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Love And Do Not Love: A List
Any given day has its highs and its lows. Any given person has their loves and their not-so loves. We can all agree upon that – right? Take today, for instance. I really love whoopie pies. And I love that our vacation begins this Wednesday. I do not love hearing my name called as if it really is on some horrible loop. “MommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommy.” I love King Solomon’s current background. I do not love white icing from the inside of whoopie pies smeared on the leather sofa. I love sitting up far too late into the evening and talking about life with Sarah. I love Aunt Sarah stopping in for a…
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love. in all its many forms.
It’s not all glamorous. Oh, actually, it’s hardly ever glamorous. Guarantee it would not make the cover of any glossy magazine. But here’s to the many ways love is shown at our house. Quietly refilling Mommy’s empty glass with ice and water because you know she loves drinking cold water all day long. Keeping the towels clean and folded so Kevin does not have to touch them straight from the dryer. Riley unloading the dishwasher every morning before she leaves for school. Kevin leaving the best tweezers at home when he attends business trips. Handwritten notes in crayon slid under the door of Daddy’s office. Wrapping up your favorite stuffed…
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I’ll buy that.
There something else about that whole Webkinz debacle that I didn’t mention in my last post. (Because who would have kept reading as long as it was anyway?) Little does London know – and never needs to know I guess – that at that moment in that overly-lit store, I would have purchased that kid nearly anything she asked for. Seriously. And here’s why. London, my own ever-changing seven-year-old mini-me, held the orange and black stuffed alley cat of her choice up to me and said, “Look, I have to choose this one – her eyebrows look sad and I think if she comes home with me I can make…
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Thanks Giving.
I am thankful. For these people. Who fill up my heart. And crowd me out of my own bed. Who make my life happy. And make my life loud. Who add purpose to my life. Direction to my days. Who cry and laugh in equal measures. And make me do the same. I hope you are spending your day being thankful with the people who color your life as well. Happy Thanksgiving.
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Backseat Conversations
A lot of amusing comments are tossed about in the backseats of our trusty Suburban. I can hardly drive for all the laughing. That’s not really true. It would probably be more accurate to say – I can hardly drive from all the crying. Anywho. (Why did I type that? I don’t even like it when people toss that nonsensical word into the empty spaces in conversations.) So. (That’s my preferred conversational pause filler.) Um. Here’s what I heard from the backseat on a recent outing. Piper: I’m making my hair pretty wet right now. Me: (Somewhat alarmed.) With what? Piper: Love. Me: Seriously, are you using spit? Piper: Ummmmmmmmm.…
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big benefits
“So how many of these children are yours?” I hear that question almost every time I leave my home and venture forth into the world as we know it. Grocery shopping takes more than an hour. (A lot more than an hour.) In part because I have five young children with me. Also in part because I am sorting through coupons, doing (very) slow mental math and calculating good deals. And also in part because I am stopped frequently by strangers. Yes, I know I look as if I am running a daycare. (I kind of am. I just make no income from said daycare and the students are in…
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poor.
Over the course of today I had the following series of conversations with my son Bergen. (He’s five, you know.) At The Breakfast Table. We sang a song we like to sing every morning after we eat breakfast. (It’s a song I was reminded of many months ago by my sweet friend Rachael.) And it’s a song I have been trying to claim as our family’s anthem. Pure & Holy Passion. I don’t know if I can even imagine a sound more lovely than the voices of my young children singing those true and simple lyrics together of an early morn. Berg loves the song. He grins while we sing…
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Hey Jordin – I Can Tell You Why
There’s this song that always seems to be playing – in the car, from Riley’s bedroom, at our computer, from the kitchen iDock. Always on. Why does love always feel like a battlefield? Oh, Jordin Sparks. Why does it? I’ll tell you why. I will tell you why love always feel likes a battlefield. (Actually, for the record – whatever that means – I don’t really like the song at all. At all. I don’t even know why. Maybe overexposure or something. I’m not sure. Probably overexposure. But I feel as if I need to clarify that. But really, why do I think I need to clarify my personal taste…
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in the name of love
Things I Have Done In The Name Of Love . . . Walked through Goodwill as it was closing (and the employees were announcing approaching closing time over and over) while searching for the new orca whale owned and then lost by one young Bergen Hawkeye Norton. (Yes, that orca whale. He’s had a hard life. And – I looked up the phrase “orca whale”. Saying both is pretty superfluous. They both mean the same thing. Orca means whale. But Berg calls it his orca whale. And I like Berg. So I just plan to call it what he calls it. Because I can.) Searched the kid’s clothing aisle where…
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universal.
Our little (as in the children are mostly small, although the number of them is not – alright?) family was eating street side recently at a favorite wood-fired pizza joint. ( Side note: I like eating outside at restaurants. 1. Our noise level seems less obvious out of doors. 2. Our mess level seems less obvious out of doors. 3. The kids seem more entertained out of doors. 4. Fox can stay in his stroller and there is plenty of space to park that big rig out of doors. ) Oh – and I like people watching. Which is what I was doing when I saw a…
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Love Wins
Love Wins. That’s what a bumper sticker on the back of our Suburban says. In black and white. There are some topics about which I really don’t care to write. Like this one. Because when I throw this stuff out there into the blogosphere I become accountable. If I keep these ideas in my mind then no one can judge me when I blow it. (Which I will.) But, the thing is I don’t always let Love win. But I want to. I want Love to be victorious. In my relationships. In my actions. In my attitudes. In my thoughts. In my heart. So I’ve been repeating the words of…
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believes.
My day is filled (and I mean filled) with requests to “look at this”. Bergen loves to call my attention to important matters. Such as “Mom, I found Sparks (a much-loved, frequently-misplaced-because-he-is-rather-small stuffed puppy that was once Riley’s).” “Hey, Mom – check this out. One scab on my knee is gone and just pink but the other is still big and puffy.” “Look at this truck – can you believe how high it jumps? Look at it again. It does it every time.” (All twenty-seven times. Yes. It certainly does, son.) “Mommy – watch Flapjack’s eyes in this cartoon. London, can you rewind that? Mommy has to see his eyes.…
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Now What?
So, if love is a verb, how do you wrap that and stick it in your stocking? As the majority of our children are just beginning to enter the age of desiring to give Christmas gifts as well as get, we have been presented with a new dilemma. Last year we took all of the younger set to the infamous Dollar Tree and let each one pick out gifts for their siblings. It was fun. The kids loved picking out toys that each one would enjoy. But we ended up with 16 toys that were probably broken and disposed of before the new year, if not that very Christmas afternoon.…
