Hungry?

Well, you will be after reading this.

And y’all, show me a little love in the comments, pretty please will ya. It’s getting a little lonely over there.

If the Point of This Day Was to Make Me Cry….

It was an uber successful day.

Seriously, it was. First of all, I lost it with my first born firstborn. She and I are the most alike. While I was apologizing, for the third time, she responded, “No, mom, it was my fault. I started it.”

I squeezed her tightly and said, “No, baby girl. You ‘started it’ by disobeying. But Mama should never yell.”

“Well, I still think it was my fault.”

That was the second time I cried.

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About two minutes later, I was in the kitchen making quiche…one for our dinner (to be served with waffles) and one for tomorrow’s prayer breakfast. “Papa Bear?” I said in horror as I opened the box of two to find just one crust. “Did you make a pie?” And then I laughed.

“No, I didn’t make a pie,” he answered sarcastically, causing me to…as I dropped an egg on the floor.

That led to a mini spiral of frustration that resulted in the third shedding of tears.

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I pulled out my giant bag of flour and made homemade pie crusts (which I should have done in the first place, and I would have if I didn’t already have store bought crusts in my freezer leftover from a sale). “I would have known if I made a pie this week,” I mumbled to myself.

Once the quiches were cooking, I went upstairs to put away laundry with the kids. While we were folding pajamas and putting dresses on pink hangers, Tiny Dancer caught my eye. “Mama,” she said sweetly. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything, Baby,” I said.

“And you won’t get mad?” she asked nervously.

“I promise, I won’t get mad.”

“Well, the other day I took some of the apple pie…dough, and I poured myself a glass of milk (I didn’t make a mess). I took it upstairs to eat it, but it didn’t taste good, so I hid it behind my bed.”

“Oh,” I said, my eyes wide as saucers…trying painfully hard not to laugh.

“I’m so glad you finally told me,” I whispered.

“I was really scared to,” she said.

(And yep, you guessed it. That was the fourth time I cried.)

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The kids were less than thrilled with my spinach and sausage quiche, and I stood over them as they begrudgingly ate it. “Mama, I dropped some on the floor!” Cuddle Bug complained.

When I bent down to put the “accidentally” dropped portion back on her plate, Lil Prince insisted, “If it’s on the floor, it’s for Baby Bear!”

“He’s not our puppy!” I cried. And this time, my tears were from laughter.

Mommyblogging: A How to and a Discussion

Some women get pedicures. Some moms schedule playgroups and lunches and coffee dates with their girlfriends. The thing I do to keep myself sane is blog. And so I rarely feel guilty for doing it, even on those occasions where I prioritize it above the dishes.

And the toilets.

And the windows.

And a shower.

But, while talking to a group of Mommybloggers after the MckGathering in Colorado, I learned that not all women feel this way about blogging. I even heard lamenting lines like, “Well, I have a life, so I just can’t blog every day.”

I slumped down a little further in my chair and my cheeks turned a Crushed Cranberry pink. “Well, nine times out of ten, I can’t remember why I walked into the kitchen. I blog to remember,” I said.

Throughout the day, as the kids say something funny or memorable or the Lord whispers something to my heart, I jot these things down on small scraps of paper and I set them aside for later. Sometimes, while the kids are watching a movie or are busily occupied with a craft, I will start a post during the day time. But that is unusual; and, as a general rule, I stay up way too late to write something from the notes I have collected during the day.

And that’s how I blog.

I can certainly understand the impression it might leave. How can someone justify blogging about an already busy life? Surely the blogging would take away from the living. But, for my life at least, I do not feel this is the case.

A few nights ago, Papa Bear and I had a fight (well, I guess that’s what it is called. I was stinking mad, but no one was “fighting”)…the kind that feels unresolvable in the moment. So, I called a good girlfriend of mine. By the time I got off the phone I was calm, collected, sane, and most importantly, I had grasped God’s view of the situation and was prepared to move on His (and not my) behalf. That’s a good example of what blogging does, for me, on a daily basis. Because I can’t always run to God through the middle man of a friend, but I can usually find Him when I’m sitting still enough to write…especially when my purpose in writing is to seek Him.

And whether I’m blogging about something that seems important or just posting pictures and one-liners, I prioritize blogging because it inspires me to growth, focuses my attention on my blessings, cultivates contentment and keeps my mommy brain from dulling.

And that’s why I blog.

My Son, the Artist

I’m a little protective of my camera. OK, maybe “protective” is an understatement and “a little” is a flat out lie. But yesterday, just as the pink dyed sugar was taking hostage my adrenal system, and I was capping my camera for a rest, Lil Prince asked if he could have a turn.

Good timing, on his part, cause I was much to tired to say “no”.

 

 

What do you think? I think we might have a photographer in the family!

Happy Birthday to My Firstborns

Resurrection Day is over. And I must admit, with certain trepidation, that I am almost always relieved when Resurrection Day is over. I think it’s my dramatic nature that is so easily overwhelmed by the seriousness of life. And life (and death and heaven and hell) is rarely presented more seriously than during Resurrection weekend.

I didn’t blog about Good Friday or Resurrection Day. I didn’t rebel against the holy-days, I just removed myself from the obligation of writing about them. I am, though debasely human and painfully guilty of abusing the blood of Christ, moved to tears on almost a daily basis (usually during prayer time with the kids) over the reality of what Jesus did on the cross and the power that should be ever increasing in my life. This sacred weekend is not to be passed over; but, at the same time, I do not need Good Friday to be reminded of His sacrifice nor “Easter” to be reminded of His power. Although I do long to see the message of resurrection (that transcends denomination and tradition) permeate every human heart (during every day of the year). The one thing I really want to say about the Christian experience (as we’ve all just experienced it) is that Jesus already died. He’s already suffered. The continued pain (for Him and for us) comes through the rejection of that sacrifice. But Good Friday, just like Easter Sunday, is a day to rejoice.

And in our family, today wasn’t just a day to celebrate our wonderful Savior’s triumph over death. Today, we also celebrated our firstborns’ birthday!

I went to bed last night around two (which, unfortunately is not unusual). Comforting Bay Bit at four and nursing Baby Bear at six, however, didn’t make for a very restful night’s sleep. But, at seven forty-five this morning, as I woke to those two wonderful girls giggling over their birthday plans, I couldn’t help but join in their fun. When I parted the curtain that separates my loft view from their bedroom, and whispered down, “Happy Birthday my beautiful five-year olds!” they absolutely squealed with delight.

They spent ten minutes listing all the things I would no longer have to worry about…with their being completely grown up and all. I assured them that their goals were awesome, but that there would still be some failing and an everyday need for Jesus’ forgiveness….even after five whole years of experience.

That seemed to take the pressure off.

Then we headed downstairs to enjoy the first of two cakes (cause when you have twins, you really ought to sing twice).

After church it was time to break out the party.

Hamburgers. Cake…

And presents.

Then, we all slipped quietly into a sugary pink coma.

The end.

(Thanks Aunt Julie and Janet for joining us for the fun!)

I Almost Forgot

Obligatory first birthday cake photos…

Oh, baby (last baby?) boy. I am thrilled and sad that you are already one.

I’m sad about this hurried excuse for a birthday cake…

I’m thrilled that you couldn’t care less.

I’m sad that I forwent a party…

And again, I’m thrilled that you really didn’t care.

You’ve added so much to our family this year, and I cannot even begin to imagine life without you with us.

You’re not walking, but you are crawling and squatting. You’re not talking, cause you’re too busy laughing. Your favorite breakfast is still mama’s milk, but most of the day you’re a big boy. You stay up too late because Mama lets you, but you’re easy as pie to put to bed. You usually wake up laughing, and when you cry it is just to be heard.

If I had one request of you, it would be, “Slow down!!”

Life’s never moved faster than this year.