finally starting to feel better and can get back to school work.  

John is 2 weeks old

Sleeping peacefully in his cradle this morning after refusing to sleep in it last night!
Gabe looks so huge next to John! He asked if John could play Lego with him this morning..too cute.