B, G and J: Our Circles

B:

This story starts with me and a program hosted by a church here in town.  The program hosts Chinese teenagers for 2 weeks.  The kids spend the day learning English and American culture and their evenings and weekends with host families.

How exciting!  What a great experience for our kids, a great way to use our guest room in the basement, a great way to share the love and message of Jesus with a person who might not otherwise ever His Good News.

I flashed the brochure to Bryan and spooke rapid-fire about what a terrific idea this was for our summer.  Then I noticed the look on his face and stopped talking.

No smile.  Just a furrowed brow.  A quizzical turn in the corner of his mouth. "Are you serious?" he asked.

I don't know what my face looks like when it is dumbfounded, but I was dumbfounded.  "Yes. . .?" 

"Babe," he began, "I cannot begin to imagine what that would do to my security clearance. I don't think there's enough forms out there to fill out to make this OK.  I would have to be debriefed afterwards!"

Oh. 

"Especially the Chinese!" he shouted, shaking his head.

Oh. 

Good illustration of how our two lives are really one life--you know, same house, kids together, growing old together--and yet our two lives mostly happen in two different circles.  Mine, in a happy cul-de-sac, as we happily homeschool and toodle around town for this activity or that, where the daily plan is all about scheduling our days to limit stress and maximize work and the other part of the plan is having something ready for dinner. 

His world involves planning that I don't know anything about because he can't tell me, but now I realize it involves mental alarms sounding off at the mention of "Chinese teenagers." 

I wanted to test this out, though.  Was he being dramatic?  Was it really that big a deal?  At Col Putko's (I LOVE that guy!) fairwell party, I told this story to several of Bryan's co-workers.  Every one of them started laughing the moment I said, "Chinese." 

The most memorable of their comments:  "One e-mail home from the kid at your house and the whole family back in China gets a raise!"


G:

As you know, the superheroes frequent the used market.  Thus far, I've managed to clothe our children in about 95% used items.  Hand-me-downs.  Garage sales.  Collecting bigger clothing and keeping it in a box until it's the right size. . .  I have a pretty well-oiled system. 

But Gemma is growing out of this mode.  There's not as much used clothing around for elementary-aged kids because they don't grow as quickly as they did in the baby years, so that one dress is going to last 2 years, not a mere 6 months, at at the end of 2 years, it is not going to be in great shape, the way the one that fit for just 6 months did. 

I'm OK with all this.  I have no problem shopping in real stores.  Good values can be found on a sales or clearance rack.  So there Gemma and I were: in Old Navy, shopping for pants for me.  Also in Old Navy--and this is where they must make the majority of their money--is a kids' section, including a big rack of t-shirts and shorts, all in the cutest patterns.

The price was good.  I told Gemma she could pick out 2 tops and 2 shorts and that was a thrill for her.  I hadn't realized until that moment that part of having your Mom collect your clothes from the used market means that you don't actually pick out what you are going to wear. She's never complained about this.  But I could tell by her wide eyes that she was liking the opportunity to select. 

This one, this one, these and these, she decided.

I said, "Oh, I'm not sure these two really match," as I placed the top by the shorts.  I looked twice and said, "Oh!  These are cute together!" -- genuine surprise, here.

I looked up and she was looking back, a slight smile, serenely confident that of course they looked cute together.

I looked back to her selections.  "But these two, I think these might be too busy. . ." second take. . .she was right again.  They looked really cute.

"Oh," I said again.  Her look remained the same. 

As we walked to the register with our clothes, I said, "I think you might be better at this than Mommy is."

What was her look this time?  "Yyyyeah. . ." 


J:

He still loves to hug.  A very cuddly boy.  And I love hugging him.

The other day, I was cuddling him up in my lap and he said, completely, as a statement that needed no explanation:   "Mommy, my love goes beyond." 


A:

I judged a speech and debate tournament in Arvada, CO last Saturday.  I was so excited about the opportunity that I cleared it with Bryan, commited to being there and then mapquested the discovery that Arvada is a 90 minute drive from here.

Not ideal.  But I'm glad I went.

The tournament itself was a pleasure.  I just love judging these things.  Love it!   I used to to quite a bit of this work before Gemma came along, and this past Saturday marked my happy return to it after a 7 year break.  It's my idea of a great time.

But there's more:

I was chatting with a fellow judge who, I learned, lives in Manitou Springs.  I know just one other person who lives there, and it's a town of what?  40 thousand people?  I wasn't going to say, "Do you happen to know. . ." 

But later we got to talking about something else that related to this other person I know.  So I mentioned, in telling my story, "a doctor--he lives in Manitou, actually--that-"

"Is it Matthew?" this judge asked.

No way.

"Matt Mayfield?" I asked him, because this is that one other person I know who lives in Manitou.

Yep.  This judge is the Mayfields' neighbor.  His daughters dog-sit the Mayfields' akita.

Mathematically speaking, what are the chances of this, exactly? 

Nope, it's not a coincidence.  It's a God-incidence.  So fun. . . so fun.