Dear Heloise: Sugar Ant Hell

I love those helpful hint columns. I always have. I may not be the girl who can tell you exactly what years the Civil War took place; but, by gum I can tell you that they used the first generation of duct tape to cover wounds.

I ignorantly laughed years ago when someone wrote:

"How do I get rid of sugar ants?" 

The columnist wrote: "MOVE!"

Sugar Ants are a bain to my existence. I go from hostility, to shame, to utter apathy. I've tried it all, except for the recent one about Borax....If I could ever remember to buy it, I'd try it. (Yes, it's on my list. I just can't remember to look at the list while I'm at the store.) I also have the name of a chemical that would kill my whole neighborhood if they lick my foundation. I never seem to make it to the Kill the World store to get that either. Honestly. I just squirt the ants with Clorox and wipe them away.

If you live nearby, you've heard me say, "If you're coming to see me, drop by anytime. If you're coming to see my house, every other Tuesday is the day." (If I'm really effusive, I'll add,  "for two to three hours after Laura leaves.")

The last two times I had weekend guests I made blanket claims about my sugar ant intruders and gave quick demonstrations for their extermination. I've also made disclaimers about the chaos in the house and the transitions, blah, blah. If Heloise graded my hostessing, she'd give me a D. Martha would fail me--that b--&%*. How I wish I was that punch people in the throat woman. And those poor grades are for the sugar ant problem alone. They could also add:

1. Setting the oven ablaze with the Paula Deen Get Diabetes and Hide it Bread.

2. Having to throw away the wool rug in the kitchen because a cat, angry at Sarah for not moving off his spot on the love seat, peed all over it. The kitchen reeked.

3. Opening up Bisquick that hadn't been used for well over a year to find weevils everywhere in the pantry.

4. Not fixing that handle on the microwave only to have someone else pull it off in her hand.

5. Not fixing that chair that wobbles only to have it break WHILE your dear friend was sitting in it!

6. Preparing all meals in advance. (A+, even from Martha.) Remembering at 4PM that you didn't put the crock in the slow cooker!

I could actually go on. You get the point. If I'm using helpful tips and certain cultural standards as my measuring stick for being a good hostess, I'm a big ol' failure. That's why I like to consider what I'm measuring and the best tool for that measurement.

If you were to ask any of my guests if they would return to my home, I'm pretty sure all of them would say, "Yes!" I even get people on a regular basis who will invite themselves over or do a drop in. I tell people to push stuff to the floor and come in.

I know how to laugh at myself. I also know how to be fully present in the moment with my guests. Sometimes that means the two pounds of butter in a dish may catch fire. It might also mean that I might forget to take the brisket out of the refrigerator. There is always flour to put out fires and chips and salsa for dinner.

If you love your guests, they'll come back. 

Linda, Sarah, Beth, and Keila will return. Linda is in charge of making sure the food gets in the oven. Sarah will keep us laughing in all circumstances. Beth is not allowed to open the microwave. Keila told me about Borax for my ants. Besides, when she had guests whom she'd never met in her home, she, with her guests, watched through the window as her husband beat an enormous rat to death with a broom. 

Forget Heloise. Be you and love people into your life.

Will someone please communicate to my sugar ants I feel NO love for them?

Be My Balentime

Valentines Day 2012 will be marked in my heart as a favorite. In fact, I think I can safely say that it's my best one ever.

Let me preface my story with a question I've been pondering daily for weeks now, "How do I know you love me God?"

Well versed in Bible head knowledge, I've got right responses ready to pull out of my convenient answer bag. That said, I believe the Bible is true and it says, "God loves me" over and over again. I read it regularly and am happy for the privilege of reading His inspired words. I trust His Word--mostly. On good days and sometimes on really bad days I believe. It's the middle days that strangle my faith.

And yet......ever the child looking for evidence and something tangible, I search in other places as well.

Our culture, and sadly, at some level, I too am caught up easily in the notion of romantic love. Valentine's Day can just stink if we measure our life based on romantic love alone.

Here's a snippet of a conversation I had with God last weekend.

L-Lord, I know what you say in the Bible, but I need you to show up and be God today. I'm just days shy of 47. I failed in my marriage. I'm lonely. I'm also really lazy and I don't want to do things I know you've asked me to do. I'm tired. I'm mad. And. I'm starving because I'm truly trying to lose the weight I gained trying to avoid life and pain. I know you love me, I'm just having a hard time seeing it today.

God-

L-also, if you could, would you let me feel it with my heart?

God-

L- and while you're at it, I'd like you to demonstrate your love physically as well.

God-

L-I'm ready and I'm waiting. Give me eyes to see it. If I can't see it, any kind of nudge will help.

God-

Valentine's morning I'd baked heart shaped muffins for Annie Beth and dropped her off at school. I got a call from Jenny asking if I could have lunch with them. I couldn't. I later received a text from her:
If you'll be home at 9:45 we're going to stop by.


Jenny, punctual as usual, knocked at the door at 9:45. The next few moments are freeze framed captions in my mind, yet they happened in a few seamless seconds. I opened the door and Jenny stepped to the side. I saw Brenner, 2 1/2 walking up the pathway. Dressed in red striped overalls donning his black felt fedora, he was grinning from ear to ear. His paced picked up and he trotted towards me. The bouquet of pink roses was sort of smushed against my legs as he hugged me with all his might. As if remembering he wasn't supposed to hug first, he pulled back and handed me the roses. Just as quickly as he placed them in my hands, his little right hand slipped into the back pocket of his engineer type overalls. As if by magic, out came a chocolate bar, that if seen from behind would have covered almost half his back. He, pleased with his efforts, walked into the house. Jenny, with a gentle reminder and a whisper in his ear said, "Brenner, what else?" At this point, I'm leaning down. I was almost eye level to him (Darn. I wish I would have kneeled the whole time.) He looked right into my now watery eyes and whispered, "Be my Balentime."

I'm weeping now as I write this etched memory.
It's a love story.

It's about a friend whom I've chosen as family. She's a younger sister who has walked alongside me both literally and figuratively for almost 10 years. We prayed fervently for another baby for her family. We were training to walk 60 miles in 3 days for breast cancer that year when conception and desire seemed like enemies. That November, Jenny would happily wave down a sweep van to take needed breaks from the 60 miles because she had just discovered she was pregnant. She was well into the pregnancy when I filed for divorce that Spring. I was there when Brenner was born on July 9, 2009. I will someday apologize to him that I was convinced he was a girl and took something pink for him to the hospital.

I can't explain this part at all, I just know that Brenner loves me. Even as an infant we had a special bond. He has a name especially for me. He calls me MiMi. I haven't a clue why. His grandmothers are Grammy and Nanny. He knows my name is Lori. Last summer he just started calling me MiMi. It thrills me! Regarding his love for me, it is possible that he loves me because I think everything he does is splendid and I believe in candy. And yet, I know it's more and I just receive his love as a gift. Which I, in turn, give back to him in ways that he can feel with his heart and his perfectly porcelain skin.

I'm demanding of God. I learned from studying the Psalms, in particular, that I'm one in a long line of others who just talk to God and sometimes, quite unwisely, ask God to show up and be God. And yet, when it comes to asking Him to demonstrate His love, He's never failed. I believe with all my being that He delights in responding to love demands.

This love story is nestled inside so many other love stories. Most importantly it's just another page in the story of God's love. He was responding to an earlier conversation with me. The astonishing part is that He used two more family members to demonstrate that love. He nudged Jenny's ever sensitive heart and said something like,


G -"Hey! Why don't you buy some flowers and candy and let Brenner give them to Lori?"

She listened and said,
J- "Sure. And I'll practice with Brenner and have him tell her something special."

Jenny didn't know about my private conversation with God. She just listened and responded to a prompting within her heart. And, I, with just a few years of experience in recognizing and knowing God's voice, His style, and His signature, knew in that split second that He was showing up in the form of a child to lavish me with enthusiastic touch, tangible, beautiful gifts, ending in a hushed child's voice, "Lori, I love you."

My response back to Him now is to tell a few others about how tenderly and perfectly God loves His children. He is who He says He is. He has a love story to tell and wants us to be a part of it. That's amazing.