Category Archives: Motherhood

Pocket-Posting

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I have heard of pocket-dialing, but never before knew I could “pocket-post” a Letter to you!  That’s what happened yesterday.

Maybe you got an email in your in-box yesterday (if you are an “Email me!” subscriber) and it said, “Letters to Lindsey {New Post 4149}.”  Then you hurried to opened it, excitedly awaiting what brilliant words could be in that Letter. Would it be just for you? Would it make you laugh? Cry? How will this Letter, “vent, challenge, or simply entertain, but always leave the reader and the writer changed”?

You slid the knife in the envelope (clicked to open the email) and the body of the email mysteriously said, “Terri posted: ‘maps.apple.com’.”

“What’s the secret?” you thought. 

“What keen insight is she leading me into?”

“What is this strange code ‘maps.apple.com’?”

“Is she inviting me to her house for coffee?”

“Is this really her location?”

“Has she been kidnapped and is sharing her location with thousands of subscribers, just hoping that we will search and find her?”

“Is it a clue – somehow ways to parent or how to love a husband?”

“Wait! Is my link different than everyone else’s? Am I the ONLY one who got this glitch and everyone else got some fun blog post, but all I got was an ad for Apple Maps?”

“WHAT IS THIS POST?!!!”

But the truth of the matter is:

I was just as surprised as you when I received an email to myself saying that “I” had posted a blog!

WHAT?!!!!!!

So, here’s the story….

Chris and I were kayaking in the rain on the intracoastal of North Carolina. We enjoyed the slight drizzle and clouds that blocked the heat. Wind was gone, making for an (almost) effortless, peaceful ride. We had checked out the inlet between the islands and were making our way back to our summer home in Sunset Beach, using the incoming tide for a welcomed boost to our paddling. More than an hour into our trip, we decided to use my phone to navigate and thereby avoid a dead-end in the grass-bordered trails of water beyond which we could not see.   

map of water trails in the intracoastal

I set my phone down on my kayak and hoped its water-sealing was true to its hype. I glanced down ever-so-often to be sure our blue dot was heading in the direction of open water of the intracoastal. Once we recognized where we were, I put my phone back into my pocket.

That’s all I did.  Cross my heart! 

Upon arrival at our dock I received an email that “Terri” had posted a blog. I had evidently taken multi-tasking to a whole new level! Somehow, I had accomplished a bewildering amount of steps with only the movements of kayaking for inputs:

  •  I changed my location-sharing in settings, 
  • opened WordPress, 
  • clicked “write,” 
  • clicked copy location on the already-open Apple Maps, 
  • clicked paste? 
  • Clicked “publish,” which automatically emailed you and posted the link on Twitter, LinkedIn and LettersToLindsey Facebook page 

and voila! I had sent my location in North Carolina to people all over the world who were, most likely, not wondering at that moment where I happened to be or what I was doing.  

So what is the purpose of this Letter to Lindsey today?

  • Maybe to remind us of the power of the internet beyond our intentions? (I highly recommend the documentary, Social Dilemma.) 
  • Maybe to remind us to live a Godly life so that if it accidentally gets published to the world, it wouldn’t raise eyebrows?
  • Maybe to remind us to be a playmate to our spouse? (Chris and I started marriage as playmates – and do our best to keep that alive. Yesterday, it was in kayaks.)
  • Or maybe this Letter is just for fun, because sometimes it’s fun just to laugh at ME!

I laughed when I realized I had “pocket-posted”!

I laughed that within an hour I received a teasing email from my husband stating, “Great stuff over at Letters to Lindsey,” attaching his forwarded email from my blog, as if he were promoting it.

I laughed that WordPress sent me a notification shortly after, “Your stats are booming!” as if even WP was making fun of my day!

So, dear friend, I am sorry if I wasted your time clicking over here yesterday to see my “new post,” that was not a post. I guess I have officially stepped into grandparenthood, doing something like this – like when my mother accidentally posted on Facebook that she had picked a tattoo for every one of her friends. When I questioned her, she said, “I did what?!”

One comedian quipped, “My pocket has called so many people, I am thinking of getting it a phone of its own!” Maybe my pocket needs its own WordPress account.

But, I am glad my pocket posted, because it made me think of YOU.

And now I know it’s possible to tell the world where I am, in case I am ever kidnapped.

May your day be blessed, and worthy of broadcast,

Terri

PS. Here are some kayak-trip PHOTOS that my pocket must have forgotten to post:

Pelicans lined up to watch the exciting kayaks.

A mama egret and her babies

Me and my bae:)

The ocean view between the islands.

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Mom at the Base

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“Crime is down 29% every Mother’s Day,” my son informed me, leaving that warm-fuzzy feeling about how much boys must love their moms to not commit crimes on Mother’s Day.

“Must be the moms that are doing all of the crime!” He finished.

Ha!

Mother’s Day always has mixed feelings, doesn’t it? Grief over loss of my own mom. Grief for those who wish they could be moms and just can’t. Joyful gratitude for moms and their influence on society. Thankfulness for my kids giving me my own motherhood journey.

“Behind every great kid is a mom who’s pretty sure she’s screwing it up.”

– a dish towel at the mall

In soccer, stats are kept on 1. Goals scored and 2. Assisting the goals. (The “assist” statistical point is given to the last person who touched the ball before the goal-scorer got it.) The assistant to the assistant gets no credit! My boys are both midfielders. Sometimes they score goals; sometimes they assist goals; but more often than not, they are instrumental in moving the ball down the field and getting it to the right person, and their names are not even in the final list of stats, despite how grateful their teams are that they exist!

Moms are midfielders. We do all we can to get things aligned so hubbies and children alike can get all the “goals” for which they aim, and often we are barely visible… except maybe decreasing the crime rate one day a year. 😜

But one mom got my attention last week – “a mom at the base”. I don’t mean the base of a baseball field where she was running her own home-run. This mom was on the floor of the stage, “being” the bungee cord which had broken right when her daughter was about to perform.

It was the senior talent show, a replacement for the senior play which – like so much of my daughter’s junior and senior years – was cancelled in January due to Covid. Campbell Griffin (who will be drumming for Liberty University next year!) was decked out in her prom gown (Prom had been cancelled too), and ready to play a drum solo! It was such a unique act, which got more unique when her drums started to fall forward. She prevented “going out with a bang” by catching the drums in the nick of time with one hand and standing them upright with fierce prom-gown-hidden strength. However, she then had to stand holding them for them to remain upright.

I was watching from the piano on the side. I did the “mom move” of yelling to someone backstage to “come help her!” That’s when I saw the “ultimate mom move,” as a woman RAN from the back of the auditorium, leapt onto stage in a single bound (I think – but I didn’t count) and then knelt on the stage next to the wheeled platform that held the multiple drums. Looking up, she said, “Go ahead,” while she bowed her head (maybe to brace for the noise she was about to incur).

And Campbell played. Wow! Did she play! It was a great drum solo, and I hope her mom’s hearing has come back by now. My phone captured what I could from my side seat. It was too beautiful of a “mom-ent” to miss.

Campbell Griffin on the drums; Mom at the base.

Of course, what I haven’t mentioned yet is that Pam Griffin happens to also be Vice-Principal of the high school. In addition, she impressively received her doctorate from Carolina University just the week before. No job is too big or too small for this impressive “doctor,” and I love her wonderful representation of “mom” (my favorite title) for the Senior Talent Show.

Whether you are scoring the goal, assisting the goal, assisting the assistant to the goal or simply cheering from the sidelines, 

Whether you are playing the drums, holding the drums, paying for drum lessons or listening to the incessant drum-practice,

Whether you are the vice-principal, the newest doctor in town or a mom like me who relates to the wise dish towel above,

May you be blessed this Mother’s Day and always.

Thankful,

Terri

“The home is a place where the mother impacts every member of society, teaching them respect for authority, virtues, relational skills, compassion, honesty, and the application of biblical truth to life.”– Stephen Davey

Proverbs 31:28 Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.

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Love Song for Mom

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Dear Lindsey,

Motherhood has probably never been so gratifying as when my teen and adult “kids” collaborated and publicly performed a song about their love for ME!  (WOW! Video below.) Did you know (yet) that your kids love and appreciate you?! Let me tell you: they do! – whether or not they let you know.

Does your heart melt like mine when Garth Brooks and Scotty McCreery sing about their moms? It is as though we long to hear our kids’ feedback.  Will they ever IMG_4482notice our work?  Do they care about their exhausted, frizzy-haired “taxi-driver” yelling at them from the front seat on the way to the endless tournaments and practices?  Will their stiff hugs ever soften to enjoyment for longer than 0.25 milliseconds? Do my sideline cheering and encouraging words ever make it through their ears or make a difference? Do they know how much I love them? I think Scotty ought to be hunting my son down right now to get his hands on this song! 🙂

I have heard that the best way to tell your kids you love them is to have them overhearView album “Videos” you tell others how much you love them. (But beware:  I am guessing the opposite is true too – our kids feel unloved if they overhear us telling others complaints about them!) I got to experience this “indirect LOVE” first hand from my four kids when they sang to a crowd about their love for me! Not only did my oldest son write a song for me (WHAT?!!! And I am happy he has written many for his wife too!), but then he was sweet enough to invite his siblings to share the spotlight when they sang about their “first love” in front of a group of my friends at my 50th.

Girlfriend, this song is for YOU. Providing encouragement for the journey, it shows that

  1. Motherhood is valuable,

  2. Kids are thankful (even when they don’t show it yet), and

  3. God is raising our kids despite our failures! (Because the Lord knows there are many!).

These lyrics remind us that our calling in motherhood is so much higher and longer than the diapers and bottles.

Originally an idea of Casey and Nate (then ages 20 and 17) and sung by them for my 48thbirthday in the music nook of our house with our intimate family, this song made my heart melt right down my cheeks. What a special gift! They upped their game when the other siblings joined and sang for the crowd.

If you have read many Letters to Lindsey, then you are already acquainted with these singers from their younger years: The “Tea Party Fashionista” (Christine) starts it off with harmony provided by the youngest brother of “Fishing For Memories” (J.R.). Next up, “Ronaldo” (Nate) brings in the bass, while the “Pianist ” (Casey) closes it out with his turn on chorus. It was truly a magical gift from a magical bunch of young adults, all of whom I could not love more.

How could I possibly deserve a present so incredibly, over the top, untouchably, beyond-my-dreams perfect?! I couldn’t. I don’t. I still stand amazed at this gift.

Frankly, I still stand amazed that I get to be a mom – their mom. After years of infertility and then the later brain tumor, I don’t take the gift of motherhood for granted.  I wish no one would.

 

 

Love Song for Mom

By Casey Brady

Dec. 20, 2017

The first hand I held on a cold winter’s night

The first time I hurt, she held me oh so tight.

When I’m just not sure, she looks into my eyes,

She knows just what to say to make everything alright.

And I know wherever I may go, she’ll always be there for me.

The first love never truly fades away.

It’s a kiss goodnight, a sad goodbye and a hug that takes too long.

This is a love song for Mom.

When the laughs were all around, she was always smilin’

When the tears were fallin’ down, she’d have Band-aids on the island.

All the tournaments and practice, I don’t know how she did it;

But when she cheered, I tell you this, we knew we could win it.

And I know wherever I may go, she’ll always be there for me.

The first love never truly fades away.

It’s a kiss goodnight, a sad goodbye and a hug that takes too long.

This is a love song for Mom.

Birthdays, bikes and hard falls

Dirty clothes and soccer balls

Years of teaching right and wrong

Patience ‘cause we took so long.

And I know wherever I may go, she’ll always be there for me.

The first love never truly fades away.

It’s a kiss goodnight, a sad goodbye and a hug that takes too long.

This is a love song…

And I know wherever I may go, she’ll always be there for me.

The first love never truly fades away.

It’s a family night, a cherry pie, or a drive that takes too long.

This is a love song for Mom.

This is a love song for Mom.

©Casey Brady 2017

 

IMG_9348Now that young composer is married to a mom who will be celebrating her first Mother’s Day this week. If there were any line of the song with which I disagree (and it makes me cry every time), it is “patience ‘cause we took so long.” In retrospect, one thing is sure about this young man and his siblings’ childhood: it was a flash of time: a beautiful, God-painted, gloriously-colored, unpredictable, flash of time, and I thank God for allowing me to live it with them.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Terri

Col 3:4 But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection.

For more music by Casey Brady:

 

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The Best Present: Being Present

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Dear Lindsey,

“Sometimes I feel like… somebody’s watching me!” so the song goes! I loved when my husband put that as background music on Instagram (@CBrascal) to a video of my dog watching him through the window. LOL! Is there ever a time that “I feel like somebody’s watching me!” is a good thing?

YESSSS!

-when parents watch their kids! I don’t mean watching them at the playground to keep them safe, (though they should). I don’t mean watching kids do their chores (though I suppose it’s one way to make sure it’s done properly).   I mean a distinct moment in my teen years, when my dad’s love transcended responsibility.

At seventeen, I was a serious musician, though I would not have described myself that

sax pic

2016 Church “retro” band

way. My music teachers would tell me that they had practiced 6-8 hours/day, so my measly 2 seemed like I was less than a musician, but looking back, I realize that I could probably have called myself a musician anyway. There were many hours up in that bedroom on my saxophone. Whether it was preparing for a competition, learning new music or just enjoying music the way I do, I was alone. A lot.

The first day it happened, I was taken off guard. My dad came into my room and sat on my bed, waiting for me to finish my song. At a break, I asked what he wanted. His reply made me laugh at the time.

“Nothing. I am just here to listen.”

If my dad were a musician, I might have thought he had ulterior motives of judging me.  (because don’t all teens feel like they are being judged?) But this is the man who said he had no musical ability, because he had given it all to his kids. He often quipped that the only instrument he played was the radio.

 

“Listen to what?” I asked.

“You,” He said.

“Me? Do what?”

“Play the saxophone.”

“Well, what do you want me to play?”

“A song. Or scales. Or whatever you want. Just go on. I am just here.”

 

So I began to play. Doesn’t someone’s enjoying what you enjoy make what you enjoy so much more… enjoyable?

I am no linguisticologist, but I do make up words like that one. Similar to en-courage in a former letter, “En-joy,” seems like it would mean “putting joy into” something, although its meaning usually implies getting joy out of something. My dad’s “enjoying” my music was actually “putting joy into” me. Don’t you just love that?!

Kids spell “love,” “t-i-m-e”.  One author says that speaking love to kids doesn’t mean just spending time with them but spending time with them doing what THEY love. My dad’s time that day was stopping his busy schedule to join mine. We weren’t playing duets. He wasn’t giving me requests. He was “just there.”

This habit of him sitting on my bed while I practiced became a daily event. I would go through more songs, more scales, more ideas, just to have him stay. Soon, he added requests, “I’ll buy you a steak dinner if you learn ‘Yakety Sax!’” I loved the challenge, even though I didn’t play that kind of saxophone.

Eventually, he joined my world in a different way.  To wish me luck on a performance, he would sign my saxophone reed before I walked out the door. He chose the words: “Good luck, Saxy Lady,” which made us both laugh.

I doubt my dad loved scales. I don’t know if he loved a saxophone playing alone in the house.

But I know he loved me.

—

Now, when I read my daughter’s writing, watch my son’s soccer workout, see my youngest soar in the air on a wakeboard or listen to a story that I don’t quite understand all the way, I often think of my dad. I hope my love as a parent speaks as loudly as my dad’s: “Just go on. I am just here.” Being present is the best present.

 

 

Blessings,

“Saxy” Terri

“Being there” for my 50th
“Being there” with my kids
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Reserved for Bob

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Dear Lindsey,

Anyone who fishes knows that fishing with kids is a totally different game. I love having my kids along, but when the boys were 6 and 9, their tangled lines, broken lures and snags on land-growing trees usually took so much of my time that I didn’t get to fish.  So for Mother’s Day one year, my husband treated me to a 4-hour fishing guide in the Florida flats!

I began my search for a fishing charter captain at my favorite tackle shop, closest to our house (in Florida at the time). The shop-owner was on the phone when I arrived, so I busied myself looking at the shirts and hats bearing the store’s name. That’s when I heard him on the phone saying (ironically!), “NO!!! Don’t make me take that charter! I hate fishing with girls! That’s torture!”

I quietly left the store, never booking the trip, unbeknownst to the man who missed the sale. (and missed the sail – if I wanted a pun. 🙂 ) He doesn’t know what he missed!

Another marina I really liked, Jensens on Captiva, was a bit of a drive (or boat) away. On 9865605_orighot boating days, our family would often stop there for ice cream or a soda. There was a sign in the parking lot that said, “Reserved for Bob.” I didn’t know who “Bob” was, or if it was a joke, but he seemed pretty important to have his own professionally-made sign.

The man at the counter was excited to help me when I told him I was looking for a fishing guide. I asked if I could take my 6 and 9-year-old boys, and he said that some captains prefer no kids, but he thought “Bob” would be fine with it.

“Bob”? THE Bob? I booked, “Bob,” for the following Thursday at 7am.

The day arrived, and Casey, Nate and I loaded up the car, while Chris stayed home with the still-sleeping toddlers. We arrived dockside by 6:50am, so we wouldn’t miss any minutes of our fishing day! The boys and I loved to look at the live bait in the outside wells there.  Fishing captains came in fancy sea-going boats with outriggers galore and outriggers_trolling_spread_how-to02stocked their live-wells with the baitfish, while their clients loaded. Groups of men and even a few couples came, found their assigned captains and loaded their chartered boats for their day at sea.

We waited.

I built the boys’ dream, “Imagine what we could catch today! Do you think that one will catch a big one?” I asked, pointing to the largest of the pin fish in the bait well. That’s when I noticed things were getting quiet at Jensen’s Marina. It seemed like all of the fishing boats had come and gone.

We waited.

Finally, at 7:30, thirty minutes past our meeting time, and eons since the last captain had left, I decided to ask if we were in the right place. The man behind the desk said, “Oh… Bob. You have Bob? Yeah… he’ll be here.”

I took this to mean that Bob was “usually” late.

Doubting began. I didn’t doubt that Bob would be there; I doubted that he was a good captain for our boat. “Usually” late? Wait – is that why he needed his parking spot reserved? Ugh.

Maybe he is the last on the list to take people out – and that’s why he got “stuck” with the “girl” and kids. Reality came to mind that this could possibly be a total scam. They just got some homeless guy and said I’d give him money if he pretended to fish for the day.

We waited… impatiently.

7:37. An unfitting boat pulled up to the dock near where we stood. The boat looked older than I. Ten years of grime had changed its color, making the original undistinguishable. The morning’s dew combined with the previous day’s slime to make a nasty swirl and stench. A dead crab and another unidentifiable animal lay in the corner where they had slid when the boat moved. The driver was probably fifty, but difficult to guess because of his sun-beaten skin. No hat. I wondered what this man was doing at a place like Jensens. Gas, I assumed. Yep, he filled up while the boys and I watched and tried not to stare, looking into the horizon for our chartered captain’s arrival.

little-fishing-boat-stranded-wet-sand-low-tide-90786222

Not really Bob’s boat, but…

He finished his gas duty, then turned to me and said, “You all can load up.”

Wait. What? Get on THAT thing?! This is “THE Bob”? No way. Can’t do it. Dis-gus-ting!

“Great!” both boys shouted and ran to his umm… boat.  I must admit, I was so turned off, but noticing how my boys were not made me try to adjust my attitude so I didn’t ruin theirs.

“Bob,” he said, offering a hand as we climbed aboard.

“Casey,” the 9-yr-old said, taking his hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake.

“Ronaldo,” Nate said, since that’s what he wanted to be called those days. (See the story in my previous letter.)

“Terri,” I said, not offering to remove my shoes like normal boat protocol. I didn’t have to ask how he knew that we were his clients. We were the only “mom and two kids,” on the dock. Well actually, we were the only ones on the dock.

We set out into the water, when I realized that we didn’t get bait. Maybe he caught his own? I had a glimmer of hope that he knew what he was doing.

“Did you want to get live bait?” I asked, gesturing toward the dock we were leaving.

“No,” he said simply, not giving me the satisfaction of an explanation. Just, “no.”

He drove and the devil and angel on my shoulders conversed across my brain, attempting to win the battle for my attitude and belief that this day would be worth the money.

I couldn’t believe it when we stopped the boat still in sight of Jensens. I had been there a million times. We were not trolling like all of the fishing boats I had seen leaving the dock earlier.

He took out the “bait.” It was not alive. It looked like a hook from Walmart on which he had painted a head with red nail polish and an eye of black marker. $0.57 for a pack of ten, I cynically did math in my head. He put NO bait on this homemade “masterpiece,” just threw it over the side of the boat. I was getting mad at his lack of aptitude as a “professional”.

“I got something!” Casey said before the second line could go into the water.  He reeled in a ladyfish. I chuckled at the luck of it… first cast!

I enjoyed his excitement while “Ronaldo” dropped his unbaited hook over the edge.

“Got one!” he yelled, while Bob worked at returning Casey’s fish to the water.

Do fish like red nail polish? Or Walmart hooks? Who knew?!

I dropped my line in to the same success. “Fish on!”

We cast.

We caught.

We cast.

We caught.

We cast.

We caught.

“We’ve never had a day of catching like this with YOU, Mom!”

Ouch. That hurt.

Other boats were making a beeline for our area. Big fancy ones. Trollers with high bridges.  Boats full of men out for the day headed toward our little spot in view of the marina.

Nothing.

They caught nothing! All their live bait, all their fancy apparati, and they caught nothing.  (Why did I sinfully enjoy that?!)

“Let’s feed the dolphins,” Bob said.

I thought to myself, You gotta be kidding. You have baitfish somewhere on here, but you are giving it to the dolphins instead of using it to fish?!

That’s when Bob took Casey’s latest ladyfish off of his line, walked four steps to the other

dolphin s head in the surface

side of the boat, and held it over the side. A dolphin magically appeared and jumped out of the water for the fish.

We caught fish on the left and held them as snacks for the dolphins on the right for what seemed like hours. I felt like I was in some “Snow White does SeaWorld” dream.

Bob is a fish-whisperer!

However, ladyfish are easy and common. They don’t fight much. (I always thought “ladyfish” was a misnomer for that reason.) They are perfect for kid fun, but not good eating for anyone but dolphins.

“You like snapper?” Bob looked directly at me.

“I like fish… any kind!” I said, beginning to crack a smile.

He moved the boat over what felt like ten yards (or was it a circle? I don’t know: it all looked the same, still in sight of the Marina), and tossed in the same nail-polished bait, waited a minute and fish-on!

The tug was different, definitely not a “lady.” Sure enough, the red color could be seen through the water. Snapper for dinner! We caught those till we had enough when Captain Bob said, “Let’s see what the mackerels are up to today.”

“Casey and Ronaldo, the way we catch a mackerel is different than the others,” he explained in a full-out knowledgeable tone. Maybe he wasn’t a random homeless guy! “We can’t just drop the hook off the side of the boat. We’re going to cast it as far as we can, then jerk it up and down with the biggest arm motion we can make.”

“Ronaldo” went first. Bob did the casting to get it a good distance from the boat, but my son did the yanking – up and down and up and down. It looked like some kind of weird African dance that would certainly be too jerky for a fish. Then…

“ZZZZZIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!” something hit and RAN! (or “swam?!”)

“Mackerel.” Captain Bob said, not showing much emotion, not even adding the “holy” in front of it.

Nate reeled and reeled, but the zing of the line indicated that the fish was still swimming away and not getting any closer to the boat.

“Come on, Nate! You can do it!” I cheered from the boat.  This fish had to be a giant, the way it was fighting!

“I thought his name was Ronaldo?” Captain Bob gave me a strange look.

“Nickname,” I said, baffling Bob, I am sure.

Nate reeled and reeled and eventually, the fish succumbed to his beckon. A mackerel, just as Captain Bob predicted before the cast.

We cast.

We caught.

We cast.

We caught.

ZIIINNNNGGGG! Over and over.

 

The four-hour-trip felt like thirty minutes. We headed back to the marina, which I could still see!

The dolphins followed us a bit before heading off to the ocean. As we approached the

white and grey pelican perched on red railing

dock, pelicans came and landed right on our boat! (I couldn’t help but notice they were not on anyone else’s boat!) Captain Bob pulled up to the fish-cleaning table and the pelicans practically got in line behind him. (I couldn’t help but notice nobody else had fish to clean.) Bob threw the scraps the pelicans were expecting.

Without looking up from his cutting, Bob said nonchalantly, “They’re gonna lose their bait.”

I looked around wondering who he meant and whether I was supposed to do something. That’s when out of nowhere, an otter exited the water, climbed onto the dock, then onto someone’s empty boat, opened their cooler with his nose and began taking the bait out – one fish at a time!!! WHAT?!  How did Captain Bob know? How did he see the otter coming? How did he know that boat had something in its cooler?

I asked if I should stop the otter from taking the fish, and he said something like, “If

dewgong on body of water

they’re dumb enough to leave their cooler unlocked, then they deserve it.”

I blackened the mackerel on the grill for dinner. Yummm!  Well worth its price!

Fish

Dolphins

Pelicans

Otters

The kids and I had the time of our lives! Bob is a genius! He deserves a parking place of his own!!

Besides the fun animal-sightings of the day (including a raccoon on our early morning drive), there were other takeaways for me:

  1. Don’t judge a book by its cover or a captain by his boat – or you might miss a really great story!
  2. Don’t ask someone to guide you, and then doubt their every move. Why bother having a guide if you know everything? Enjoy the ride, and judge the catch.
  3. When people start doubting my own guiding, I can give them some grace; afterall, I have had my doubts en route to my “Reserved for Bob” sign.
  4. Girls can fish too.

 

Love ya,

Terri

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John 21: 3-7: 3“I’m going out to fish,” Simon Peter told them, and they said, “We’ll go with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.  4Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus.  5He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?”  “No,” they answered.  6He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish.

7Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Making of a Name

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Dear Lindsey,

Six-year-old Nate spoke from the backseat of the car, with his take-charge voice, “Mom, can we stop at the name-changing place on the way home today?”

Stifling my laughter with my mom-smile, I asked him what he meant. He clarified, “I’d like to change my name, so if we could stop by there, I’ve decided what I want it to be.”

You’ve got to love his choleric style! No apologies for dissing the name that my husband and I painstakingly decided hours after his emergency birth on the hard-wood floor (a whole story in itself!). No sandwiching it with, “I love the gift of the biblical name, but I was considering I might take a new one.” Simply, “Let’s stop by that ‘name-changing place’ so I can do better.”

“What name would you want instead of ‘Nathaniel’?” my curiosity was piqued.

With the sincerity of asking a waitress for salt, he said, “I want to change it to Ronaldo.”

Today, I barely have to describe who Ronaldo is, but in 2006 when this statement occurred, Cristiano Ronaldo was just coming onto the scene of our newly formed soccer-fan eyes. Nate was sure he was worthy of the name.  I hated to shatter his dream. “Sorry, bud. There is no such thing as a name changing place. But if you want that to be your nick-name, you could probably just start using it and see if it sticks.”

We pulled into the IHOP parking lot.

With Chris gone on business, the kids and I enjoyed a morning out. We ordered our food and began some intense coloring on the kid-menu placemats to entertain the 1 and 3-year-olds while we waited. An older woman watched from the adjacent booth. I wondered if she was musing about her own motherhood memories. I wondered if I would ever have time to muse.

She interrupted our coloring.  “What a lovely family,” she said.  My kids sat straight up, basking in her attention. “What are your names?” she asked with a smile.

“Casey,” my oldest, age 9, said with the confidence of the man of the family that morning.

“Steen,” Christine answered in her 3-yr-old lisp.

“mm mm,” JR, less than two, shook his head “no,” unwilling to speak, so I said, “J.R.” for him and removed the two fingers from his mouth where they tended to reside in shyness. She touched his curly hair in admiration before looking anticipatingly at Nate.

He cleared his throat and paused a second. “Ronaldo,” Nate said with a matter-of-fact-announcing tone.

I choked. I didn’t want to explain to her his real name and hurt his feelings; I didn’t want her to see me laughing and think I was making fun of something. So, I smiled what I am sure was a bigger-than-normal smile, a dam holding back the flood of a story.

She repeated the names, as if pensively pausing on each one: “Casey, Christine, J.R. and Ronaldo.”

Could she tell one was different?I wondered and then dismissed the thought.

“It is SUCH a pleasure to meet you. You be good for your mama and enjoy your breakfast. Thank you for talking with me.” She left.

From that moment on, all of his first-grade math papers bore the name, “Ronaldo.” His water bottles were labeled with “R,” instead of “N.” He never corrected any of us family from calling him Nathaniel, but any time he introduced himself to strangers, he confidently let them know his name was the same as his hero of the time, “Ronaldo.”

I don’t really remember how long the “Ronaldo” name thing lasted, but long enough that it still brings a smile.

Fast forward to August 2017, when Nate (age 17) was invited to play with the Generation Adidas team in Madrid, Spain. Because he was going to Europe anyway, a friend thought Nate might be a good fit for a team in France who was willing to take a look, so Nate headed over a few weeks early to play in France. Not knowing a lick of the language didn’t stop Nate any more than not knowing that name-changing places are not on every corner. The international language of soccer sufficed. Whether France or Spain, one word seemed to be spoken when people saw him: “Ronaldo!” Ironically, Nate’s looks (and hopefully soccer playing) remind many of Cristiano Ronaldo. Nate didn’t tell them his “secret name,” haha, it was just said… a lot… to his face and behind his back. He didn’t know French or Spanish, but he knew the name, “Ronaldo,” in every language.

From youth, Nate has spoken of going to play professional soccer in Europe. His entire life has had many early mornings of watching games from faraway time zones.  (I used to think he was going to have a British accent, because he always played with his soccer guys toy, as a British commentator!).

Speaking it into existence, Nate is currently today on his first leg of the journey, the flight to Paris. I suppose that could be a metaphor for his adult life. This “first leg of the journey” will begin in St. Brieuc, France, where he will live and train with the ranks of the soccer club, Stade Briochin.  Our friend, Dario Brose played there during his professional soccer career and thought it would be a great fit for Nate. His crash course in French is underway; his new cleats – including the required soft ground ones – arrived in time for departure; and my eyes are a little blurry while I write. I am excited to see what time will tell as he branches out to “make a name for himself.”

In a letter I hid in his suitcase (maybe he will find it after he reads this blog, haha), I told him that this is truly an answer to prayer. I didn’t pray that he would move thousands of miles away from me. I didn’t even pray that he would have a career in playing the sport he loves. I prayed that God would make him a man after God’s own heart in whatever His ways are. I am excited He chose soccer. I am proud of the man who is going to the other side of the ocean to live what God intended him to live and be who God intended him to be. After all, one day, some little boy somewhere might ask his mom to change his name to Nathaniel…. like the soccer player…and the one in the Bible. 🙂

Love ya,

Terri

John 1:47-48 Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward Him, and said to him, “Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no deceit!” and Nathanael said to Him, “How do You know me?”

Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths.

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Audiobook Available: Letters to Lindsey

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L2L Audio

Hey!

I just wanted to give you a heads up that the Audiobook of Letters to Lindsey is available! Imagine: driving around town, pop in the CD’s, listen, laugh, cry, and don’t wreck!  Though I had fun making the recording by reading aloud the stories of my children as, well, children, (since now they seem so grown up!), the MOST fun was listening to KIDS read the fun kid quotes from the book!

“Why didn’t you have your own kids read the quotes?” someone asked. Well, because my “children” are MEN! and have men’s voices now! My youngest (age 13!) plays the part of the oldest in the readings, but the younger quotes needed some voiceovers!

Here is a snippet of one of the readers, Teylyr Frey, knocking it out of the park by reading a couple “kid quotes” from the book.

I hope you enjoy the book… again –  in audio form!

 

Happy listening,

Terri

 

Family Favorites… Book List

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My letter on Summer Reading sparked the idea to ask my kids what their favorite books were that they would recommend to others. Some are their books that they chose at the store with their own money. Others are books they have chosen from our “assigned Summer Reading.” I didn’t edit the list to communicate what I thought was important, but left the lists exactly as they wrote them, to leave the purity of the child’s desire there, instead of inserting this homeschooling mom’s heart. Though the ages listed are their current ages, some of these “favorites” were read in their younger years.

J.R. (age 11):

Christine (age 13)

Nate (age 16)

Casey (age 19)

I asked my kids for permission to use their names (or if they preferred that I leave their list anonymous), and they all said, “yes,” except one, who clarified:

“You have my permission to use my name in conjunction with all of the aforementioned information, along with any other information that may be prevalent to the purpose of the article, under the condition that I am properly referred to and quoted under all standard blog and MLA guidelines and format.”

..just in case you wondered. 🙂

Since my husband, Chris Brady, is an author along with our close friend and business partner, Orrin Woodward, I didn’t want to miss the chance to plug some of their books which would be great for summer reading, or homeschool curriculum or family book discussions. Here are a few of my favorites from our family’s discussions:

I have one last list to mention! I recently came across the reading list for the Torrey Honors Institute within BIOLA University. Any child or adult could benefit from reading this list of books! Check it out here.

Read well to lead well,

Terri

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Summer Reading is Like Underwear

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My active four-year-old son decided it was easier to change pants later than use the toilet when it called. I can remember stressing out about it, writing in my prayer journal, and reading books to see what I was doing wrong. I finally came to the realization, that he would figure it out before he started driving a car, (or we wouldn’t give him the keys) so I needed to relax and let him get it right at his own speed!

This same child had issues with material. It all itched, or felt uncomfortable. It was hard to keep him in PJ’s, since he liked the freedom of his birthday suit. (This was strange to me that he didn’t mind wet pants while riding a bike for hours, but hated wearing the “wrong material” shirt to bed.)  Once at a public park, I noticed a little too much “information” poking out the back of his pants, plumber-style, and realized he wasn’t even wearing underwear! Since this had happened more than once that week, I finally said, “Bud!! What is up with the no-underwear thing?! Do you EVER wear underwear?”

“Yes. On Fridays,” he said.

That was his reply. What?! Why?! Who told you that you could do that? And the rest of the “W” questions came to mind, but not one did I ask. I simply explained that we wear underwear. Every day. Including Fridays!

In our house, we wanted reading to be like underwear: a part of every-day-life!
We love to take the summer off of school schedules, but that doesn’t mean the summer off of Summer Reading 1learning.  Summer reading bends well to allowing the freedom of choice: no homeschool curriculum to follow; no test for which to study; simply reading! Chris and I enjoy our summer reading assignments for our kids so much, that we are almost insulted when their teachers (our older kids go to a Christian high school while the younger ones homeschool) assign “summer reading”. We like it when we get to choose topics!

WHY summer reading?

Reasons for summer reading:

  1. Habits made when they are “off school” as children could plant seeds for habits they create when they are “off school” more permanently as adults.
  2. Silently reading during the summer is a time when they are not fighting with each other. (not that my kids would ever do that…)
  3. The content of the books can be targeted specifically per child, not necessarily what Summer Reading 5an entire class or curriculum demands.
  4. Topics they didn’t understand during the year may be expounded upon for better understanding. (OK, I have never done this, but it sounded so good in the list of reasons, I decided to include it anyway.)
  5. Fictional books that would never make the school list make for a fun time reading – which subconsciously improves writing, and increases the pleasure of reading.
  6. Vacation travel time turns into reading time instead of screen time.
  7. It gives moms and dads time to read. 😊 Why not pop some popcorn and sit with books instead of a movie?
  8. Reading looks more fun in a hammock or next to the campfire, than when it is squished between homework assignments at the table, giving it a better light for the future.
  9. One hour/day completes four books in a month of the average adult reader. Three or four books for a summer is doable even if the child has a summer job or wants lots of outdoor playtime.
  10. Sometimes our entire family reads the same book, making for nice conversation at the dinner table when everyone knows the topic. (Like “Gifted Hands” by Ben Carson or “Toughen Up” by Claude Hamilton.)

HOW to do summer reading?

The specifics are not important, because I know you can figure it out for your family, but Summer REading 3in general, Chris picks out a stack of books for each child, and hands it to them before the school year ends. If they are not done with “summer reading” by August 1st, it becomes their priority before they can go outside. (Note: everybody has always been done by August 1st, so we have never had to exercise this.) As usual, screen time would totally take away from reading time, so it is a plus that video games and television are extremely limited in our house, regardless of the season. We do not assign a time or daily reading, or it would turn into feeling like homework. We do not pay them to read or it might turn into a job. We do not make it extremely challenging, or it would feel like the stack is just too huge. It is a combination of pleasure reading with thought-provoking content, but truly all habit-forming, so once they learn to read, they can read to learn anything for the rest of their lives. They of course can also read books we haven’t assigned as “summer reading,” but the idea of assigning three or four is to expand upon what they already know they like.

My dream is that as they grow up and leave the house, they would write home and ask dad what his summer reading assignment would be… but I may just be dreaming.

What to read?

I thought you might ask, so I found pictures of their stacks from a few years ago – and those are shown in the margins above. Come back tomorrow for a letter with a list of their favorites. I even have my own stack going, though mine does not only exist in the summer! A parent’s love [or hate] of reading will be contagious, whether we want it to influence them or not; my example carries further than my words, so my reading stack is almost as important as theirs. Summer Reading 6

In addition to picking art-stories for our little artist and sports biographies for our sports-enthusiasts, we introduce the kids to some sailing stories or historical fiction to increase the breadth of their reading and topics for conversation. Faith-based non-fiction is an important aspect as well. Summer reading can be kind of the catch-all to throw in what we want to make sure they catch before they leave the house as adults. So how long do they have to read? …until they “get” to read. Summer reading is just one more way to remind them that reading is a good thing – and not one from which we need a break.

Happy reading-every-day, including Fridays… and summers!

Terri

(cartoon featured image by Christine Brady)

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Waiting for the Other Shoe

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Dear Lindsey

He got in the car and said, “Has anybody seen my other shoe?”  We were on our way to church for our bi-weekly geography class with other homeschoolers.

“You got in the car wearing only one shoe?!” I said, changing my mood from fun Miss Frizzle to Miss Frazzled as we rushed down the road, trying to gain the minutes we had lost by leaving late.

“NO. I was carrying TWO shoes when I go into the car, but now ONE is gone! Christine!” he blamed his sister for not looking hard enough.

Seeing her reading in the front seat, I got her attention: “Christine, if you lost your own shoe, you would appreciate others helping to look. Please look.”

She looked under and around her seat; no black tennis shoe with neon orange laces was found, so she returned to reading.

We got to church. Still no shoe.

We got out of the car and my son slithered over the tops and under the seats, contorting his body to every nook and cranny of the vehicle, but still no shoe.

“Well you will just have to wear your socks to class today. It’s OK – homeschoolers are used to it,” I joked.

As we walked from the parking lot, many of their friends were in the church yard kicking a soccer ball.  Next to the door, there were two Crocs (shoes) waiting for their owner to claim them before re-entering the building.

“Look! One of those soccer kids took off his shoes! You can wear them and see how long it takes him to notice!” I jested – hoping to improve my son’s mood before we got into the building.

That’s when he surprised me the most….

“THERE’S MY CROCS!  I WAS WONDERING WHERE I HAD LEFT THEM!” He ran crocs-at-church and put on the shoes that were sitting outside of the church’s backdoor…. presumably for the past two weeks since our last geography class when we had used that entrance.

I can’t say I have ever gone to a church with shoes on and gone home without them.  I started to ask questions as to how exactly that happened and decided it was best just to laugh, because I was going to anyway!

I asked J.R. if I could share this story on my blog. (I don’t like to publish things that my kids would not want to be shared.) He said, “I guess, if you think it would help someone.” (Ha! So sweet!)

I asked him how he thought it could help someone… or if it was just a story that would make us laugh – which is what the three of us were doing when we saw the Crocs.

He said, “Well you could tell people that sometimes when you think you lost something, God is just saving it for the right time.”

Perfect.

  • When you lose that house you wanted because of someone else’s offer: wait – God might have the perfect one waiting in the perfect timing.
  • When you lose the opportunity to be on that team because you are not big enough:  wait – God might have the perfect team on hold for the perfect time.
  • When you lose that job you thought you would have forever:  just wait – God might have the perfect job (or one you lost before) to offer at the time when you need it most.

Or when you lose your shoe – just know that God might have another complete pair waiting for you to find at just the right place and just the right time.

Feel free to start a comment below with “when you lose” if you have a time when God gave you your other “shoe” at just the perfect time.

Blessings,

Terri (and J.R.)

Isaiah 55:8 “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.

P.S. In case you were wondering: When we arrived home after class, his other shoe was found lying in the foyer where he must have dropped it en route to the car.

found-shoe

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