Monday, August 31, 2009


Tim requested that I post this. I had no intention of doing so. I am complying for his amusement. I've been reading a lot lately and that has a tendency to stir my inner writer. Problem is my inner-wanna-be-writer is sometimes sorely lacking in material. The following is an exact copy of a very embarrassing moment:

"I need to write. I'm not sure why. I don't know what there is to stay. Stay?! SAY! I certainly don't know why I am writing if I can't even spell. Silly. And yet I am compelled to sit here, pen and paper in hand, and dribble on in senseless words; which only further proves my point --I have nothing to write.

Strange though. It feels good to put the pen to the page. The motion of the letters and the flow of words is soothing. Weird. Maybe this is my therapy. Maybe I have something to say but don't know it yet. What if the pen figures out the message before I do? Goofy.

So far, I've manage half a page of absurdity and self-deprecation. Where is the therapy in that?

I think I am insane. Fortunately, I now have a written record of it."

I would just like to point out, that this was a brief moment of illogical, literary blabbering most likely brought on by stress and extreme fatigue. I am not crazy! Really. It's not like I hear voices inside my head or something whack-o like that.

What? Did you say something? Oh. Never mind.

Maybe It's Just Me

Recycled toilet paper.

Some things just shouldn't be marketed as recycled. I know it doesn't mean what it sounds like it means; just the same, it conjures up certain images of, well, someone else having already taken care of business using the roll of paper now hanging in my bathroom. It's disturbing. But what's more disturbing? Knowing that I paid an extra 78 cents for the recycled stuff. 78 cents more to torture myself with images of double dipped tp. scowl.

I repeat: some things shouldn't be marketed as recycled. But maybe it's just me. =)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The Tell Tale Truth of Toddlers and Tantrums

Tim was drawing out an observation about Justus for our older three to ponder. Basically noting the fact that not long ago, he was a happy baby who only fussed when he needed something -food, drink, a diaper change. But now Justus is driven by a much greater force...want. And because of this wanting, he can be one fussy baby.

His new thing (besides trying to walk backwards- hugely entertaining) is to come running toward me, arms straight up, crying, "uh...uh...uh." Desperation in every step. I grab him up into my arms and immediately those chubby little hands stretch out for something else. "I want you! I want you! I want you! I want something else!" It seems for a moment that his greatest longing is to be wrapped up in the tender embrace of a loving parent. Turns out the spoon on the counter top is just as satisfying. And even though I try to snuggle, and squeeze, and kiss him; he's way over it and ready to climb down with his spoon and conquer the world. sigh.

And there lies the "tell tale heart." The part where God uses my own child against me.

How many times have I done this to my Abba Daddy?

"I want you, God! I want you, God! I want you, God! Oooh, that's shiny. I want that!"

From desperate to distracted in two seconds flat. And maybe God is saying, "Okay, I can give you that but first let's just look at each other and giggle. Nuzzle in and let me love on you for just a minute." But I'm already twisting and squirming and doing the limp fish so I can slide out of His lap and out to conquer the world. sigh.

I imagine God saying, "I love that kid, but she can be one fussy baby."

Sunday, August 9, 2009

The Brainiacs

I am adding this new segment to our regularly featured posts. It will consist of quotes by some of the smartest kids we know. ;-)

You will probably see a lot from this self-declared Queen of Common Sense:

Mamoune: Nine million is like...more than a hundred!

Her third grade teacher should be very proud. We are.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Out of the Mouths of...

the elderly??

We've heard many interesting reactions to the racial make-up of our family; but THIS ONE may be my all-time favorite.

A few weeks ago we joined our friends (the Wright family) for a family luau and met even more family members than we'd met at the previous Easter gathering. Aunt Lucy and I were side by side in the service line; she handed out plates and I served the chicken and mac-n-cheese. We made small talk and laughed about various things. She seemed as content to have me there as I felt in being there. I had no idea what she was thinking.

The next week Melissa filled me in. Some of the family were talking the day over and we came up in the conversation. Aunt Lucy turned to Melissa's mom and said, "You reckon he ever got mad when she kept having them black babies?"

Oh, how I howled! Just call me Gomer. Tim is quite a man to tolerate this harlot of a woman stepping out on him FIVE times. Too funny.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Saturday mornings is traditionally throw down in the living room and watch kids TV day. (Nevermind that our refusal to get cable has doomed us to watch the same three Hannah Montanna episodes over and over. shrug)

This weekend Nathan took great care in preparing his pallet. In fact, he used all of his bedding AND his brothers bedding to make it as fluffy as possible. As he settled back on the 6-8 pillows he had confiscated from around the house, he sighed "Aaah. Mom, look at what I made just for me."

"Wow. That's so very selfless of you." I replied suspiciously. "Aren't those Izzy's blankets?"

"Yeah, but nobody else helped me. It's like that story in the Bible about the chicken."

Quizzical looks from both parents.

"The one where she does all the work and doesn't let anyone eat..."

We busted out laughing. "Nathan! You doof. The Little Red Hen is not in the Bible."

"Well, it's probably in the Catholic Bible!"

Good heavens! I may not get to blog for awhile...I'll be brushing up on the Apocrypha.