Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Me and my Beloved Home Row


Do you know what it’s like growing up stinking at sports?

Well I do.

Because I really stink at them.

Except for kick ball.

I was so good at that game, I have vivid memories of being the first person picked by the team captains…heck…I was so good at kick ball, I usually was the team captain.

So I guess up until about fourth grade, I rocked at sports.

Except for that awful part of PE every year when they made you do as many pull ups as you could do in one minute.

I never even could do one.

Not one.

Really.

I was sure there was something medically wrong with my arms...or really my arm pits, because that's where it hurt. I’m also pretty sure I lied to everyone and told them that was the case, since my inability to do anything but plummet to the ground when the coach blew on her whistle was mortifying to me.

I remember being in about eighth grade, well into the years of feeling horrible because I had no athletic skills, daydreaming about starting a marketing campaign to bring back kick ball in junior high.

This was right after I went from the A team in volleyball to the B team and then to the C team all in one week. I began fantasizing about kick ball coming back after the jr. high coach told me, upon demoting me three times in one week, that I got on the A team because I looked athletic and I was good friends with all the A team girls, but that I really needed some practice and determination if I was going to climb the volleyball ladder.

It hurt at the time, but now I know that she-man guy lady was a prophet. She was just predicting a life as an actress…someone who could look the part and play the part…just not hit a real ball over a real net.

How could I make kick ball a junior high thing?

I had lots of ideas.

I wanted to make posters of myself holding a kick ball, smiling with my colorful braces, lion mane hair, and scattered acne, giving a big thumbs up.

Under my picture would read:

Kick Ball
It’s for
Kool Kids

or

Kick Ball
Not Just for Kindergarten

I tried to figure out which celebrities I should write to who would help me usher in the kick ball madness in my middle school.

I was a big fan of writing celebrities at that age, because when the TV people quit showing Private Benjamin, I got so upset about it I told one of my teachers, and she told me to write to the show, sharing my disappointment. They sent me a big picture of Goldie Hawn and told me they were sorry, but now Ghostbusters, the cartoon, would be coming on every day at the time when I normally ate jalapeƱo chips and watched that mean lady yell at funny Private Benjamin. Private Benjamin was my hero because she stunk at things like sweating and running.

Maybe funny Private Benjamin would hold a kick ball and smile. This could work.

No wonder I don’t know when to use me or I in sentences. I’m sure my teachers taught me…unfortunately, I was starting kick ball revolutions in my mind.

But you know what I was wicked good at growing up?

Typing.

Yep.

Typing.

Unfortunately, having mean typing skills is not something public schools celebrate or appluad. I never got to be voted, "Most Likely to Become a Transcriptionist or a Court Reporter." Maybe that's why we homeschool. I'm sure that's what I would find out if I went to counseling.

When girls would make laps around me on the track…and I mean, even the big girls ran circles around me…it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting, “Yeah…so…I can keyboard! And I don't mean keyboard as in the cool music one...I mean the computer one!”

When girls would spike volleyballs towards me and I would run out of the way, never ever considering that I should run towards that fast moving object, instead of away from it, I wanted to yell back at the coach standing on the side lines, “Stop screaming at me! Maybe I stink at this…but I can type fast!”

When I hit 8 people in a row because everyone who could pitch on my softball team was absent, to cheer myself up as I walked off the field, I kept saying, “Maybe you can’t throw a ball straight…but come on…no one can do Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing like you can, Heather. NO ONE!”

If the world only knew.

I’m sure it was wrong to daydream about a terrorist taking over my school, and the only reason why we all got to see our parents and eat pizza again was because I could type crazy fast letters to the outside world before the gunmen came back into the room where we were being held hostage. I’m sure it was wrong to imagine all the popular athletes hugging me and thanking God for my fast fingers.

It might not have been wrong, but it was definitely cheesy, to imagine my story of saving my school with my computer clickety-clacking skills being made into a movie…and having the credits at the end of the movie rolling over a picture of me, holding out my amazing, swift typing hands. The girl who would play me in the movie would have pretty hands...because mine look like a short granny's hands.

One time, on a college paper, I wrote at the top:

I should get extra credit because not only is this a great paper, I also typed it very fast. The professor added a point. No joke.

So what’s your unsung talent? Sing it now, or forever hold your peace…or you know…keep daydreaming that a movie is going to be made about you.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Crazy Kids!









After school is our favorite time of the day!

Our kids wait literally by the window for the neighborhood kids to get home.

So fun!

What precious kids!

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

The Hendricks are Homeless

Things are sort of a disaster right now.

I’ve been hesitant to post this because things seem to change moment by moment.

We were supposed to close on our big green house yesterday. Instead of closing, we found out that this beautiful house is zoned commercial.

I’ll spare you the details…because there are many.



Right now....here's all we know:

We’re in my brother’s rent house in Bryan.

Initially, we didn’t want to ask him if we could stay here because we knew he was looking for long-term renters.

Then some precious girls we know ended up renting his house and said to us, “Hey…we’ll move our stuff in…never sleep there…go home to our parent’s houses and let you stay there until summer school starts.”

No way. How perfect is that?

So we came.

And from the moment we set foot on this street, our home has been invaded by wonderful children.





On the same day Danny was moved from our home, we came here, not knowing that God was about to begin healing our hearts the moment Danny left here.
Know how to make having one child leave your home less sad?
Fill it with lots of kids.
All we know is that we love these kids in this temporary neighborhood who have become such a sweet part of our lives this past week.

They run right over when they get home from school.
They've eaten dinner with us.

My yard has been full of kids ages 1-14.


I have seen them love me even though I thought it was impossible since all I seem to do when they are here is get onto them for the way they are behaving.

I love seeing my white kids surrounded by children who do not match them.

I love seeing these rougher, tougher kids love my little white boys.

That’s all we know.

We know we have loved it here where our yard is filled with children to love.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Down with Words With No Closure



I hate the word, "sofa" because when you're finished saying it, your mouth is still open...open like a deep sleeping mouth...
And those are the most unattractive kinds of mouths.
And they usually smell.

Friday, May 11, 2007

From Here to There Part Two


This is long. Sorry. But believe it or not, I left out some parts that are equally as amazing.


After the sign was in the yard, we began to make our list of what we wanted in our new house. All I knew was I wanted it to come with a maid …and a restaurant ice maker.

Ok...so we made a list of all the things we may actually get in a new house.
At the time, five little boys were in our home.

Aaron and I were on the bed staring at our cool tin ceiling and I said:

"I just want life to be easy. As much as I can't imagine myself living in the suburbs, if that will make life easy, then bring on the minivans. For the next few years, it might be nice to have a two car garage I can pull into instead of having to unload five kids in the rain. It might be nice to send them all out to the car with the garage door down instead of worrying they would run into the street and get run over by a garbage truck. It might be nice to live on a less busy street with sidewalks and lots of nice neighbor kids for my kids to play with. I just want life to be easy for awhile. I want less yard. I want more bedrooms. I want kids to go to sleep when I send them to their bed instead of laughing and talking to each other for hours. I'm tired of spanking them at night when I'm tired as well."
Easy.

We also knew that we wanted a house big enough to let someone live with us. Maybe a sweet college girl. Maybe a newly married couple. We just knew that God was calling us to something more in the area of “unstaged” community and hospitality.

Besides...I could use the help. I'm bent on having a big family, but lots of kids means lots of work. I don't think it's a coincidence that families used to be bigger, but they also used to live near their extended family. What a blessing it would be to not only invest our lives into the lives of others, but to have the added hands around to love on my children.

Our house was on the market for a long time and where we we go to get out of the house so it would stand a chance of remaining clean?  Downtown.

Just to drive around...because I think it's a cool place...and to go to the library...and to go to the Children's museum.

Lots of times Aaron went with us.

What happened on those many trips is that our hearts began to break for that area.

Having been foster parents, our eyes have been opened to the hidden lives of people living in generational poverty. We've seen how severe the consequences are for not having a clue how to live responsible lives. We've seen the sadness in parent's eyes...the confusion at not knowing why their kids are being taken away from them. It's one thing to know you're messed up. It's another thing altogether to find out for the first time that you're awful parents who will not be raising your own children from a judge in a court room in downtown Houston. I've never seen anything more disturbing.
I've admitted many times that I'm so far removed from needy people that I not only have no clue what they need, I wouldn't even know for sure where to find one to ask them.

The reason why Goodwill exists is because I don't know any poor people who need my stuff...so I drop it off on a little ramp and they make the poor people I don't know pay for the stuff I just gave them for free.

We have zoned the poor people out of our lives.

In my cute little neighborhood, I would have to search high and low for someone who needed anything I owned.

Driving around downtown Bryan we would see huge, beautiful homes surrounded by lots of terrifying ones. Wealthy, educated families used to live in those nice big homes. Now they are empty. We've abandoned the poor.

We have no idea what we're getting ourselves into but we have chosen a house in an undesirable part of town.

It only has two bedrooms

This seems so messed up!

Then Aaron asked Darrell Fikes and Cannon Perdue what they thought about the neighborhood. Darrell works for the Bryan Police Department and Cannon used to work for them.

I think Aaron was trying to see if everyone's fears (mainly mine) were overrated.

He was wrong.

Both men told us the neighborhood is indeed dangerous. I think Cannon even said something like, "What are you thinking?"

It wasn't just a myth.

Then I looked at the sex offender map.

I found our house...and it was surrounded by little red dots.

What?

So for a few days, I was again a wreck.

This has been a slow, brutal process.

We're pretty skeered but still going.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

Finally!


When I'm packing...it's like...

I know I despise it for some reason...besides the obvious one.
Packing reminds me of something.

But what?

It's driven me nuts trying to figure out what it is I hate so much that is so similar to packing.


Last night in the bed it came to me!

When I was almost asleep it hit me. Into my dark room, I blurted out the word...

TETRIS!

I hate Tetris.

Packing is just like playing Tetris.

Wicker baskets and wooden crates and picture frames, falling from the air into a cardboard abyss.

It's so frustrating.


When playing Tetris and packing, I realize my brain doesn't roll that way. It's broken.

When the shapes fall, there are always gaps that I could not foresee when the object was in mid air.


When I go to put the next item into the box it doesn't fit at all...like not even close, but I could have sworn it would before I physically tried to place the new object in the box.

TETRIS!!

I never play Tetris.


Just being near the game of Tetris makes me feel nervous, sweaty and like a failure. If my kids are playing it...I divert my eyes from the TV when I walk by.

I hate it that much.

I won't even look at my own blog since this picture of that wretched game is on here.

Just looking at it makes me feel dumb.


Now I've had to feel dumb into 9,000 boxes.

My self esteem is suffering because of moving.


Down with Tetris.


Down with packing.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Five Years of FoShizzle Fantastic




HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAYDEN


How can Hayden be five? How?

I wanted to put this video on here today because what it contains pretty much sums up Hayden's existence.

Hayden came into our room the other night after he was supposed to be in the bed.

I know.

I confess.

Hayden seems to be able to get out of bed more than our other kids with out getting in trouble for it...because...

He obviously sits in his room and cooks up something hysterical or absolutely through the roof creative before venturing into our bedroom.

He walks in our room, does or says something so funny that I start laughing...Aaron laughs too, but is better about hiding it. Aaron will say, "Hayden, your mom thinks you're funny, but I don't. Go to bed." Then Aaron laughs out loud after Hayden leaves our room.

The other night he came into our room just so we could say, "Go back to bed."

To this he responded...




As soon as he finished his performance, instead of saying, "Go to bed, Hayden," Aaron said, "Sweet. Come back in here and do that again."

Of course Hayden did. That's his ultimate goal. He wants us to beg for more. He lives for the encore performance.

Pooce.

So funny.

We can't bring ourselves to tell him that pooce is not what goes at the end of all those gansta signs he's throwing down.

We just can't.


Wednesday, May 02, 2007

The Doo Doo Head Challenge




Doo Doo Head.

Hands down, that's the funniest thing to say.

Want to laugh?

Just say it out loud.

Doo Doo Head.

You shouldn't just read it.

You should say it.

I'm not kidding.

Try it!

Like right now...come on!

Blurt it out.

You can do this!

Sure...start out saying it softly.

But then say it loud.

Shout it.

It's so funny.

Then if you want to suffocate from laughter...
call someone a Doo Doo Head.

Really.

Purposefully work it into an
exchange with someone.

If someone cuts you off in traffic, casually
say "Doo Doo Head" under your breath.

Your passenger's head will turn
quickly in your direction.

If your passenger is your spouse...that's the best.

After a pause, great laughter will erupt.

I mean it.

Just try to keep a straight face after you say it.

It's impossible.

I rediscovered the word, "Doo Doo"
at a party recently.

When it was said, I realized that I had
not heard that word in a long time.

I said, "Did she just say, Doo Doo?"

The guests confirmed.

I sat silently for a while saying
"Doo Doo" in my mind.

Then I started saying it out loud.

I was having a party all to myself.

I could not stop giggling.

Why did we ever stop saying Doo Doo?

Who will take the Doo Doo Head challenge?

I want to hear the stories.

I want the details.

I can't stop laughing.

Doo Doo Head

Aaron is on the bed saying, "Honey. Seriously."

My eyes are crying.