Maui Textures 1

I can't seem to get enough of the beautiful textures here on the island...or find words to describe them, so here's a visual taste.

Maui Textures 2

Maui Textures 3

Surprised by Joy

Have I ever mentioned how much I love teenagers? Raising little ones has its perks--wilted dandilion boquets, cuddling up for bedtime stories, chubby cheeks begging to be kissed. But there's something about the conversations that one can have with a teen that have me hooked.

Take tonight for example. These are just a few things Sweet Sixteen and I discussed--atheism, human nature, politics, drugs, fast food and its resulting fat cells, forgiveness, poetry, Jane Goodall, the plot of Lord of the Flies, ear-piercing, the stimulus package, and God. Three hours of heart to heart. I wouldn't trade that time for anything. I can't seem to get enough of watching my teens grow into themselves. Questioning. Thinking. Changing. Becoming.

It scares me when they voice their confusion about their testimonies and what they are unsure of in their lives. But then I walk by their bedroom in the middle of the day and catch them on their knees in prayer or absorbed in the scriptures, and that's when that I know that they will be okay. Someone who loves them even more than I do--perish the thought--is in charge.

I guess I just didn't expect parenting to get more rewarding as my kids got older because all I ever heard (and experienced--sorry, Mom and Dad) was how hard teens were supposed to be.

One of my favorite authors, C. S. Lewis, has a book titled Surprised By Joy. And that's just how I feel. I must admit there are times that I also feel Surprised by Pain, or Surprised by Disobedience, or Surprised by Lack of Common Sense...but for the most part I am grateful to have been surprised by joy.

Traumatized by previous post...

Sorry people, I've been so completely bugged about my last post and it's messed up alignment that I've been discouraged from subsequent attempts at blogging. But, in the words of my charming 16-year-old, "Some people have real problems, Mom." So I'm back in the saddle again, armed with the five hundred or so unpublished photos I finally convinced tech-support (said 16-year-old) to upload, all of them itching to get published. (I jest about the number of photos. It's more like four hundred.) Oh, and if you're wondering why I haven't bothered to comment your posts as you so faithfully do mine (even horrendous scrambly ones), it's this simple: It has taken many years to teach me how to make a text box in Word (something I still cannot do unaided), and when I read your beautiful entries and admire your pictures and anecdotes and get all warm and fuzzy inside and itch to leave an eloquent reply--I cannot for the life of me find the comments page. Much less create one. My apologies.

On another note, isn't this the cutest little pineapple you have ever seen? Ever since we moved to the tropics, Mr. E and I have been having an on-going argument...er discussion...about whether pineapple grow underground like potatoes (his opinion), or above the ground like, say THIS rogue pineapple (my opinion). I mean, have you ever had to brush dirt off your pineapple? Neither have I. I think this picture settles it.

Run, don't walk, to your nearest Borders store... (The unscrambled version)

So I walked into borders the other day and there was a big rack of books labeled 90% off!  I went giddy all over and immediately went to work--shopping that is--serious business, these sales are.  Wedged between some blank journals and the Hello Kitty collection was this Personal Organizing Workbook.  Fast forward five minutes and all I have to say is, she came, she saw, she conquered. 

A favorite page of mine.  Get this--it's a picture of the yard sale I'm supposed to be having if I really was taking the advice from the book to heart.  Are you kidding me?!?  I want to GO to this yard sale!  The woman selling this fabulous stuff is clearly cousin to the insane bookseller who marked this remarkable book 90% off.

I LOVE this page.  Everything--the white trim, the ivory walls, the sweet little hooks, the pink peonies in their ceramic vase, the letters in the ironstone platter on the white bamboo table--they all speak to me.  They are whispering, "Dark is bad, very bad.  What you need is white.  Go to the light, Michelle..."

What can I say?  Sigh...

It's official, I have closet envy.  Who on earth has closets that look like this?  (Not counting you, Tana).  Whoever she is, I hate her.

What Little Man has been up to...

...whale watching...

...making sand angels...

 (you know what they say, when in Rome...)

...nesting...

...being buried alive...

...contemplating the meaning of life...

Deep thoughts, deep thoughts.