How to fall back asleep
May 31, 2010 | My Jottings
I usually don’t have any trouble falling asleep at night. Getting up between 5:00 and 5:30 a.m. helps with this – by 8:00 p.m. I’m yawning and starting to turn into a pumpkin. I’m usually propped up in bed by 9:00 with something to read, and the hypnotic effect of my eyes tracking back and forth, back and forth across the pages of my book usually puts me to sleep within ten minutes.
What has become an issue for me is staying asleep. Women readers past the age of forty-five will most likely have experienced this. Most doctors call this middle-of-the-nighttime wakefulness “menopausal sleep disturbances,” and while it’s nice to be able to call it something official, it’s still unfortunate to be dead tired and awake, and unable to go back to sleep at 3:30 a.m.
I’ve tried various things to help myself go back to sleep. One: sometimes I pray. But often I then start thinking about all the things that are heavy on my heart and lying there in the dark of night silently talking about them isn’t conducive to good slumber. I know that prayer should bring peace and that I’m supposed to be leaving my concerns with Jesus when I pray, but somehow when I’m exhausted and listening to Edith the Schnauzer snore and I know I have to get up and function well in a couple of hours, prayer just makes me more wakeful.
The second thing I’ve tried is scripture memorization. I have tried going over the verses that the SAGs have worked on together, and I like this activity and feel it’s a productive way to fill a few sleepless hours, not to mention that it’s the way to renew my mind. But sometimes I want to make sure I’m getting the passage right, and then I feel the need to take the tiny flashlight in my nightstand drawer and look at the index card the verse is written on. Sometimes I can do this without waking Michael, other times not. So I haven’t tried this activity in quite a long while.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep I just get up and go downstairs and read the morning paper online. Or I might write a blog post on sleeplessness, Schnauzers or stuffed baked potatoes.
Sometimes I’ve resorted to taking pills. I heard a long time ago that many people just take Benadryl when they need a little help falling or staying asleep. It’s an allergy medication that makes you drowsy. I tried it and it worked. But since I don’t need the allergy medication, now I just buy the pills that have the drowsy-making medication and not the allergy ingredients. Here’s what I occasionally take and it works well – rarely do I wake up and stay awake if I’ve taken two of these.
For the past couple of months I’ve tried another tactic and while it’s a long and meandering path back to sleep, it’s simple and can sometimes be pleasant. I try slowly counting my respirations, beginning at the number seventy-three, going backwards. Don’t ask me why I start at seventy-three — it was just the number that popped into my head one sleepless night as I was trying to figure out what to do about being awake yet again. I guess seventy-three was better than a hundred, in my mind. You might think ninety-one or sixty-four is the number you should start with when you’re lying wide awake at night, and I totally support you in this.
What happens when I start silently counting backwards is always a surprise — I never know where I’ll end up. The only sure thing (at least so far) is that I will fall asleep before I ever get to “three, two, one, zero.”
It goes something like this. I wake up again after a few hours of good, solid sleep. But it’s 2:42 or 3:17 a.m. and I don’t want to get up yet. And I would like to sleep a little more, so I’ll have the ability to be somewhat friendly in the morning and throughout the approaching day. So instead of counting those proverbial sheep, I begin to count my breaths. Slowly inhale, exhale — seventy-three…seventy-two…seventy-one, seventy, sixty-nine, sixty-eight…hmmm…1968 was the year I was in sixth grade and Miss Nancy Curry was my teacher…I remember that kelly green knit sleeveless shift she used to wear, the one with the bone colored stripes up the side of the dress, and how she wore a bone colored bow in her hair too. I remember she wore cinnamon colored nylons which was the trend then and you don’t see anymore. She taught us about South America that year and she pronounced Venezuela Ven-soo-AY-la….sixty-nine…wait, was I at sixty-nine or sixty-eight? I can’t remember, better start back in the seventies so I’ll make sure I don’t skip a number…seventy, sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-five…oh, that was the year my brother graduated from high school – he was eighteen and I was eight — I hope he’s okay right now – Lord please touch him and help him…sixty-five, sixty-four, sixty-three, sixty-two, sixty-one…I cannot believe Michael is sixty-one years old. It seems like just yesterday he was my handsome 32 year-old groom and now next year we will celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary…thirty, twenty-nine, no! wait! I was in the sixties I think…. which number was it? I’d better start at sixty-nine again. Sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six, I always seem to forget what number I’m on as I breathe in, breathe out, but it’s relaxing and I’ll probably fall asleep again before I get to zero. Oh yes – our thirtieth wedding anniversary – where should we go to celebrate? I would love to visit the Alpine countries – I would love to hear cowbells on Swiss slopes and listen to some yodeling, or even visit Salzburg where The Sound of Music was filmed. I love that movie – I wish life was more like that movie. I wish I could be more like Julie Andrews – kind and gentle and innocent and lovely. I would like to sing and dance with my daughters in front of the villa like that too. Sigh. Sixty-one. Oh where was I? I think it was sixty-six. Breathing slowly – inhale, exhale. Sixty-five, sixty-four, sixty-three, sixty-two, sixty-one, oh I remember now I’ve counted to sixty-one because I thought about Michael. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, I think that’s when Lorna was born…fifty-seven, isn’t there a classic Chevrolet with fins from 1957? I think the Langs next door had one. I know my parents never drove Chevrolets and always preferred Buicks. I remember the beige colored LeSabre station wagon we had – it was a 1963 model and its license plate was black and yellow, and that was before California went to the dark blue and yellow license plates. I remember our first blue and yellow license plate but that was on our 1970 Buick LeSabre – the green one that wasn’t a station wagon. Fifty-six, fifty-five. It’s so strange that I can remember the license plate from that green LeSabre – 889 BIX. My mom even drove that for a while after she moved to Morro Bay. And I can recall part of my grandpa and grandma’s license plate on their 1960 black Cadillac – JBP but I can’t remember the three numbers to that one. Larry’s little blue VW he brought home from Germany eventually had a California plate that said TRF 043. Fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two – I can’t believe I’m fifty-two years old…oh yes I can when I look in the mirror. Fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine, wasn’t there something about a gold rush in a year that ended in 49? I’ll have to look that up. I loved living in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in Gold Country. I wonder if our little three-room trailer on the Yuba River in Smartville is still there? It was eight feet by forty-eight feet and I played Fleetwood Mac all the time and ironed lots of military uniforms in it. I’ll look on Google Earth tomorrow to see if I can find it. Where was I? Inhale, exhale. Fifty-nine? I know I was in the fifties. There was the two-tone car with the fins…maybe I’m in the forties. I’ll start at fifty again to make sure I don’t miss a number. Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five, forty-four – wasn’t that Jerry West’s jersey number when he played for the LA Lakers? I think so. And I wonder why they call the Boston Celtics Celtics with a soft sounding C instead of the hard C that we always use nowadays for the word Celtic. I wonder if Michael and I should go to Ireland for our thirtieth anniversary? He would love that. We need to spend more time there this time and see more than just Dublin. Oh, that Bed and Breakfast in Dublin was so cold…brrrr. Thirty, twenty-nine – no! I’m in the forties! Was it forty-seven? Probably not. Forty-three, forty-two — I hated that movie, The Summer of Forty-Two — just too sad….Inhale slowly, exhale slowly…
And I don’t think I’ve ever gotten down to the thirties yet before I’ve fallen fast asleep once again.
So if any of you need a practical method to help you fall back to sleep at night, try counting your breaths backwards, starting at seventy-three.
Let me know how this works for you.
His ways are not our ways…
May 29, 2010 | My Jottings
I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.”
“This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.
Martha Snell Nicholson
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Haven of rest
May 25, 2010 | My Jottings
Michael and I need like to get away every several weeks so we can have some quiet time, some sleeping past 5:30 a.m. time, some reading in front of a fire time. A few weeks ago we went in the middle of the week to someplace we’d never been before, where we rented a cabin right on the brink of Lake Superior. It wasn’t far from home but it seemed like a world away. We turned off of Highway 61 when we saw this sign, and drove down a dirt road toward the big lake.
We were pleasantly surprised when we saw that our cabin was perched among some trees, right on the edge of Lake Superior. Less than a stone’s throw from the water. Closer than that, even. Close enough to sneeze on.
That afternoon and most of the night, the rain poured from the sky and the wind whipped up the lake and brought huge, crashing waves on the rocks below our windows. In the morning the clouds began to lift and we could see the sun in the east over Lake Superior.
It was wonderful spending the day inside. Michael found something he loves to do but I don’t have the patience for:
And I found something I love to do that Michael doesn’t have the patience for: these are my relaxed feet propped up on the arm of the couch, and that is my Kindle, which can hold one thousand books.
We loved being in our cabin with a cozy fire crackling in the fireplace. We treated ourselves to a couple of these little bottles too:
We took turns in this gliding rocking chair by the window. Did I mention that right outside was the biggest fresh water lake in the world? We love that lake. We live close to that lake. We’d like to live even closer someday.
A photo of favorites — favorite socks, favorite shoes, favorite man.
When the rain stopped the next day, we went to Gooseberry Falls and the visitor center there. I bought some bird bookmarks and two CDs, one of which I am now playing compulsively (but quietly) each night in our bedroom as we go to sleep. At the Gooseberry Center is a huge, stuffed Timberwolf. We have lots of these in our part of the country:
Michael explored the rocky shore right outside our cabin. He has always loved to hunt for agates.
Our last evening there we ate dinner at the Grand Superior Lodge, which is quintessentially Minnesotan in every way possible.
The menu was full of wonderful meals made with Minnesota things, like pink lingonberry butter to spread on dense homemade wild rice bread, fresh-catch walleye, and venison. I ordered apple brandied chicken stuffed with Brie, sprinkled with fresh herbs, pecans and cranberries, and maple syruped sweet potatoes. It was unique and eye-rollingly delicious.
Michael loves walleyed pike, one of the best tasting fresh water fish in the world. He fishes for walleye whenever he can, “winter, spring, summer or fall, all you have to do is call, and he’ll be there, yes he will, he wants a walleye,” and orders it often when we go out for dinner. His walleye came with Minnesota wild rice pilaf, and everything was cooked to perfection.
Michael wanted dessert and ordered a frozen chocolate mousse with raspberry coulis and sprinkled with ground pistachios. He loved it; I had a bite and thought it was okay. I would have been fine with a few miniature Reese’s cups.
When we were getting ready to head home I asked Michael if he thought he could live in a two-bedroom cabin like the one we stayed in. He didn’t take more than a half-second to say yes.
Where do you go when you need to rest and refresh?
A Momentous Year
May 21, 2010 | My Jottings
This is my second grade school picture from Workman Avenue Elementary School in Southern California. I was in Mrs. Lokken’s class. Several really important things happened there.
First, I learned that contrary to what my parents had been told by Mrs. Weber, my first grade teacher, I did indeed have some academic potential after all. Who knew? Apparently not Mrs. Weber. I still have all my report cards from elementary school. I keep them in a file that’s labeled “report cards” in my filing cabinet. In first grade I got straight C’s. In second grade I got mostly A’s and a few B’s.
Secondly, I learned from Mrs. Lokken how crucial it is to enthusiastically blurt out “Rabbit!” to random people on the first day of every month (before they say it to you first), so you’ll have good luck the rest of the month, and presumably the random people won’t. I’m in my fifties now and our family still works hard at this undertaking. My husband Michael has been known to lay awake until the stroke of midnight on the first of the month, then gently nudge me and put his lips next to my ear and whisper wickedly, “Rabbit!” before he chuckles and then rolls over and goes to sleep. I am not making this up. My daughters try to rabbit me before I rabbit them, and I of course I try diligently to get them first. Texting has come in very handy with rabbiting. I sometimes text RABBIT! to Sharon, Carolyn and Sara very early in the morning on the first day of the month. My sons-in-law halfheartedly participate in this activity, all because I learned this life skill when I was seven years old, in Mrs. Lokken’s second grade class, in the momentous year of 1964.
Thirdly, I lost my two front teeth in the second grade, and actually let the insensitive nice man photographer influence me to smile with my mouth closed. I had never smiled like that before. For a long time after that I was self-conscious about my teeth and hated my smile. Then a few years later my parents spent thousands of dollars on 1) head gear, 2) braces, 3) a retainer, and 4) myriad orthodontist appointments, and after I heard “we’ve spent thousands of dollars on your teeth!” more than a few times, I decided to start liking my smile better.
Fourth, in the second grade I met my friend Denel. She was in Mrs. Lokken’s class too. She and I were the best of friends for years. I wrote about some of our childhood antics here. Denel still lives in Southern California and in 1981 I moved to Northern Minnesota, but we still keep in touch, pray for each other, and call each other “my dearest oldest friend.” We still try to rabbit each other too. When I was seven years old in 1964, only God knew that I would gain a treasured friend whose love and faithfulness would span my entire lifetime. Forty-five years is a long time to have a friend.
Also when I was seven years old, I had not yet eaten an egg, a bite of cheese, a green vegetable other than iceberg lettuce, or even a sip of any kind of soup.
While 1964 was an eggless, cheeseless, fiberless, soupless year in my life, thankfully it did not turn out to be completely brainless, smileless or friendless.
Reach back into your memory and share something that happened to you in 1964!
May 20, 2010 | My Jottings
Now that all my children and all my grandchildren are in one city, I have the pleasure of sometimes waking up to sights like this on Saturday mornings. This is Mr. McBoy and his cousin Clara, born three months apart in 2002.
“Cousins are those childhood playmates who grow up to be forever friends.”
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Guest Blogger – Tauni!
May 18, 2010 | My Jottings
I asked my friend Tauni if she would share something for the blog and I think you’ll be blessed by what she sent me yesterday. Tauni lives by the ocean in Southern California, is married to Curt, has two grown children, Shannon and Jared, and a darling toddler grandson named Ben. Enjoy…
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The way God works in my life never ceases to amaze me. Day by day I have learned to open my heart to His wonders anew and truly allow myself to be blessed, even in the dark and twisted places where I sometimes find myself. However, it has not always been this way. A brief encounter with an acquaintance at work forever altered the way I choose to live my life.
In June 2003 I was struggling emotionally, physically and financially. I found myself fretting, worrying, wondering and many times feeling very angry and depressed because of my circumstances. It was really hard to see God’s hand in anything, let alone working in my life.
One day I requested one of the employees at work to come to my office as I had a question on the time sheet I was processing for her. She stopped by, we discussed the issue and she left closing the door behind her. A few minutes later there was a soft knock and as she opened the door asked if I had a couple of minutes because she had to share something with me. She shared that God had told her to talk to me over a month ago and she had kept fighting it, had been “arguing” with Him if you will. When she left my office after our work discussion she felt convicted about ignoring Him and she knew she could not avoid it any longer so she came back. She told me of a vision and a prophesy God had given her specifically for me. In summary, she shared with me that God wanted me to know that He has a plan for my life; that the plan was to prosper me. She told me that Jeremiah 29:11 was His message to me. That He would bless me immeasurably, that I would indeed be very prosperous. I was overwhelmed with all the things she said. As I think about it now, if felt like a whirlwind blowing through my office around me and then out the door. I shared briefly what I had been recently going through and thanked her for coming back. She stated, “That is not all.” I took a deep breath and said, “Ok.” She then shared that God also wanted me to know that Satan had asked to “sift” me (see Luke 22:31) as wheat. That no matter what my circumstances were, I was to give Him (God) praise; to stand on His promise and remember it. After a few more minutes of talking together and a prayer she left.
Since I had never had someone prophesy to me, about me, over me, I was a bit skeptical about the whole situation. And, while I was really excited about the “prosper” part, I was not so excited about the “sifting” part. However, the more I pondered the encounter the more confident I felt that God was indeed talking to me.
One might think the “sifting” part would be the most difficult thing to cope with in this situation, at least I thought it would be. However, I found through the years that the “prosper” part has brought the biggest challenge. When the “sifting” began I learned how to recognize it for the most part and praised God. It is now so automatic I don’t even think about it. It has taught me to slow down, take a deep breath and watch God work, and work He does; in some of the most amazing ways.
God continues to lead me on an interesting journey to the prosperity part. In the beginning I found myself looking at everything from the perspective of potential prosperity and was always met with disappointment after disappointment. As time goes by, God has used those disappointments and His Word to open my eyes to the limitations of my human comprehension and the fact that He is limitless. Examples of how God works beyond human limitations are found throughout scripture, in the lives of Job, Joseph, Moses, and Saul of Tarsus, for example. But the example that most resonates with me is Sarah, Abraham’s wife. I can understand Sarah’s frustration of not conceiving a child after God told her she would. Often I found myself wanting to “help” God, much in the way Sarah “helped” him when she offered Hagar, her maidservant, to Abraham as a way to give him the children God promised him. In other words, not fully understanding God’s ways led her to believe she had a better way, which turned out disastrous. I have had many “Sarah moments” in my life, feeling the need to do something, anything, out of sheer frustration at the waiting, and having it turn out disastrous.
I have discerned some recurring themes through this journey. The first is the waiting time. Scripture tells of years and sometimes decades (even centuries) passing between the time of God’s initial promise and the ultimate fulfillment of that promise. I understand the depth of doubt people fought as year after year went by without the promise fulfilled; doubting the integrity of God and doubting the love of God, wanting to just take control because God seemed to be taking so long.
The second is the growing time. Scripture also speaks of the process of growing integrity and character through events that occur. As I look back on my life over the past seven years I see how my integrity and character have been challenged to grow through each event that has occurred. Coping with consequences of my choices has taught me to examine and evaluate my motives and how my actions affect the people I love and others around me. Third, through the waiting and growing times, God is still there. He speaks, I have to be still and listen. And finally, God always keeps his promises.
One step at a time I am learning how to deal with my “Sarah moments.” At the time of this writing I have not yet seen the fulfillment of the promise of prosperity; on the contrary, I am struggling more now in many ways than in June of 2003. But it has ceased to be important. Recognizing that God sees the whole parade and I see just what is in front of me, I am focused on God’s process, listening to God’s voice and learning His ways, making the most of the waiting and growing times so that when God’s promise is fulfilled in His time, I will have the integrity, character and humility to handle it as a King’s kid, all the while praising Him!
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Coming soon to a blog near you
May 16, 2010 | My Jottings
Very soon, my dear childhood (and adulthood) friend Tauni will be a guest blogger here at Just Julie. Tauni and I have known each other for over 45 years now, and you can read a little more about her right here.
Another dear friend was a guest blogger a while back too – I would read anything Diane Aro wrote, and if you haven’t read this yet, you’ll appreciate “Pride Cometh Before a Zip.”
Tauni flew from Southern California last summer to visit us here in the north woods. I was so inspired by our time together. Perhaps no other person I know has taught me more about forgiveness, humility, and guileless living as Tauni has. Just by her example, I am constantly challenged to walk out my Christian life in truer, kinder and more loving ways. Every time I talk with her on the phone or exchange emails with her, I come away having learned something new, or having been encouraged in practical ways. So I asked Tauni if she would be my second guest blogger, and she graciously agreed.
In a day or two I’ll be posting whatever she has decided to share, and I know it will be a blessing. Don’t miss it!
Neti Pot Basics
May 13, 2010 | My Jottings
If you know what a neti pot is, you probably either love them or they disgust you so thoroughly you gag when you hear the words neti pot even uttered.
For the few who might not know what a neti pot is, here is a photo and a definition:
Historically, neti pots were used in India, to assist in clearing the nasal passages. The neti pot was introduced to the West approximately thirty years ago, and today many people in the West have taken up a modified type of neti practice called Jala Neti (water neti) using a neti pot.
The use of a neti pot requires mixing up a saline solution that will be poured through the nasal passages. A typical saline solution is a mixture of around one pint of water with a teaspoon of salt. In modern times, saline nasal irrigation (SNI) has become more widely accepted as a home remedy to relieve conditions such as allergies (hay fever), colds and mild sinus infections.
If you’re curious you can see a demonstration of someone using a neti pot by clicking right here. Also essential to neti pot basics is keeping your neti pot clean.
Anyway, I know people who have used neti pots with great results, and I myself have used one; once I got over the initial feeling of drowning (which goes away after you’ve used it a couple of times and understand what’s happening to the water) I found the clear-breathing feeling afterward quite refreshing.
My son-in-law Jeremy has allergies and I thought he’d be a perfect candidate for a neti pot, so I bought him one. He used it now and then and did get relief.
Here comes the part of the story that is not for the faint of heart. In fact, if you gag easily you might want to just move on now to the next blog you planned on reading today.
Not long ago Jeremy felt like he was coming down with a sinus infection. Having used his neti pot in the past with good results, he decided to nip this issue in the bud and try irrigating his sinuses as a first line of defense.
When Carolyn found out that he had done this, she winced and said, “You probably don’t want to know where that neti pot has been.”
Oh dear. Guess where it had been?
Before I tell you that, I’ll show you the Neti Pot Culprit. This is 2 1/2 year old Audrey. She is the sweetest little girl. She loves to call Michael Bocka instead of Grandpa. She used to call me Backa instead of Grandma, but now she expertly says Grandma. So when she comes over, she runs into my arms and squeals to us both, “Hi Bocka! Hi Grandma!” Bocka and Grandma: not what I had thought we’d be called, but we’re good with it.
Audrey is an inquisitive, busy child who loves to explore. She likes to smear cold cream on upholstered furniture, enjoys breaking eggs by the dozen on the kitchen floor to see what they’ll feel like under bare feet, and thinks water is the funnest thing to splash and play in.
Audrey found Daddy’s neti pot and thought it would be so fun to scoop some water into it and pour it out on places in the house that badly needed watering.
But here’s where the Auds got the water to put in the neti pot:
Are you gagging yet? I truly hope not. I would hate to have my blog labeled The Blog That Makes People Gag.
But now you know what happened, don’t you? Jeremy used his neti pot to irrigate his sinuses, after Audrey had used it to scoop out some water from a place other than the sink. And in no time, Jeremy’s sinus infection got worse. Alarmingly worse. Ragingly worse. The infection quickly traveled up to his eyes, the appearance of which gave new meaning to the word bloodshot. Of course he saw a doctor. Thank God for antibiotics – he’s well now.
Audrey, Jeremy and the Neti Pot Adventure notwithstanding, have you ever used a neti pot? If so, what were the results?
Edition 39-Wednesday’s Word
May 12, 2010 | My Jottings
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.
If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.
When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians chapter 13
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This is what I’m thinking and praying about today. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever truly see these words worked out in my life.
Bet you’ve never seen this before…
May 10, 2010 | My Jottings
I’m going to show you something on the blog today that I’m willing to bet you’ve never laid eyes on before. It’s a photo of a gift my grandchildren gave to me for Mother’s Day this year. I honestly don’t think anyone on earth has ever received a gift just like this before. So really, history was made at my house on Mother’s Day.
By the way, I hope if you’re a mother, you had a nice Mother’s Day and that those you’ve birthed and/or raised showed their love to you in some way. I feel very blessed to have received thoughtful gifts and cards from all three of my daughters, and a card from my husband that brought tears.
What I didn’t expect was a present from the grandbabies. When Carolyn came over to wish me a happy day, she brought a little something from Clara, Elijah, Vivienne and Audrey. Their daddy Jeremy helped them with it. Here’s what it looked like on the outside:
If you’ve saved dozens of Christmas cookie tins for years and wondered what to do with them during other seasons, please know that you can use them to wrap Mother’s Day gifts if you like. I thought it was original and chuckleworthy.
Here’s what was inside this little tin:
Absolutely delicious, homemade shortbread cookies that say WWG. If you don’t know or can’t remember what W.W.G. stands for, you can click here and read all about it.
I am well aware that W.W.G. won’t always be a part of my life, or my grandchildren’s, although Mr. McBoy assures me that when he is married and has a family, he will still want to come over to Grandma’s house for W.W.G. We’ll see what his wife thinks about that.
Now tell me true, have you ever seen any shortbread cookies with WWG on them before?