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I sit on a shore with waves of tears tickling my toes. Tears from far off lands. Because of the wonderful people I've "met" through blogging I'm aware of a much bigger world; right now that includes the world of hurt.

I ache for the family left behind by RivkA bat Yishaya at Coffee and Chemo.  She lost her fight with cancer this week.  I never knew her in real life, but I read her blog faithfully and I found so much encouragement from her words. 

In the past two weeks, two different families I followed through the blog-o-sphere, lost children to genetic disorders.  I don't even want to imagine their pain and loss- but it's impossible not to go there. When I look into my own little people's eyes I feel a bittersweet thankfulness for my blessings and a wish that everyone's child could be well.
 
A longing for Heaven...

I think of the people whose lives intersect with mine.  I think of all the prayers of thankfulness, all the prayers of despair... and am overwhelmed by the majesty of the Creator.

He hears.  He cares.

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The last week I was lying in bed semi-conscious about 5:45 a.m. when the sudden sound of my garbage disposal turning on electrified every cell in my body.  I'm pretty sure my atoms reversed polarity and I briefly achieved hovercraft status. 

My 2 year old, looking innocent in his jammies, was sitting on the kitchen counter flipping the switch. 

Bless the builder who put the switch about a mile away from the sink.

My 2 year old. What can I say.  Every family seems to have one child, one child whose deed's are legendary and whose early antics become the fodder of Thanksgiving Dinner hilarity.

In the meantime? 

In the meantime,  I'm seriously considering installing a flexible force field to prevent early morning explorations.



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Sunday afternoon I had a "first".  I went to a baby shower for the grown daughter of my friend, Kathy.  Let me emphasize, the honored shower-ee was the grown daughter of a friend.

I sat in a chair in their beautiful front yard, clutching my plate of snacks, looking around.  I realized that I, complete with my reading glasses perched as a headband in my hair, was an, "older woman".

Wow.  When did that happen?

Wow.  I wish I felt wise.

Wow.  How cool.

Wow, I'm still daily engaged in the latest sippy-cup technologies shifts as I still have a 2 year old to raise.  I never expected to be older with a toddler.


My friend's daughter is going to be an excellent mom.  I've rarely met a woman who enjoys life more or is so exceedingly thankful and happy.  Her baby will be surrounded by smiles.


I have no deep insights about aging.  Even though I've been doing it for a while, I only just noticed.  It's all new territory.  I'm just along for the ride... So far, excluding gravity's pernicious work, it's pretty exciting.

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I do have enough wisdom to know that when I finally need to throw showers for my own children, I'll be calling my friend Kathy and asking her to help me with ideas.


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Last spring my parents-in-law took our children camping and touring around Texas.  They visited the Salt Museum, because well, let's face it, a salt museum is just odd enough to be really interesting.  One of the boys bought a chunk of salt the size of my fist as a souvenir.

Doesn't every boy needs a fist-sized-piece-of-salt sitting on top of their bookshelf gathering dust?

Yesterday afternoon my 16 year old daughter was in the backyard watching the boys play while reading Little Dorrit.  Dickens doesn't make for good babysitting.  It was my 14 year old who, glancing out the window, brought to my attention that someone had taken the souvenir chunk of salt outside, and, well-

and a group of neighborhood little boys and my little boys were all sitting in a circle, in the grass, taking turns licking the salt!

This of course leads to my Friday Feel Good- You might be a Redneck if you have a salt-lick in the backyard for your children.

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My 8 year old is pretty fabulous... and hilarious.  He's one of those favored few whose eyes sparkle with enthusiasm while he talks.  The sparkle sucks an audience in.  You can't help but enjoy his stories, his energy is contagious.

Luckily he can also laugh at himself.  Last night he pulled off his socks only to discover an earlier set of  socks underneath.

The innermost layer were soaking wet because he had showered in them before putting the new socks on top.

For added irony, he just happened to make his layered sock discovery late last night in the living room while his big brother was sharing the details of a college lecture about measuring I.Q.

I love going to bed with a laugh on my lips!



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My brain is screeching lately.  I'm pondering much whilst I go about my daily activities.  The screeching is because, though I'm pondering much, gears are grinding and I'm not actually mentally progressing.

Definitely a case of quantity not being equal to quality.

Luckily, I can mentally screech and still make a mean peach cobbler.

I noticed an interesting detail the other morning.  Quälen in German means to torment or torture.

Matthew 6:34 in English says, ^"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

However my version of the Bible in German for Mathew 6:34 says "Quält euch nicht mit Gedanken an morgen..."  I'm sure the intent is to convey the meaning worry but somehow replacing the word worry with torment or torture seems so, apropos.  At least to me- the Grand Champion Worrier.

Ahhh, did I mention that flu season is just around the corner? The season for flu, stomach viruses, ear-infections, strep throat.... all amazingly dangerous to a child with a FOD.  My more affected child has been so healthy, so happy, growing so strong.  He's not been in the hospital since April 30th.

So why do I go there, to a murky future that doesn't exist yet, when I have bills to pay, kids to love on and things to do... Now?  Not to mention frozen peaches to make more cobbler with.

Quälen indeed.


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Back to school in my home today.  Since I am the teacher this requires that I be excited and energetic and disciplined.

Sometimes I am.  Sometimes I fake it.  Sometimes I fail miserably

My 4 year old wants to learn to read, write, and fly rockets.  Mostly, he just wants to be included with his siblings.  I'm giving him age appropriate lessons.  This requres that I be both discerning and creative.

Sometimes I am.  Sometimes I fake it.

Back to school in my home today.  Since I am both the teacher and the Mom this requires that I practice love and fellowship.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I go to I Corinthians 13:4-7. It refreshes and inspires both the mother and the teacher.

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Between commuting to college and working, our oldest son is rarely home while the Littles are awake.  They miss him desperately.  He is their hero and personal jungle gym, who unlike their father, never makes them go to bed or eat broccoli.

When the Littles  see our oldest it generally involves an explosion of climbing/wrestling/leaping/tossing.  As my 16 daughter put it, "Ring-Around-The-Rosie, mosh-pit style." 


It also involves just lolling about on his person.


Their hero. 

Except....  This morning I made cinnamon rolls in honor of Fall Break.  Everyone's first question was, "Is Luke still home?"  At first I thought- how sweet, they are looking out for their big brother.

I only had a few seconds to bask in filial love. When I replied sadly, "No, he's at school," several sets of little fists pumped the air and the 8 year old shouted, "Great!  Luke eats a lot of cinnamon rolls when he's home."

Sorry dear oldest son, your hero status is limited to within certain parameters.


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I've not been linking up to many carnivals or memes lately because my brain has barely been keeping up with real life,  much less bloglife.  However, very, very early this morning- after I was awoken by the sound of my two year old climbing on top of the kitchen counters trying to reach a "hidden" stash of lollypops, I stumbled across The Saturday Evening Post Blog Carnival  and really enjoyed reading the links.  I decided to give it a go by adding my "Normal" to the carnival.

Grab a cup of coffee and click around the world... while I move the lollypops. 

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Sleep moved away, the heartless baggage.
Her cousin, Catnap, came to stay.

Catnap makes great coffee, but I miss Sleep.

Sleep was a soothing housemate, with slippered, quiet feet
Catnap is a cranky guest.  She slams about and is easily startled.

I miss Sleep,
but at least Catnap makes great coffee.