Father's and Son's Camp out

A couple of weeks ago they announced that several congregations that are all pretty close to us were having a Father's and Son's camp out.  I wasn't at the meeting where it was first brought up but I understand that the hubbs said that he would love to go and he would be bringing his daughter.

He left it at that.

One of the great things about the hubbs is that he doesn't seem to get all worked up about things.  If I would have been in the room I would have been seething.  How dare they?  Did they have a father's a daughter's camp out planned (the answer to this question is no)?  I can just imagine what would have been going through my head while they tried to explain that they had lots of fun cooking and decorating activities planned for girls and their moms.  My anger would have fueled my thoughts and actions.  If you would have asked me I might have called anger something more PC like "rightous indignation" but boiled down to its barest form it would have just been anger--anger calling me to action.  I would fret about what people would say and how I would react and how I would protect her.

The hubbs doesn't need that.  He doesn't have to be angry to act.  He can just act.  And he's better off for it.

They had a great time.  They canoed and slept in a tent and ever since Claire has been walking around talking about camping and looking for flash lights to put in her backpack.

After the event the hubbs was in another meeting where they asked for reviews and he said, "next year I think we should make it father's and kid's instead of father's and son's."  The people conducting the meeting said they would think about it but the hubbs doesn't think they'll change.

He said he would take Claire next year too.

She can hardly wait.

It's called a funk

I've been in a little bit of a writing funk (I've been in a personal funk too--oh hey still not back to pre-pregnancy weight and a husband who is gone for 12 hours every day.  Oh....and I have two kids who seem to have missed the memo that we only get up at 5 if there is a fire).

I think about this blog pretty regularly.  I think of things that I want to talk about and hear about and inspiration that I receive and I want to share it.  But then I think, "who wants to hear that from me?" or "who am I to talk about _____?"

On Sunday I read this article by C. Jane and I was thrilled because she gave me a new way to talk about what I was feeling.  The article is titled "Do you feel like you are casting your pearls before swine when you write personally?" and it opens up with this definition from Wikipedia

"Pearls before swine" and "casting pearls" refer to a quotation from Matthew 7:6 in Jesus's Sermon on the Mount, implying that you should not put what is valuable in front of those who will reject the notion that it has value and furthermore that they will seek to diminish or destroy what you offer.
Her basic thought is that you have to define what are swine and what are pearls.  Sometimes it doesn't feel like your thoughts are pearls.  Sometimes you are a swine.  So there it is...lately, I have been my own swine.

Who am I to talk about _____?  Who am I not to?

So here it goes. I've been thinking a lot about stuff lately.  Claire is obsessed with stuff.  Before we go anywhere she tries to pack all of her purses full of tiny little objects--all of the utensils from her play kitchen, all of the pieces of board games, all of the little chew toys that Noah has.  You name it and she'll put it in a purse and try to bring it with us.  It drives me crazy and every time it happens I'm embarrassed that we have enough stuff for her to fill 4-5 purses.

But then I fall into the trap of wanting to buy her more stuff.  The other day a friend gave us a Dora Doll House.  Claire was thrilled (Noah loves it too because it talks when he pushes the buttons). I came home and immediately went about searching Amazon so we could have dolls and furniture.  You'll be please to know that I caught myself just before I ordered $40 worth of dolls and furniture.  Instead we scrounged up all the little doll-like things we had that fit in the house and made furniture out of egg cartons.  She was thrilled.  And today, when I found the bed and couch we made crammed into one of her purses I just threw it away.

Here's to less stuff.

What do you do to keep yourself from acquiring too much stuff?