The Sugar Cookie Diet

You've heard of the Atkins diet, the African Mango diet, the South Beach diet, the diet where you eat only chicken Ceasar salads (minus the best parts--croutons and dressing), liquid diets, diet pills, diet shakes, but have you yet heard of the Sugar Cookie Diet?  Yes, that's right, the sugar cookie diet, invented by a ingenious stay-at-home mom who has discovered marvellous secrets of diet and body chemistry through the sugar cookie.

Here's how it works--

1.  Make yourself some sugar cookies, from scratch, with lots of butter and sugar, which we all know have been influences in diet for thousands of years.  

2.  Ice the sugar cookies with lots of icing.  Add sprinkles for an extra helping of sugar.   Icing is linked to happiness--more sugar, more happiness.

3.  Reduce the amount of food you normally eat, and substitute sugar cookies for said food.  Sugar cookies are better to eat than spinach, as everyone knows.

4.  Enjoy your cookies.  They are the perfect breakfast food, lunch food, or dinner food.  If you wonder what to snack on, you have the answer in the name of the diet--sugar cookies.

The "fine" print:  (Be sure you want to know before continuing. . . ) This diet is a great way to enjoy the holidays, and I would recommend adopting it around any holiday that could be used as an excuse to make sugar cookies . . . BUT. . .It won't actually help you lose weight (Shocking, I know.)

Since this diet is so fantastic and so incredibly successful as a tool to modify food intake, at some point, this diet will probably be published, and you will have to pay to get this expertise.  Be sure that you take full advantage of this amazing system of changing your diet before The Sugar Cookie Diet is refined it into a system that is actually workable for those that want to lost weight.  Go ahead; enjoy the Sugar Cookie Diet before the good parts are extracted (that would be the sugar cookies).

As you've probably guessed, I am the infamous, I mean ingenious, stay-at-home mom who invented the Sugar Cookie Diet.  This is the "diet" that I adopt during the two weeks around Christmas every year.  In case you are wondering, yes, I gained a few pounds, (and have lost  most of them again. Just eliminating sugar cookies and adding the spinach back will do the trick.)  Let me know how your implementation of the Sugar Cookie Diet goes, though I can probably guess . . .

A belated merry Christmas, happy New Year, and an early happy Valentines Day to all you fellow sugar cookie junkies out there. Just to make sure that you don't run out of opportunities to enjoy the Sugar Cookie Diet, here is a list of major holidays for 2012.

January	1 New Year's Day 4 Trivia Day 6 Feast of the Epiphany- Three Kings Day 13 Friday the 13th 16 Martin Luther King's Birthday - observed on 16th this year. 23 Chinese New Years It's the Year 4710! 25 Opposite Day 26 Australia Day
February	2 Groundhog's Day 5 Super Bowl Sunday , Superbowl XLV 12 Lincoln's Birthday 14 Valentines Day 15 Singles Awareness Day -  Are you single or in between relations? Then, this day is for you! 20 Hoodie-Hoo Day 20 President's Day 21 Mardi Gras(Fat Tuesday) 22 Ash Wednesday 22 Washington's Birthday 26 Oscar Night 29 Leap Day - It's this year!
March	8 International Women's Day 8 Purim begins at sundown 11 Daylight Savings Begins at 2:00 a.m. 15 Ides of March 17 St. Patrick's Day 20 Spring (Vernal) Equinox 20 International Earth Day - also called Sun-Earth Day 25 Feast of the Annunciation
April	1 April Fool's Day 1 Palm Sunday 1 International Tatting Day 6 Good Friday 6 National Walk to Work Day 1st Friday 7 Passover begins at sundown, lasts 8 days. 8 Easter Sunday 13 Friday the 13th 15 Income taxes due 16 Patriot's Day Third Monday 22 Earth Day (U.S.) 25 Administrative Professionals Day formerly "Secretaries Day" 26 Take Your Daughter to Work Day 4th Thursday 27 Arbor Day always the last Friday in April
May	1 May Day 5 Cinco de Mayo 6 National Teacher's Day 8 VE Day, WW II 13 Mother's Day 19 Armed Forces Day -third Saturday 24 Victoria Day (Canada) 28 Memorial Day
June	6 D Day, WWII 14 Flag Day 17 Father's Day - third Sunday 19 Juneteenth Day 20 Summer Solstice (The longest day of the year!)
July	1 Canada Day (Dominion Day) 4 Independence Day 13 Friday the 13th 20 Ramadan begins 22 Hammock Day ...relax and enjoy! 27 Summer Olympics Opening Ceremony - not until 2012
August	3 National Watermelon Day 10 National S'mores Day 13 Left Hander's Day 14 V-J Day 15 Feast of the Assumption 15 World Youth Day date varies widely 30 National Marshmallow Toasting Day
September	2 VJ Day, WWII 3 Labor Day 9 Grandparents Day the first Sunday after Labor Day 11 911 Remembrance 16 Rosh Hashanah begins at sundown 17 Constitution Day 21 International Peace Day (UN) 22 Autumnal Equinox 25 Yom Kippur 28 Native American Day the fourth Friday of the  month 30 Sukkot begins at sundown
October	1 International Day for the Elderly 8 Columbus Day observed 8 Thanksgiving Day in Canada, 2nd Monday 16 Boss's Day 20 Sweetest Day 3rd Saturday 24 United Nations Day 26 Eid-Ul-Adha 27 Make a Difference Day 4th Saturday 31 Halloween
November	1 All Saint's Day 1 Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) 2 All Soul's Day - usually on the 2nd 4 Daylight Savings time ends gain 1 hour of sleep 6 Election Day -please exercise your right to vote 11 Veteran's Day 13 Sadie Hawkins Day 15 Great American Smokeout - third Thursday 20 Universal Children's Day 22 Thanksgiving Day 23 Black Friday
December	2 Advent begins 7 Pearl Harbor Day 9 Chanukah lasts 8 days 12 Poinsettia Day 21 Winter Solstice (shortest day of the year) 23 Festivus - for the rest of us! 25 Christmas 26 Boxing Day 26 Kwanzaa 27 National Fruitcake Day 31 New Year's Eve

The Lunatic Next Door

An electrically charged doorbell would probably have done the trick, just a mild electrification, no more.  A gentle shock just might have helped the neighbourhood kids remember that my kids, who attend public school, went to school a week longer than they (the neighbor kids) had at the Catholic school, and that, yes, today is part of the extra week, just as yesterday was, and that (still) my kids wouldn't be home until later than three thirty, so there is no need to come before then and ring the doorbell, waking Micah Jade, AGAIN!  It's not that the neighbourhood kids are bad kids, just a little forgetful, and  I don't dislike them particularly, any more than I would dislike anyone who had woken crusty Micah Jade up for five days in a row from five much-needed naps that hold the power to prevent her from transforming from Dr. Jeckyl to Mr. Hyde for the remaining five hours of family life each day.

Though it may be inconsistent with my plans to electrify my door bell, I consider myself a good neighbour.  That said, this good neighbour has had a few difficulties with  unsupervised neighbourhood kids in the past, but before I tell you that story, you must hear the backstory that sets the stage.

When Greg and I bought our first house, it was in a decent neighbourhood, one with big live oak trees, older brick houses, and happy kids that played outside in the streets.  It wasn't an expensive neighbourhood, or a fancy house, but it was home.  I bought wrapping paper and chocolates and other things to support the kids in band at the local school, because I like a neighbourhood where kids can go door to door to bother people for cash.   I liked the kids that played outside too, at least in theory.

My first and last run-in with the neighbourhood kids at our house in Texas occurred at night, when I was twenty-six and alone with my two tiny kids while my husband was out-of-town.   Late in the evening, there came a knock at the door.  I wondered if it might be a neighborhood friend in trouble, but when I went to answer the door,  there was no one there.  My immense imagination could tolerate one such occurrence, but after three knocks, my fear began to further paralyse my reason as I imagined what I would do when the perpetrators forced their way into the house and attempted to kill us all (which does sometimes happen in Texas).   So, in order to get help before this impending calamity materialised, I did what any responsible, young, terrified mother would do.  I called the police.

Not far from my part of town, the police had really dangerous people to deal with--drug lords, thieves, and general thugs--and so the neighbourhood kids were small fish.  The next knock at my door was a policeman.  "Well, ma'am, there are some kids walking around outside in the streets, but it is not past curfew, so there is nothing I can do.  It is probably them, but I wouldn't worry," he said, in a calm, but patronising tone.  

Well of course he wouldn't worry! He was 6'2" and he probably had ninja training and he definitely had a gun, and, judging from his judgemental expression, he was clearly not in possession of an imagination as vivid as mine is.   When threatened, he also probably had the advantage of both "fight" and "flight" instincts, whereas I only possess "fight."  With his reassuring message delivered to the cowardly young mother, he drove off into the night, and left my imagination,  myself, and the neighbourhood kids to my own devices.

And then it occurred to me.  A note!  I will write a note to warn them of the consequences of tormenting a paranoid young mother late at night.  In a former life, I was a reasonable artist, so I put my skills to work do draw what would occur if the perpetrator cared to come back, and I taped it to the window beside the door.  Then I checked the doors again, and went to sleep because I knew with veritable certainty that it would work.

The next morning, when Greg came back from a business trip, he paused at the door in disbelief, wondering if he should call first before coming through the front door.  With tremendous courage, he unlocked the door with his key and came to find me, unsure of what had transpired while he was away.

"Babe?" he called, "Are you alright?"

I casually strolled into the living room, smiling, with an infant on my hip, and a toddler in tow.  "Yes, honey, why?"

"Well, I saw this picture of a gun in the window, and read that if I knocked on the door, that you would 'blow my head off through the window' like this picture on the sign you made."

"Oh, that was not meant for you," I said with a pleasant smile.   "The neighbour kids scared me last night when you were away, but they didn't knock after the note."

"Well, I guess not!"

I never had another kid try to sell me wrapping paper or a car wash.  Word must have gone around that five dollars for a band fundraiser was not worth facing the crazy lady at 11703.  I suppose that part of me wishes I could say that I am sorry about this incident, but I am not sorry.  My friends and family love to bring it up, and, we have all enjoyed our fair share of laughs because it is exciting when someone that you generally think of as being sane  has terrified deserving neighbourhood children that you don't know in a neighbourhood that is not yours (and subsequently refuses to repent).

So, I guess, compared to my last confrontation with the neighbourhood kids, my fantasies about shocking a new set of neighbourhood children with an electrified doorbell are quite mild.  My recent designs have given me a few chuckles, though at least this time, my plans have been hidden by discretion from real people and only revealed to my 619 friends on Facebook who laughed with me and helped me strategise (and of course, to you, my loyal blog readers, who enjoy my writing because I am foolish enough both to own and to tell any thought in my head.)   The truth is that whether I reside in Texas or in Australia or somewhere else,  I will ever be the lunatic next door.   Don't ring my doorbell at nap time for several days in a row, and, for your own sake and for mine, if you knock after dark,  please don't run off :)  

*Just to be clear, I have not ever owned a gun, and would not really shoot anyone.  Also, I don't really know how to electrify my doorbell, so wouldn't do this either.  

Poo and Jewels

If I had a beautiful jewel, I would have it put into a ring and I would wear it every day, on my hand where I could see it-- even when I clean-- because jewels are beautiful reminders of perfection and eternity in a world that  is broken in so many ways.   If Jordan had one, she would study it to see how the light refracted when it wandered through the facets, and then the kid would probably count the faces on it before researching the way it was forged in the bowels of the earth--because jewels are a product of natural science that must be studied.  If Greg had a jewel, he would put it in a ring and give it to me and I would wear it every day--even to clean (I suppose this has already happened)--because he has no use for jewels (and I do). Meryl would hide hers in a treasure chest at the end of the rainbow, and she would pull a curtain of silver mist across the shiny copper chest to keep it hidden from common eyes--because jewels are mystical and perfect for feeding the imagination. But Micah Jade? Well, I never would have predicted her plan. (Don't read on if you don't like little kid toilet stories.)
    
I don't bathe Micah Jade any more.  By the end of the day, when I am trying to get everyone clean and practicing instruments and doing homework, while cooking dinner and attempting to be thankful and cheerful during the most stressful time of the day,  I am in no condition to get the smallest, squirreliest of my children bathed.  It costs me about five dollars a week, but it is worth every penny to get Jordan or Meryl to bathe her.  She doesn't always cooperate.  Sometimes I have to pay up for Jordan or Meryl's efforts and finish her bath myself because she thinks it is hilarious to be both dirty and difficult.
  
So, I guess it was a day like many days, and Jordan had been chosen as the designated MJ bather--today in the bath, not the shower.  I began to hear the first sounds of distress in the bathroom.  I don't come immediately when I hear slight distress because sometimes it resolves itself, but not this day. I waited the customary minute and then emerged into the bathroom to see micah Jade on her back with her legs in the air, looking sheepish and smirky, and Jordan frantically trying to look into Micah Jade's anus.

Jordan:  (distressed) "Mom, there is a blue sparkly thing in her butt.  I looked in there, and I know it is there! OH NO"
Me:  (curious) "Micah Jade? Did you put something in your butt?"
Micah Jade:  (smug) "Um-Hm.  I had a little jewel and (now starting to get agitated) I put it in there, and now I can't get it OUUUUUUUT!"
Me: "What was it?"
Jordan:  "She had a jewel--like a marble, and now it is not here, and the thing in her butt is blue just like the jewel."
Me:  (in disbelief)  "You put a jewel into your butt?"
MJ:  (with real alarm) "YES! and it is STUUUUUCK!"
Me:  (matter-of-fact-ly) "You might have to poo it out into the toilet."
Jordan:  (worried)  "You shouldn't put things in your butt"
MJ:  (repeated for two minutes  and during Jordan's and my astute analyses) "OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!"

I calmed her down; and I dressed her while stifling laughter and trying to explain the dangers of storing things in one's anus; and she ate dinner with us--all with a jewel in her butt.  In the end, I caught the jewel before it fell in the toilet so that she could enjoy it again.  Somedays, that is what motherhood is-- jewels buried in poo.

We mothers take the "good" experiences with the "bad", and we get to laugh and do things we never signed up for; and if we are lucky, we get to share the journey together with other mothers on parallel journeys of humour and mess and love.  Real motherhood is raw and untamed, and it is perfect for women that have a little wildness left--sometimes hidden deep inside.   It is not for the faint of heart (or the queasy), and I love it because I love my kids.  Perhaps tomorrow will be a little less nasty, perhaps not.  I'll take the adventure that comes, and, after surviving the poo, I'll treasure these memories in my heart like the priceless jewels they are.

Meryl's Real Question

"I'm not sure I believe all this stuff about Jesus and God like you and Daddy,"  stated Meryl, as she looked through her dark lashes deep into my soul.   "How could Jesus do miracles?  How did he have powers?  I don't have any powers, and I don't know anyone else who does."  I listened carefully and I  answered specifically, but her doubt remained, like a cloud of suspicion between us.

The communication of our beliefs is part of our job as parents.  In both intentional and unintentional ways, we all tell our kids what we see as truth about themselves and about their world.  Whether our belief system comes from an old religion like Christianity, or whether it is something we have fashioned from our own experience and pieces of meaning, what we believe runs so deep within us that we can't help but teach it in every interaction with our children.

Meryl has heard about our faith since she was a very little girl, as have all of our girls.  We are not casual or cultural Christians.  We are Christians by choice, by careful study and evaluation, and by conviction.  For Greg and I, our Christian faith has implications into every aspect of our lives, and we teach our children our faith because we see it as our privilege and our obligation to tell them the Truth.

My answers to her questions about faith were were complete, but Meryl still looked at me with doubt, and as I stood there pondering her stated questions longer, I heard the question she never asked.  My heart heard what was in her heart.  The real question Meryl has is this--"If I don't accept your faith, will I still be your daughter?  Will you still love me?"  It is a question that all children ask in one way or another.  Sometimes the question is asked after massive failures.  Sometimes it is asked with actions that seem to intentionally force distance into the relationship.  Sometimes it is asked by moving across oceans to new lands and new opportunities.  This night, right before bedtime, it was asked by a wisp of a seven year old girl with doubts and questions about faith so deep as to nearly obscure the real issue.

And so I looked back through her thick, black lashes into her deep ebony eyes, and I answered her with all my heart.  "You are precious to me.  You will have to decide for yourself what you believe about God.  It is really between you and Him.  I am here to tell you the Truth, as much as I understand.  No matter what you believe, I will love you.  If you don't share my faith I will love you.  My relationship with you does not depend on whether you are the same as me.  I love you no matter what."

"Really?  You won't love me less if I don't believe in God like you do?"

"Nope," I answered.  And just like that, all the suspicion was gone from her little face, and she kissed me and went to sleep.  She still has big thoughts, deep doubts, and ponderous questions, and I expect that she will be doing her own investigation into Christianity for quite some time.  I don't know if she will arrive at a conclusion that matches mine, but I do know that every time she investigates my love by asking me about my faith, she will hear the same answer,  "Meryl, I love you because you are mine.  I love you no matter what."

Bright Colors and Impossible Gravities of the Imagination

When I was a little girl who saw fairies and monsters, superheroes and the impossible, my very best friend was an alien named Jeremy. (I know what you're thinking--but not that kind of alien--the real kind, from outer space.)  Jeremy was four months older than me, and he was from the planet Crypton, from whence he had traveled to earth via an asteroid. His parents found him and adopted him when he was very little, and (yes, amazing that this story happened on t.v. also) he possessed magic powers. Jeremy looked like a normal boy, but unlike your average little boy, he flew through the air when I wasn't looking, and he could defeat any bad guy--except our friend Daniel Seale, who, we suspected, might have access to Cryptonite, after he gave Jeremy a real shiner. When we were children, Jeremy had a charisma that made me see what he could envision; and, though he possessed super-human strength and flight, I suppose his power to imagine was the one that impressed me the most.

If not for Jeremy, I might never have known Condorman, but before I tell you about Condorman, I must tell a little backstory on my dad.  My dad loves little children. He loves them because they are brutally honest, because they only bite close friends and family members, because they will tell you all their personal business and their family secrets, but more than that, he loves them because they see beyond what is to what could be.  My dad loved Jeremy especially because Jeremy's imagination was always growing to re-interpret what he saw with his eyes.

Jeremy went to our church with jelly beans. I'm not exactly sure why he had so many jelly beans in his pockets, or whether the jellybeans were sanctioned by Ellen, his mother, but for a long time, those jellybeans were his prized possession. Since my dad had a soft spot for both Jeremy and his jelly beans, my dad convinced Jeremy that he possessed two stomachs, one that ate food, and one that stored and multiplied jelly beans. Jeremy wasn't keen to share his treasures with me, but he would give my dad a few jelly beans each week to store in his extra stomach.   Every few weeks, Jeremy would ask my dad to return his jelly beans with interest. Every so often, I would watch with wonder as my dad coughed up a whole bag's worth of jelly beans. Jeremy was, of course, unphased by the fact that these had been stored for weeks in an extra, jellybean-multiplying stomach, and instead was delighted with the amplication of his investment.

My dad loved performing this trick, but as Jeremy grew a little older, Jeremy began to suspect, that perhaps my dad had a weak spot for jelly beans and few extra dollars instead of an extra stomach. My dad had to up his game if he was going to retain his magical powers, so, one Sunday afternoon, in a carefully planned explanation, my dad told  his greatest secret to Jeremy, while I listened on.  In tones, hushed to prevent my mom from knowing the truth, my dad explained his double life as a super hero, while I peered from behind Jeremy into the hall closet.  There, folded like an ordinary lampshade, was a set of manila-colored wings.  Those paper-colored wings enabled my dad to fly between buildings late at night when I was fast asleep, because my dad was CONDORMAN.  I can't remember what planet my dad had come from, but the important part was that my dad, like Jeremy, was from another planet, even farther away from India (where he used to live.)  The story was easy enough to believe, in light of the magical wings tucked in beside the flowered sheets of our linen closet.  Jeremy was completely convinced, in one glance, that both the wings and the story were factual, and we both lived in wonder for years at the superhero who appeared, to the untrained eye, to be a common Indian architect.  

I often wonder what my childhood would have been like without Jeremy.  As a child, he re-worked common, everyday facts and objects into the whimsical world of his imagination, and he took me through the looking glass by his faith in the impossible. Without Jeremy I might prefer the Notebook to Spiderman 2, or You've Got Mail to Indiana Jones.  Without Jeremy, I might never have appreciated Hootie and the Blowfish, or searched the night sky for aliens, or worried about alligators coming out of the toilet, or become (mutually) obsessed with the ark of the covenant.  Most importantly, I might never known my dad as Condorman.

Jeremy is my oldest friend, and after we stopped being Dr. Jones and Marian, he was there to talk me through school switches, high school break-ups, finding my identity apart from my parents, and hard questions about faith.  We visited each other at university, and he smiled on at my wedding, genuinely happy for me to find love with Greg, because life-long friends do that sort of thing.

While I have been chasing the dreams that come with marriage and family, my oldest friend has spent the last ten years sleeping a few hours a night in a tiny apartment in Hollywood and working an ordinary day-job while chasing his dream of writing.  After years of diligent work and intense sacrifice, Jeremy has recently sold his first screenplay.  No one could be more proud than me, his oldest friend.

So, Jeremy, I write our precious  memories in celebration of your amazing creativity, to commemorate the moment that the world begins to recognize what those who love you have long experienced.  I hope that soon everyone can enjoy your mystical visions as much as I have, that soon the people of the world will have the opportunity to have their sight enriched with the bright colors and impossible gravities of your imagination.  Congratulations on this new chapter of your life.  I have always believed in you, and I saw this day coming from afar off.  

Elissa's Rules for Taking Home Trash and Treasure

The big, blue, out-of-control noodle wrapped around Micah Jade and her trailer, and her tiny face peered out with a thousand peculiar questions that she couldn't articulate. While she pondered, I cycled myself, MJ, the trailer, and my "new" ab roller home. I use it every week, along with the other "trash" I have acquired from the sides of roads all over Australia--a huge frying pan, a couple of organizational wire basket drawers, a high boy chest of drawers, a 1200 dollar bar-b-Que grill, lumber, pots for plants, shelving, two 250-dollar kids' bikes, wooden chairs, plastic chairs, a coffee table, a children's table and chairs, and that is just the stuff I didn't buy. I'll admit it! I like to sift through other people's junk in the hope of finding useful treasures and saving money. I stop on the side of the road on heavy trash days; I like garage sales; I love op-shops (thrift stores for my "yank" readers). I am thrifty and cheap, and probably more, and over the years, I have developed some rules for "shopping". I am writing them for shopping in an op-shop, but they apply to acquisitions from trash piles too.

1. If you don't have a specific plan for it, don't bring it home. Yep, I learned this one the hard way, and Greg will attest. if you get this one wrong, you will end up with a hoarder's nest full of junk. Fortunately, the move to Oz has cleansed me of the mistaken acquisitions from my younger years that were residing in our study and garage in Austin.

2. Don't buy / bring home stuff that is broken, unless you have the expertise, a time scheduled to fix it, and the materials you need. This goes for housewares and clothing that requires mending or altering. (Don't worry, honey, I will finish MJ's bed this week. . .)

3. For clothing, don't pay more than half of what you would if it were on a super sale. After all, you are buying used clothing, and a good brand of pants from an op shop are still used pants.

4. Think of clothing in a per-use manner. That is, if I buy Max Azria jeans for 8 dollars (and I did), and wear them 25 times this year, they cost 32 cents per use. If I buy a funky dress, and it costs 8 dollars, and I wear it twice this year, it was much more expensive at four dollars per use.

6. Ask yourself, "Would I buy this if it were new?" (and I had the money it would cost). If you are unsure, don't get it. You don't like it enough, and you won't wear it.

5. determine what your magic price is. Mine is 4 dollars in the USA, and 6 in oz. If it is over this price, it is subject to a more stringent thinking process. That is, it has to be more useful, and more close to new, more unique, etc., than something that is cheaper.

6. Only buy clothing in very good condition, unless its "worn-ness" contributes to the uniqueness of the piece.

7. Buy for yourself in your current size. Not everyone will appreciate your thrifty gifty, so save yourself the trouble of having your gift discarded and your money wasted, unless you are 1000% sure that your friend will use your gift and appreciate your thoughtfulness. Also, if you buy clothing for yourself that is too small with the hope of one day fitting into it, not only will you have wasted your money, but you will also feel discouraged about your body every time you look at your beautiful purchase. Yes, this too is from experience.

My friend Amanda introduced me to thrift shopping when I was 16, and I have been hooked ever since. I love the idea that something that has already lived a lifetime with another owner can be renewed and redeemed in my closet. I like wearing vintage clothing from another era when thinking about style and clothing was different. I like quirky, uniqueness decorating my home, because it means that my home is not something out of a catalogue, but something that reflects my style and my family and the way we live and think. I love that recycled clothing is also good for the environment as it keeps treasures out of land fills. I am proud to make my family's money stretch farther because that is just good stewardship of what God has entrusted to us. I hope this post helps give fledgling and floundering cheapies the tools and the courage to shop on the side of the road, to sift through piles, and to have fun doing it.

Thank you so much to my husband Greg, who has saved money and purchased a wonderful (new) computer for me, so that I can get back into my writing, even if it about silly things like bringing home rubbish.

Does God Has Chicken Legs Too?

I hated looking in the mirror at my miserably skinny legs when I was a child. I felt incredibly self-conscious about them, but nothing I could do would improve what healthy diet and the third world genes of my parents had given me. I had "chicken legs" so badly that I earned the nickname "KFC". Not only did I hate the mirror's truthful reflection of my legs, but I found fault with most of the rest of the image my mirror presented as well. I would have given anything to have exchanged my dark locks for golden blond hair like my barbie doll, or my caramel skin for the porcelain-white skin of my friends. As a preteen, I became self-conscious about my ethnic nose, which had grown ahead of the rest of my body. By my teens, I added to my ever-growing list of insecurities my full cheeks, my figure (or the lack thereof), my strength of personality, and my intellect. If I could have, I would have waved a magic wand over myself in order to become a sweet, perky, petite, five-foot-tall, blond chick with a tiny little nose--someone quiet who didn't stand out. In the absence of the existence of such a wand, a tall, slender, ethnic girl with a loud voice, waist-length, wavy, dark hair, and an outspoken streak the size of Texas stared back at me defiantly from my mirror.

Somewhere between childhood and young adulthood, many of us women begin to believe the lies that magazines, diet-product companies, peers, and billboards sell, wounding lies about beauty and worth that penetrate to the core of who we are. After we grow up, we continue to compare ourselves to our friends, to our parents, to air-brushed images, to anything, really, that perpetuates the the insecurities that we have developed during our growing-up years. Criticizing ourselves becomes a common denominator in conversations in our heads and between our friends.

By the time I was a wife end a mother, the insecurities of my childhood had become so native that I did not even recognize them as being foreign until, at twenty-six, I began to see the same characteristics that I had found so objectionable in myself, in my daughters. In them, however, I saw beauty, not flaw. Jordan has my ethnic nose and my tan skin. Meryl owns my slender legs, and my dark hair. Seeing bits of myself in my girls shone light on what I had believed about myself-- lies that I did not want to pass on. And so, my search to understand truth to teach myself and Jordan, Meryl, and later Micah Jade began.

I'm a unapologetic, hard-core Christian, so the search for truth should always send me straight to the Bible ( which also means that I should not have let myself be let astray a little at a time by so many contrary ideas). The Bible is my source for truth that transcends time and location, my anchor in the ever-changing waves of culture. What I found there as I researched was truth I already knew; but I suppose there is a huge difference between knowing truth and believing it in a way that you live it out. These are the things I began to teach my girls from the time Jordan was three and Meryl was eighteen months old, truths that have begun to form the way they see themselves and to reform the way I see myself.

1. You are made in the image of God; you are his masterpiece. At the beginning of time, God created everything we see, the sun and the moon, the land and the water, the plants and the animals, and most importantly, human-kind. Where the rest of creation was made from the imagination of God, man and woman were made to reflect his image. Everything God made, he pronounced as "good". God has not made any two women are exactly alike; we have different shapes and skin colors and hair colors, different noses and eyes and heights. We are each unique and made in a way that reflects unique aspects of the beauty and creativity of God. Each of our bodies is God's individual work of art, perfect apart from the approval of our own eyes or the eyes of our fellow creatures. We are each beautiful because we are made by God.

2. God's good work extends not only to our bodies, but also to our inner person. Psalm 139 talks about how God knows each of us. He knows what we think and what we will say before we speak it because he "created our inmost being"--our personality or our spirit--whether we are creative or concrete, number or word-oriented, sensitive or strong. Everything that we naturally are as women was carefully made by God on purpose. Whether we are loud or quiet, melancholy or charismatic, chiefs or Indians by nature, our inmost being is God's work, and he calls all his workmanship "good". (I don't mean that we can excuse bad behavior by personality, just that God made our personalities too.)

3. Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. God has made our physical selves beautiful in his sight, but what really matters more than our bodies is what is inside our hearts. We post-modern, Western humans put far too much importance on physical beauty, on what our peers think of us and how we come across, while God places prime importance on what is inside our hearts. Physical beauty cannot mask ugliness inside, nor can what society sees as "ugliness" mask true inner beauty. God sees to the hearts of each of us. Growing in kindness is far more important than perfect hair,new dresses, and the right toenail polish. Who we are becoming on the inside is infinitely more important than external beauty, which necessarily fades with the passing of time.

4. If you are a Christian, you are God's house, so take care of yourself. By having faith in Jesus, Christians trust that God takes away the wrong things that we do so that we can have a close relationship with God. We believe that the Spirit of God is with us everywhere we go. By believing and trusting in Him, we become his "temple". As Christians, every bit of us belongs to God, so we have to take care of ourselves like we would take care of his house. This means that we don't spend time in self-destructive behaviors of any sort because when we tear down ourselves, we tear down the dwelling place of God. We don't spend time around others who would tear us down or physically harm us. We eat healthy food and exercise in good stewardship of our bodies so that we can spread God's love on earth for as long as God chooses to give us life here. We don't neglect our physical selves, but show our bodies appropriate care. Being the temple of God is a privilege, and we should treat ourselves with respect due to the residence of the Spirit of God

For a large middle chunk of my life, I believed powerful lies that held me captive, but I will not live in the shadows of them any longer, nor will I pass them on to the ones I love. Lies that are deep inside us can not be fought by the latest self-esteem curriculum, or by the changing currents in psychology reflected in the magazines. No, deep and wide and ingrained lies are not fought and destroyed except by the power of knowing Truth, truth that is older than time, truth that brings freedom and joy to places where there was once pain and slavery.

I teach my girls the truth in the hope that, long before they are thirty-two, they will see themselves as I am beginning to see myself. I am beautiful, not because I fit a societal norm of beauty in either the USA or Oz, not because I have had my stretch marks or wrinkles or breasts fixed (I haven't), not because my husband thinks I am sexy (he does). I am beautiful because I am made in God's image, because I am one of God's unique masterpieces as a woman. I will never be sweet and, though I am at peace, I am rarely quiet, but God intends the force and honesty that he created in me for his good purposes; somehow, God needs all types of personalities, both soft and strong. I will pay attention to who I am becoming on the inside because that is more important to God that physical beauty, which fades with time. I will take care of my physical self like I am taking care of God's property (which I am), so that I can enjoy God's dwelling with me for as long as I am around on earth.

My legs aren't any thicker from the appropriating and teaching of all this truth, but between truth and cycling, on most days I'm coming to terms with them. I have really begun to believe that God has created all of me to reflect His image, even my legs, and so, I have reluctantly concluded that God must have chicken legs too.

Here are my Bible references, in case anyone is interested--

1, Genesis 1: 26-27, 31 ²⁶ Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground." ²⁷ So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. ³¹ God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.

2. Psalm 139: 1-4, 13-16 ¹ O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. ² You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. ³ You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. ⁴ Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD. ¹³ For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. ¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. ¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, ¹⁶ your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

3. 1 Samuel 16:7 The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.

4. 1 Cor 6:19-20 ¹⁹Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; ²⁰you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.