How Do I Love Thee, Doritos?

Confession Time.

I'm addicted to Baked Doritos. Completely, unequivocally, obsessively addicted. I want them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I try to resist them all evening and then I just can't help myself. Even if I'm not really hungry, it's an itch that has to be scratched. When I notice we're getting low, I'll make a special trip to Wal-Mart to buy some more (they have the best price on them there, belive me I've checked) under the guise of needing something else to buy. I even have a special way of eating them: I crunch them up into tiny pieces so it lasts longer. Strange? I don't think so.

But I think my family's on to me and intervention is imminent.

Last night as I settled down with the computer I tried to discreetly munch away, but it wasn't long before Hilton noticed in the next room. Busted.

"Do I smell Doritos?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I smell Doritos."

"At least they're baked! It's not like they're the real thing!"

Even the boys know Mommy Has a Problem. When Jake saw me getting stuff together to make dinner the other night, he had it all figured out.

"Mommy, you making Doritos for dinner tonight?"

Step #1: Admitting you have a problem. Check.

Poof!

When the boys were still drinking out of sippy cups for meals, we'd let them carry around their cups and drink even after they got down from the table, something I learned was a big no-no in parenting magazines but let them do it anyway because honestly, it wasn't worth the battle to me. However, they had a maddening habit with those cups.

They hid them.

They hid those stupid cups in a different place nearly every time, causing you to crawl around the room cursing for ten minutes until, like the Holy Grail, it was uncovered and there was much rejoicing (along with some incoherent rambling about "those %$&* cups). I never really figured out if they were intentionally trying to make us crazy, but I have a sneaking suspicion they were watching with amusement out of the corner of their eyes.

And that suspicion has been confirmed even more so with a new and much more deliberate game.

The object to hide these days is a doorknob cover, a childproofing item that was previously considered, well, childproof. Until Jake figured out he could squeeze the heck out of them until "the eggs hatches!" Well, isn't that great. But wait, there's more.... He "hatches" the doorknob covers while I'm not looking, and then in what I'm certain is part of their ultimate plan to send Mommy to the Crazy Place, they leave one half of the cover out as a tease for me, and then hide the other somewhere I'm sure not to find it.

The first few times they did this, I gave up after about 15 seconds of looking and simply put a brand new cover on. But I started to wonder where these covers were all going, so the other day I went on a hunt. I asked the boys to help me and politely obliged. At least, I thought they were helping me. What they were really doing, however, was simply playing along.

They knew where they were. This was a game.

"Boys, where did the doorknob covers go?"

"We hid them!" The truth was out. Finally, some honesty.

"Where did you hide them?"

"I can't tell you," replied Ben. "It's a secret hiding place."

"Poof!" interjected Jake with glee. "We made it disappear!"

"Poof!" agreed Ben.

I gave up at that point. My life motto anymore is pretty much "Whatever." They won.

But the next day, I decided that two (or three) could play this game. Tired of having them play with their bedtime "loveys" (little blankets) all over the house, I decided I would put them in a place where they wouldn't be accessed until bedtime. Somewhere they'd never look. Like my underwear drawer.

"Where you put our loveys?" Ben asked.

"Hmm... let me see... oh yes. A secret hiding place. Can't tell you," I replied. Maybe a little too smugly.

And the hide-the-hatched-egg game hasn't been played since.

What I'm Thankful For

Every Thanksgiving, I'm inevitably asked the old "What are you thankful for this year?" question. I usually answer with the true but cliche "My family" answer, but it's clear this year that has altered my perspective drastically.

This Thanksgiving season, I'd like to say I'm thankful for multiple potties on the first floor of our house.

It sounds shallow and flip and ingenuine, but I promise you, dear reader, it's not.

For what else could be so practical, convenient, and crucial in the life that I lead? The life in which, immediately at dinner's end, both boys run screaming in opposite directions clutching their bottoms for dear life as they make a run for it, one making it to his potty in plenty of time, the other... not so much.... causing much drama over the diarrhea scattered here there and everywhere in one bathroom... while the other screams down the hall for me completely without mercy or understanding for the situation taking place in the other bathroom despite my equally loud screams of explanation back to him that I have to help his brother ... leaving the Abandoned One to his own devices for cleaning his bottom... which involves rolling out the entire Double Roll of toilet paper onto the floor before finding the right piece with which to wipe his bottom.

Yes, thank you God for multiple potties in our house.

I Dare You Not to Laugh

In the special language of horses, there is a phenomenon where a foal tries to show another (usually larger) horse that he is merely a baby horse and to be easy with him. He literally makes a silly expression, mouthing and licking the air as if to say "how can you be mad at this face?"

Jake is a master manipulator in disguise, and he has figured this trick out as well. Ben is so mean in his ways that his intent is always obvious. Jake (like someone else, ahem), uses his clown skills to make you laugh and forget that he's getting away with murder. He's a Funny Man, and his schtik usually works, resulting in Hilton and I having to actually turn our heads to the side and bite our cheeks so that he can't tell we're about to break down in laughter. But Jake's way too perceptive to not catch even the slightest of a sideways smile, and he takes it and runs with it....

Here it is.

Crazy Level: Red

So, dear blog-stalkers (I know you're out there), I've been neglecting you. The already-scarce breathing room in my life and brain that was reserved for the occcasional blog has been rudely taken hostage by The Madness That Is My Life.

In my head I often think about the state of my life in terms of the terrorism threat level (you know, green, yellow, orange, red). We started to take the craziness to Level Red a few weeks ago when we started a major home renovation project that needed to be completed before a certain holiday family dinner was held at our home for the Very First Time. In what is just one of the many complexities of this home improvement project, the area being renovated is in the basement, where little boys can hear loud noises right below them when they're trying to sleep.... which means they either go to bed way late, or they have to stay elsewhere for the day or night.

And I've determined that the Greek derivative for "home renovation" is actually tied to the same derivatives for the word "divorce." Let's just say it was the hand of God that led us to decide the remodel the kitchen before we moved in.

But don't feel too sorry for me. Feel sorry for my poor kids, who don't know whether they're coming or going. On top of all of this, I've had an unusually few busy weeks of deadlines with work. It's one thing to be slammed at work when you go to an office and do your thing and go home. It's a whole other deal when you work from home and there are no boundaries.... meaning sometimes you're putting a casserole together, screaming at a child to use the potty, and sending an email on your Blackberry all at the same time. I've always tried to only work when they're sleeping or being taken care of by someone else, but lately I've just had to fit it all together.

Suffice to say, I don't feel like we've been stellar parents lately. We're on survival mode here, and apparently, it shows.

One morning the boys were playing while I sat and returned some emails. Ben briefly came over to show me something, but Jake knew I was trying to work.

"Come on Ben, you're bothering Mommy." No, no, it's okay, I insisted. They glanced at me for a second and then went right back to playing, as if to say Whatever, Mommy.

And then the other day, after giving Hilton a hug down in the basement during a quick break from the renovations, Ben knew the drill.

"Now get back to work, Daddy." Yes sir.

And then Jake, trying to get my attention somehow, anyhow, to remind me that he needed me, took to following me around the house.

"Mommy, I like you," he said over and over, in a sad, dramatic little voice.

Enough was enough. Bring out the crafts, bring out the trikes, it was playtime with the boys.

This one's for you, my little boys. Hang in there. It'll be Thanksgiving soon and things will be much.... calmer?

WWYD (What Will You Do)?

Last week I had my world rocked by a 3-year-old little boy whose name is not Ben or Jake.

He doesn't have any toys. He only has one shirt. He has nowhere to sleep at night but the floor. He is bruised and bleeding from falling 12 feet through the floor of the structure that is his home. His family has virtually no possessions. And although he is back with his family now, his mother recently sold him for $60 USD to a man who unbeknownst to her was a pimp in the sex trade industry.

This is Michael Angelo, and he is from the Philippines. I learned about this child through the blog of a teammate of my best friend Allison Johnston, who is on her second round of The World Race, a mission organization that sends young people to the poorest nations all over the world for a year. You can see the original blog here: http://marisabanas.theworldrace.org/?filename=michael-angelo. Along with hundreds of others, Michael Angelo's family lives in a dwelling on top of a cemetery in one of the most poverty-stricken areas of the Philippines, Navatos.

By nature I am a compassionate person, and I've always been very much burdened by human suffering. But never in my life have I been literally brought to my knees by such a story. A friend put it best when she said she was haunted by it. Since I first saw his face, this child has never truly left my mind and heart. My first instinct was to fight to adopt him, but above all I just wanted to do something-- anything -- to make this child's life head in a different direction.

A few days of research and prayer led me to Jane Walker, CEO of the Philippine Christian Foundation/Philippine Community Fund (PCF), which runs the two schools Marisa mentions. The amount of time, energy, and money this agency has poured into the area families is beyond belief. The services -- life-sustaining and long-term-- they offer to improve the quality of life there are too numerous to list here. Jane is originally from the UK and felt she was called to serve here.

My family and I are stepping in to specifically assist Michael Angelo's family, but there are hundreds of other families right behind them that face the same realities. I have felt deep guilt in singling out MA's family, but Jane has assured me their organization believes in making a difference by helping one family at a time.

In addition, in light of economic hard times and the foundation's efforts to build an additional school, PCF is in dire need of financial support, nearly being forced to end its feeding program, among other things. Jane would love to come to the US to speak at churches to fundraise but she cannot afford a plane ticket. She has asked if I would help her book church speakings if she makes it here next year, and I have agreed.

The fact that Michael Angelo-- anyone, for that matter-- lives this kind of life is a tragedy. But the fact that thousands of miles away I was able to know his story and do something about it is a miracle.

I have MA's photo saved as my desktop background, and Jacob saw it yesterday. We've been trying to teach the boys empathy and being grateful and responsible for the blessings (like food, clothes, toys) we have, so this was a real life lesson for him. In the best terms I could, I told him about MA. I again mentioned him during our bedtime prayers, and Jacob had several questions.

"Michael Angelo going to bed right now, too?" Sort of...

"Michael Angelo have a bed?" Not really...

"He sleep outside?" I'm not sure...

"He sleep on the floor? He have a blanket?"

If you're wondering the answers to these questions, too, don't ignore them. If you can't get his picture of out of your head, don't let it go away. If you hear God whispering in your ear, don't tune it out.

Times are hard, yes. Our checkbook reflects that just like yours does. There are starving children everywhere, it's true. The needs of others out there are truly staggering. But look at his face one more time and ask yourself "Why not start here?"
I have never been to this place, but I have heard and read enough to know that there is enough of a reason to start here. I look at my safe, comfortable little life and ask myself "What did I do to deserve these blessings?" .... The question I need to be asking is "What am I going to do with them?"

I don't think my finding out about Micheal Angelo was a coincidence, and I don't think your reading this story is a coincidence either.

PCF's website is http://www.p-c-f.org/ or you can contact Jane's sister Ange directly at ange@p-c-f.org regarding donations or family sponsorship opportunities. This is a very well-established, organized and practical ministry. If you want to make a difference, if you want to put the emotions you're feeling into action, if you just want to do something, start here. This is the real deal.