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words.
There are so many words I need to say. And I can’t say. Or words I want to say. But I shouldn’t say. It’s a jumble up here in my brain most all of the time. My days just don’t look like they used to. (I should win a prize for making understatements.) My heart cries out every day – “How long O Lord – how long?” How long will you listen to my young children repeat the same prayers, word for word, night after night? It has been vital to me during this season of suffering to tell myself truths. To say them out loud. Not to wait until I believe…
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Some Silly List
This week the kids and Oma and I have been playing the game Outburst Junior. And by “playing” I actually mean we never really keep score and we just ask one another the questions while we eat lunch or breakfast. This morning we decided to make up our own category. World’s Worst Lifesaver Flavors (We kept it simple – the flavors had to be real foods, not inedible gross things – like stinky feet.) Here’s what we came up with —– Mac and Cheese Beans Peas Pimento Cheese Carrot Spinach Chicken Tomato Hot Dog Cucumber Coney Pork ————– You know, as I type this, I recognize that this post may…
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last night. written with pen on paper.
It’s so many minutes after midnight. We are in Virginia but we were trying to be in Texas. Three children are finally asleep after a myriad of on-the-stairs comments. “I’m still hungry.” “My throat hurts.” “Can you put deodorant on my feet?” (This question did get a response and a laugh. Turns out “deodorant” meant some essential oils on his cute size 13 soles.) Two children – blonde and long – are sharing the sofa with me. One because she read a Weird Virginia travel guide earlier today that has her brain spinning with tales of “sightings” and she can’t sleep or bear to be alone. One because we are…
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a reprint. that I need.
It’s hard to write currently. Hard to make time. Hard to think straight. Hard to focus. And I find that sometimes what I’ve already written a long time ago is actually what I am still thinking now. Or what I should be thinking. I wrote this post six years ago. That’s kind of crazy. Six years ago. Otto a newborn, spitting up all over the world. Riley in high school, spitting up all over the world in her own fashion. Me doing the same as well. Four other tiny kids trying to figure out their little ways in the world, dressing up in costumes and wading in streams and letting…
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Parenting Is Difficult: A List To Prove That
These words, shouted from upstairs, “Otto just threw up in the hall. On a pirate ship.” The endless laundry Breakfast happens so early every morning Math homework Settling matters such as, “But can you force London to let me be her pretend kitty?” Tiny Lego pieces in the kitchen, floating in the sink, under the bed, wherever my foot finds to step “Is this enough food to get dessert?” “I’m hungry.” “What’s for dinner/breakfast/lunch/snack?” —————– And these are the easy problems. So, no matter what type of parent you are, maybe a guardian, step parent, or even someone that’s questioning “what is foster care?”, because you want to be a…
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strangers.
It’s really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart. ― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl When you read about Anne Frank’s life, you kind of have to look at your own a little differently. (You know our Otto is named after Anne Frank’s father. A survivor. A man who endured.) The last two months have brought me to my knees and spun our family into a completely different direction. The children and I have been learning precisely and…
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before bed . . .
I clean up dinner. Tidy the living room. Tuck the kids in Lock all the doors. Pause at the sound of the dogs barking. Wonder if I should be worried. Stare into the darkness and contemplate my Aloneness. I sigh so deeply I think I might fade into a puddle on my dirty dining room floor when all of my breath is finally expelled. I feel old. Independent in the most uncomfortable of ways.
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Sidekick
London and I were sitting side by side on the sofa. “Momma. With Riley married now I’m the oldest. I like being the oldest,” she announced to me. “You are. And I love that for you. But I don’t want you to think you have to be a grown up yet. I want you to still be the eleven year old girl you are.” She smiled. (That kid is so pretty in her smile.) “I know, Mom. I want to be a little girl still.” She reached for my hand. “But I just like being your sidekick.” Be still my heart. I will take that title any day.
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Yeah guys.
I feel sick to my stomach for a large portion of every day. Hello 2015. I had plans for you. They did not look like this. Now even my children ask, “Remember the good old days?” Yeah guys. I kind of do.
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a list that was easier to write than I thought it would be…
This week I give thanks for ….. caring texts a bouquet of flowers delivered to my door heat lamps for our cold chickens and rabbit, provided for by kind friends helpful friends to install heat lamps cheesy rice and broccoli for dinner prepared by more great friends sleepovers extra heaters for these wicked cold nights a friend who answers my call and lets me rant until I’m spent nerf footballs arriving in our mailbox (who knew you could mail a football?) generosity a purely pleasurable shopping trip where I felt spoiled and loved and even kind of cute transportation providers for my children caring and thoughtful friends to watch my…
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the language
When she calls to me, I will answer her; I will be her help in trouble; I will rescue her and honor her. Psalm 91:15 This is the language I need to hear. The truth I need to tattoo on my heart. The words I need on repeat in my tired and tortured brain. I can never hear it enough. Lord, help my unbelief.
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“regular”
I feel like I might have forgotten how to write about regular life. I certainly have forgotten how to live regular life. But the funny thing about life is … normal wants to take over. You know what I mean? And while there is no normal that I prefer right now, I know my children deeply need a type of normal and I guess maybe I do too. So we’ve done some of our normal activities. Because we have to. And tonight I am going to try to write about that. Because I need to. We visit the library frequently. I mean – I have to in order to try…
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Monday Night
It’s surreal how one weekend can change your life. How one afternoon all that you think is true can be swept away in a singular collosal wave and you find yourself stranded on an unfamiliar shore. More than one month has passed since what was Unthinkable has become what is Every Day. Crisis is a confusing beast. It makes time stand still and somehow at the same but the opposite rate it makes time evaporate. Basically, it shoves your agenda into the trash and brings lots of life into painful clarity.
