An Alarming Sense of Humor...

I love looking around the world. This place is just so darn funny! Seriously. God must have one heck of a sense of humor. Here is a mini-list of giggle inducing things that will surely make you smile and stand as a reminder that the Lord, your God is not just a God who saves, He's a God who belly laughs:

Genna's List of Godly Giggles:

1) llamas
2) situational irony (just watch. you.will. laugh.)
3) the jokes of an 8 yr old-- "Why don't dinosaurs talk?" ..."Because they're all dead!"
4) Will Briggs "Mama, I made a soup with my butt!" (note to self: feed child fewer grapes.)

Grin a little~~Gen

Living in the Yester-Years

I forget, occasionally, that God calls us to live in the here and now. To make plans for the future, but not "real" plans. To be loose and limber and bending about the how's and why's and where's He has set for us. He calls us to have JOY where we stand. And he calls us away from the past. I find myself too often yearning for the past, and usually it's a past I haven't ever known. The one where men wore leather motorcycle helmets w/ goggles and women still loved dresses. Little girls were taught by their mothers to make daisy chains and little boys' curious urge to squash that bug! was just a normal part of boy-dom.

Came across this beautiful quote. I hope it may inspire you to remember the Todays as it did me:

"I'd make more mistakes (if I had life over again). I'd relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more troubles, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones. You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it over again, I'd have a few more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else--just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle and a raincoat. If i had my life to live over again, I would travel lighter than i have. If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daises." ~Nadine Stair, 85Live in joy: Gen

It was almost like Hogwarts!

Yup. This here is Izy. In the mail last week, Iz received a Letter--her Letter of Acceptance. In actuality the letter was addressed "to the parents of..." and was a staple form sent to all parents letting us know the where's and what costs of Awana. But for our little three year old, the one who'd spent an entire year watching her big brother head off to Awana Cubbies--well, for that little girl, it might as well have been a Letter of Acceptance to Hogwarts School. She posed for pics (that I have yet to up load.) She begged to take it to Grandma's house. She slept with the (now rumpled) thing clutched close to her chest. This is a BIG deal. So now, she waits...waits until the 21st of the month (we're creating a countdown calendar today!) She waits for the glorious evening when her Mama & Daddy will load her up (along w/ big bro Will) and she will finally, finally slide into her very own royal blue vest, be entrusted with her very own Cubbies book and tell the world she is: Izabella Briggs, Cubbies attendee:)

Anticipate: Genna

Confessions of Appearance

Read my devotional today. This was a VERY. BAD. IDEA. You may go look for my ego cowering in a deep, dark crevice someplace next time we meet. On the other hand, the joy of Christ and an amazement w/ God's tolerance and love (I'd somehow forgotten) reinstated itself in my heart. ~~

I'll admit it. I LIKE to look put together. Well, LOVE is probably the more appropriate word. I LOVE that I have four kids, under 5 who are ludicrously cute and I LOVE when people in the store give me that "I can't believe how calm and happy you seem," face when we bounce about town. Um, can we say "pride issue" here? Cuz truth be told, I adore my children but I do not adore getting up at 4am when the baby wants to be awake 2 hrs earlier than the rest of the munchkins, or finding that because they are all so young they can (and do) occasionally ALL decide to hit break down mode AT THE SAME TIME! And sometimes an ugly, "would you just go away and play quietly somewhere?" feeling sprouts. ~~Didn't I dedicate these kids to God? Didn't I promise to lead, guide and absolutely always remember how precious they are??


Aforementioned devotional spoke of a single dad (of 6!) w/ a blue collar job who positively RADIATED a peace and closeness to Christ. NO complaints, no "woe-is-me's", nothing but a shining, genuine, God-loving, people-harvesting attitude. The kind I'd completely forgotten about in my own strife to look like I know what the heck I'm doing most days. Ever think you know so much about what you want to portray to the world that you forget, not the reason, but the real heart behind what you're doing?? SO just waded that knee-deep murky puddle!

Spent a goodly chunk of time w/ an apology on my lips--thanking our amazing God for how very gently He reminds us of our faults. Spent a goodlier chunk of time reveling in the joy that comes from remembering who my Savior really is and what He's all about. Kissed my kids:) Made a personal promise to literally tell them every day that I LOVE being their mom:)Re-discovered peace-filled joy...

Don't worry, be happy!~gen

An Account of LIam

Our fourth baby came into the world without a name--without even the hope of a hint of one. We. were. stumped. Why, you say? Well, perhaps I should start where all stories really would do better to start--at the beginning:)

May 25th, 2011~ Having tucked the three urchins into bed, side-stepped the usual night time delay tactics ("i'm thirsty, no I really didn't get a hug yet." etc etc) a leak was sprung somewhere in the vicinity of mine panties. El leak became a flood, became a pair of once-pink-now-turned-red maternity pj's, became a car ride to the hospital.

From there we were a dr's calm-faced talk away from momentary black out brought on by words like, "four weeks" and "bed rest." The. Man. Was. Batty. Well-intentioned maybe, but definitely batty. Four weeks? Bed rest?! ...FOUR WEEKS??!

I should probably say somewhere in there we (meaning I) had a slew of tests taken, IV's inserted, ultrasounds sounded. Ya know, the usual late night scramble to the Hospital sort of deal. I hadn't had so much a fuss made of my gal goods since Izy's midwife informed us I have a "bulky uterus." That ranks up there w/ telling a girl she has fat ankles or a muscular throat...um, thanks?

Turns out Mr. Dr. Man was wrong. Liam got tired of my bulky uterus and it's unexplainable abruption w/in a few days and came hoppin' out in record time:) And thus, we had a boy and no boy name. It's like setting the timer for chicken pot pie to coincide with dinner only to find it's ready a 1/2 hr earlier and you're not hungry yet. Turns out this works for NICU inmates, all the babies go by surname, boy or surname, girl. Liam Richard Briggs might sound snazzy to the outside world, but in here he's: briggs, boy. Hopefully enough nurses learn his outside name quick enough that he doesn't forever think of himself as "boy." Kind of like those men whose parents somehow fooled the world into thinking the name "Guy" was acceptable. Wow, now that has to be a supreme lack of effort:) (disclaimer: to our friend Guy, I'm talking about other peoples parents who named them Guy. :p )


Be bulky: Genna

My Baby is a Frankenstein- My God is a Caveman!

My baby is a Frankenstein, my God is a Cave Man.

For those of ye who either don't know; have been hibernating in a deep, dark marsh somewhere; don't regularly follow the minute details of my increasingly awesome life or just plain haven't heard: little bebe Liam took his first car ride in an ambulance yesterday slightly before noon-thirty (ok a couple hours before, but i like saying noon-thirty.)

He wheeled his way up to Emanuel Hospital and it's new (to us), super sleek , ultra large NICU(that's neonatal intensive care unit.) Where tall men in blue and short women in rainbow colors proceeded to poke (as gently as possible), peer into and scan all his vitals producing our grand solution--surgery.

Little Bono (a nickname created whilst going through our "no way we're gonna name our kid THAT! list) was kissed by his papa, bid "come back to me" by his mama, took a few sniffs of some powerful gases, zonked out and dreamt fabulous dreams involving breast milk and neon binkis--not knowing another short woman (also in blue) was carefully, craftily placing that darling mechanism that would allow his overzealous brain to drain itself of a mite too much fluid--the shunt valve. Not knowing peoples everywhere were praying for his good health and sound recovery. (thank you for those prayers!!)

Liam did return to his mama- an awe-inspiring 1.5 hours later:) (i did mention his doctor is amazing??) He will again have his vitals poked, peered into and scanned before the week is out. He should begin to eat & put on the chunk once more and he may receive the all clear from the professionals, earning that coveted adjective: discharged!!

Throughout our experience with the newest Briggs member, we've increasingly begun to realize a few things:

A) when your baby has stitches in his head, he WILL look like Frankenstein
B) looking like Frankenstein might even turn into being called Frankenstein. (Lame. Bono is a stellar nickname.)
C) sometimes when God really wants to get your attention, He borrows a slate (or rather cudgel) out of the caveman's stone book and proceeds to club you over the head with His greatness:)

Wear a helmet: Genna

Foot by Naked Foot

Title caught your eye?? Now let's all scrape down to the bare and admit something here: feet are kinda special. Photographers take black & white pics of them, ladies pedi & paint 'em up, Jesus went out of his way to wash 'em so there has to be something rather magic about those digits ya just don't find on the rest of a person.

My theory has something to do with the "early morning rumpled" look. There's a little bit of a soft spot in my quirky heart that goes a tad ga-ga when Matt strolls about in the morn in just his jeans...and sometimes a t-shirt. But no socks. It's right before he wraps himself up in steel & iron for the rest of the world and is a lil bonus reserved especially for the gal who made some crazy promise for "as long as you both shall live." All our disheavled, easy, sunshiney golden happy moments in simpistic form:)

Maybe it's because everyone else gets the package doo-daded up & shalacked, that a few minutes naked toes on my kids and my husband seems like such a treat. Who doesn't think little kid feet are about the cutest thing? Who didn't nibble their babies toes? And though you may never feel "warm & fuzzy" when your man walks about minus footwear, perhaps the vulnerability of naked tootsies will at least make you smile:) ...

Currently wearing socks because the floor is stinkin' cold~ Genna

Caution: Do Not Enter

How many of you out there have That Room in your house you would rather NO ONE EVER see? A few of you just experienced a brief moment of panic/guilt and a grimace most likely twisted your previously calm features, yes?...hello my kindred spirits, I'ma talkin' to you!

For us, it's the computer room, the catch-all place, temporary storage unit, location of almost all lost toys and hider of a miniature mountain of clean laundry first time guests might do better knowing nothing about. It's That Room.


Why must such a place exist? Why be there not space elsewhere? Why will all random bits of our home find their way there? WHY can't I turn the italics off!!??

Hmm, such are the mysteries of life:)


Ponder:
Gen

The Bare Essentials

(Just bear with me here, blogger apparently doesn't allow me to rotate pics.)

Oh yeah, this how we roll :) Ten to noon everyday.
On another note, this picture reminds me of a little ditty we sang as small kids after bathtime. The resident head-of-the-wife heard me a'singing it when Will was a wee-er lad. Twas then I discovered not all families pass down the same tunes. :

"Bum, Bum, bum-bum
I see your hii-ney
So bright and shiii-ney,
If you don't hide it,
I'm gonna bite it! "

Hey, don't judge...speck vs a plank and all that :p

Yup. 10-12...everyday. The boxes, the plastic food...the nudity.
It's all here. You even get a snack!



Let loose: Gen

Currently In Quads

"Children are such a blessing"..."You've been greatly blessed."..."You're having another?" "You guys aren't done yet?"..."You know what causes that, right?"

Actually folks, yes, I do. Seeing as none of our children are test tube babies, I know (erhem) exactly how they came about. Only took three health classes (5th, 7th and 10th grade) , an older sister, a few faintly embarrassing conversations w/ a well-intentioned parent (not to mention the whole "getting married," extravaganza) to piece it together. But since I'm sure all of you "know what causes that" too, let's just skip over such innocuous questions and light on the heart of the matter. A real "heart" matter.

Those folks who just do not understand why anyone would want more children and insist on sliding in snide, goofy, overly blunt and downright rude comments in the conversation.

Why would we have another?? ...why would we not? If you have children, look at your youngest. Can you honestly tell me "I'd give that one back for a little less stress, a bit less prep involved getting out the door, one less bout of throw up to clean?" Would you say such things? Could you?

God presented us with three, and soon four, amazing little persons to teach, watch and wonder at. Four small presents wrapped in cotton swaddling and a little bit of magic. I have friends who pray and strive and yearn for ONE such gift. For years and years and years...through so much heartbreak, but have yet to discover the joy of even one pink plus on a little white stick.

On another note, we do not believe in regular birth control. Another example of lessons learned through someone else's experience. Two ladies close to us played host to a stroke as a result of using birth control. Yes, not the most common side effect--however, Stroke and I, well... we're not good friends. Like to keep it that way:) The other side effects also lack a certain appeal.

At the bottom of all our pondering and all our prayer over whether or no this should finally be the last child there is a simple answer. God is in control. If we were to latch onto the Pill as our answer, or if I were to ask the hot blonde to schedule a neutering apt., would this be a guarantee? No. Why undergo surgery or put faith in medicine when, frankly, there are an awful lot of peoples walking 'round out there who surprised the heck out of their parents via pretty pink plus on a little white stick?

If God says we have 2 kids, great! Daunting seems the idea of 5,6,7...but He gives the strength we need for each days challenges. As a family of 5...almost 6, there are plenty of challenges; poop literally everywhere, yak at 2am, the "he/she touched/looked at me's" (oh dear Lord! the touch/looked at me's!) . Yet also plenty days full of laughter and the strange, strange things kids say. Such beauty in family, why answer no to something which presses us to be better than we are?

Laugh~Genna

Anti-Ode to Cleaning

Growing up, my mother's house was immaculate. I-m-m-a-c-u-l-a-t-e.
I am so not my mother's daughter. Not only did the apple fall a ways from the tree, it just went ahead and rolled on down the hill too.

We are selling our house. In the short, this means that at any given moment my cell phone has the potential to ring and some mysterious voice from the Great Reality Torture Center for Chronically Cluttered Homes (G.R.T.C.C.C.H) will ask if they can show our abode in about an hour-ish....Right. Through a mix of frantic scrambling, amazing husband rescues and the afore mentioned mama, we have, by and large, been able to throw things together just in the nick of time. AND herd the three to four (depending on the day) wee lads and lasses off on some adventure and out of the (hopefully) well groomed hairs of yet another set of potential buyers:)

In face of such a large number of last minute, grasp-your-mop-and-scrub panic attacks, you might think I'd learn to maintain the home front a touch better. Yes? Natural assumption. And in my defense, the house isn't ridiculously dirty. It just tends a bit more towards a battlefield meshed with a daycare center:)

There are actual, real-live people who confess a LOVE of cleaning. Such people make me nervous--but they do exist. People with a contented, warm, fuzzy feeling after a day spent arm deep in bleach and grime (that warm, fuzzy feeling is probably a result of too much bleach inhalation and wrinkled finger nubs...alternately, such people most likely aren't faced with alarming probability of toe-puncture-by-stray-block with each jaunt across the living room.)

Contemplating that, I've devised a list. A list which shall (potentially) resolve me of all guilt and lead you, dear reader, to a greater understanding of why not all things sanitized are the most wondrous.

Genna's List of Contentment Giving Things:

1) Watching your children discover puddles, books, a new idea, God
2) Inventing a victory dance after crossing your son's Hot Wheels strewn room w/out twisting an ankle.
3) Discovering your beta fish loves sugar ants...and feeding them to him :)
4) Successfully convincing your man that nothing is hotter than a dude who cleans the toilet!
5) Finding a valid reason for staring at your cuticles for 5 hours rather than clean the front windows.

Be warm and fuzzy: Gen

Ants do NOT march one by one...

They're back. Oh, yes. Those beauties, those devils, those scrounge of my very existence...the sugar ant.

Target of choice? A 5 gallon, pasty white bucket full of cloth diapers. Poo-riddled diapers. Who'd have thunk it? Here I am scrubbing dishes and mopping floors, feeling ahead of the game. But no....little buggers. Thought our bucket o' diapers need only fear flies and the occasional dung beetle.


And for the record...sugar ants do NOT march one by one. (apparently this makes them much easier to smite. Giant masses of little black bodies? A more significant challenge for the human enemy. )

Where went my spray? Where, that darling arsenal of death mechanisms?...yeah, well as to that--we seem to be temporarily out of stock. Fortunately, a four year old boy makes a fabulous stand in death machine! Squashing left, right and center with nary a grimace. More mess, more fuss; but at this point, with small armies approaching and spring lurking in the not-too-distant-distance...well, I'll take what I can get. As a bonus, it provides a great time to talk about mercy (as in, "make sure the ant is ALL the way squashed honey, don't leave him to suffer." that counts, yes?)

Happy terminating: Gen

2011 Books

Inspired by a friend, seems a swell idea to blogitize a smallish list of books I'd love to get my eyes on this year:

Oh, come on. This just opera sings "incredibly fascinating read."


The Full Cupboard of Life...a book with stellar reviews and promises of hilarity. In any case a great topic for a future blog post.

This has been read, ADORED and promptly demolished by tiny hands. It's the best kids book shy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It. Must. Be. Replaced. THIS. YEAR! Of course, we already have it committed to memory so...

An obvious classic.



Began this as a second year Spanish student and forgot to return to it when fluency reached an equal level with the books' lingo.

Another one of those books almost every literary/book worm friend you might have suggests, but you've never actually snagged off the shelf. This year is the year for Green!

Since I'm currently unable to attain an Herbal Medicine License, this will have to suffice:) The internet and a plethora of natural/nutritional books are always on my list of things to read!


There be no picture for my next entry, simply because the darn book has yet to be published. The 15th (and final) book of the Wheel of Time series is due for an appearance sometime this year or possibly next. Only those with inner circle access (ie not me) are equipped with the true release date. The rest of us are left to hope and wonder....


A certain hot blonde may have recommended (or rather emphatically urged) a dip into Micheal Stackpole's X-wing series. Nine books claim a part of this here tale. Doncha just love authors with big ambitions?

The counter part to Wild At Heart. Need I say more?

And thus we have it. A humble list from which to start this year's marathon of ink & paper. Any suggestions to add??

Loving the Fat Outta Life

As I sit here blogging to you, there is a large-ish bowl of chocolate pudding (made from whole milk) topped with whipped cream and smattered with heath bar bits, resting, half eaten on the desk top. Don't judge me. Well, ok judge me but at least hear the whole (milk) tale of events.

I have a theory and it goes like this: I am going to die. Someday you will too. And while I have a love bordering on obsession for veggie subs, salads and *sigh* strawberries, I also LOVE fat. The bad kind. The really-really-really bad kind. The kind that makes you buy a carton of whip cream reading "now richer and creamier" instead of the one right next to it labeled "lite."

"Lite." Psshhh. Who wants that? That's for the people who actually managed to convince themselves that sugar and splenda are interchangeable--such people should be made to wear tinfoil hats & re-take the food pyramid section of health class. ---"Lite"....pffhh.

Anyway, as for this theory? It has a lot to do with enjoying the heck out of what you eat-fat, desserts, salads and all-- a lot to do with being a normal custodian of your body (there is the miracle of Zumba after all, and dance, and yoga and...) and absolutely nothing to do with guilt.

Side note: This theory may also have developed out of another personal love: cooking. Fresh ingredients, a myriad of color, a whirl of spices and oula! ...you have just created something from nothing (or i suppose, something from a lot of other, littler somethings, but whatever.)

So get off the couch (or chair, bed, floor, rug, jungle gym) switch on some tunes & boogie down while you make something incredibly delish, using whole milk and "richer, creamier" ingredients...and when the last bite has left your fork, find a little corner of active paradise that just might fool you into thinking you're having a party rather than exercising:)

Cheers: Gen