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Game Night: Apples to Apples
I’ve been a little MIA this past week I guess. And it was good. But I’m back now and it looks like the sun is back too and I am incredibly grateful to see blue sky. (Rainy weather. It always gets me down.) Last week I taught the kids how to play Apples to Apples. We’ve been trying to learn new games together and I love introducing them to other games that they are just now old enough to enjoy. I guess I forgot how outdated Apples to Apples is. And how little old school pop culture my children actually know. (Which is a lack of knowledge I am perfectly happy to…
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breaking routine …
I like writing every day. (And my general routine is to write after the kids are in bed and asleep. I’ve never been one to keep clear and lucid thoughts at the early rising time so it’s night words for me.) But tonight. Tonight I want to eat the frozen Snickers bar I placed in the freezer earlier for this very moment. I want to watch addicting television shows of my choice while eating said frozen dessert. So, you guys. That is exactly what I am going to do. However. I won’t leave you completely empty handed. I have a couple of lucky little images from today that I want…
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beautiful & terrible
Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. Frederick Buechner I live in a farmhouse that is over one hundred years old. Things fall apart. Ancient dirt rises from the splintery wooden floors. What starts out as white, seldom stays white. But in this dusty home abide five of the most interesting humans I have ever known. There is a six-year-old with his filthy boy feet resting right on top of my clean pillow. He stops me, mid-sentence, all the day long to profess his love for me. Not even an hour usually passes without kisses and hugs and back pats from my Wilde…
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That Plexus Review
Confession: I stink at follow through right now. (I say right now to pretend that this won’t be a problem in my future. To imply that I have this issue under future control.) So. Here I am. I don’t even know how many days later, writing about my Plexus experience. Day One I drank the pink drink around 2:30 in the afternoon. We had a late lunch and my friend had suggested post lunch for consumption if I was hoping for afternoon energy. (And – I really am. I have never been a coffee drinker so when fellow mothers claim their lifeline to be the caffeine found in coffee, it’s a…
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…..
Tonight I sent my friend this text: What is happening? My life is moving so very fast. And so incredibly slow. I can’t stand the task of cleaning. Particularly bathrooms. I spent an hour cleaning our bathroom recently. And yet. Today it looks wrecked again. Wet towels on the floor. (Sure, it’s hard to hang the towels up when the hooks are so high and half of our house residents are not tall enough to reach them.) Bathroom rug needs shaking. Again. Feels pretty pointless – the cleaning up routine. I’ll awake with incredible purpose and drive and ambition. You know – all high hopes and rise and shine and…
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Kipling Speaks
Our poet for this term is Rudyard Kipling. We’ve been learning about his terribly sad childhood where his parents literally hired a family to raise Kipling and his sister when he was only six so that they wouldn’t be burdened with the responsibility. As an adult, Kipling’s daughter died when she was only six and his son was killed in the World War. It didn’t all add up to a joy-filled life or a smooth ride. Yes, he earned fame for his writing during his own lifetime and he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. Highs and lows, the man had, for certain. I’ve been reading his poem “If…
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the six year old that lives here
His knees are brown. And it’s not from being tanned. The calendar says September and our basking in the sun days have faded with the end of summer. It’s dirt. Streaky and stained. The boy is just filthy. Ankles. Fingernails. Knee caps. He’s boy dirty. From running and chasing and frog finding and idea hunting and game gathering. It’s the kind of dirt that says his day was well-spent. He enjoyed the gift of time. The privilege of being a boy growing up outside with the type of freedom a parent has to be intentional to create. The kind of life that says no to more so it can say yes…
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there is no profound here.
There are some nights when the right words – or the wrong words – just don’t arrive on time or in any sort of tidy fashion. Some days you’ve just used up all your speaking and all your feeling and all your you before lunch time even arrives. And when that happens, you find yourself waiting. In word limbo. Sometimes it’s good to sit in silence. It’s a luxury I am not often afforded these days.
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my answer.
Dear Kids, Will you grow up and look at me one day and ask, Mom. How did you do it? There were so many of us. You were outnumbered by lots. We had so many sticky hands and dirty feet and frogs in our pockets and demands in our voices. What will I say? What can I say? I think I’ll say . . . You are worth it. Every step of the way. You. Are. Worth. It. Because these sticky, exhausting, busy, full years with you guys by my side are my favorite. You are worth it. Always and always. Worth it. That’s what I’ll say because that…
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(hey momma, in case you’ve forgotten …. )
There are days we feel as if we don’t matter. I think, as moms, we really can tap into these negative feelings easily. I was texting with my friend Hilary. And I was reminding her of how I see her – of how much I think she matters – (and I really really do) when I was suddenly reminded of a story with my own mom. I started to text this story right then to Hilary but at the late hour I just couldn’t wrap my brain around the whole thought so I waited and decided to type it this way instead. For Hilary. For all mommas. The summer after…
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dichotomy
I can hear them from where I sit. Downstairs. On my bed. I’m typing and tears are in my eyes. Carrying the heavy in my heart and across my wrinkled forehead and all alone in this bedroom made for two but only hosting one. Their laughter is sweet. Their game play is kind and momentarily all completely happy and universally enjoyable by all five of them. My heart aches from the sounds – the happy upstairs, the hurt downstairs. For all the goo and the gunk and the ugly and the dark, I think my kids are finding happy in this day. I couldn’t be more grateful. And I couldn’t…
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tuesday.
Days have been too busy to have very much sit-down writing time for me. With homeschool (and maybe all school) you not only have to fight against spring fever, you have to fight against fall fever. I think fall fever is harder to beat than spring fever. (But that’s probably only because right now it’s fall (ish) and so whatever struggle I find myself in at the moment feels like the hardest one – you know?) I want to be outside all day long – but I don’t want to be doing school all day long. Some days we compromise – we do school outside. Today we sat at the…
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marriage, that old couple
I still believe in marriage. Is that a weird thing to say? I still believe in the picture of Christ’s love for His people that marriage represents. In fact, I believe in it more today than I did last year. If marriage was entirely for our own individual glory or pleasure, if the picture of marriage was to bring honor to ourselves alone, then my story – and countless others’ stories – would be playing out so differently and would matter so much less. Recently I saw an older couple sit down together in church across the aisle from where I sat. He put his arm around her shoulder. Leaned…
