Weathering the storm

Good book. Blanket fort. Field trip to sweet frog. That's how you weather a fake hurricane.

Does sateen need glitter??

The strangest things become mile markers. An unexpected picture of how time is passing. I found one at the fabric store.

Small one was pressing a bolt of fabric to her cheek screaming, Pink! while big one leaned out of the cart, pointing at the aisle of tulle, saying, Our dresses need the golden sparkles too.

Six yards of pink and purple glitter sateen and gold glitter tulle. An alternate universe.

A year ago they wore crocheted hats and eye liner to black their noses on Halloween. Everybody awww-ed over our baby bear and lamb. And the girls were clueless.

Now they are princesses. At their request. With the fabric of their choosing. They even played happily outside for two hours so that I could sew. Small one hugged the finished dress to her chest while her feet pranced in delight.

I don't know how you feel about Halloween. Whether you only dress up as Bible characters and attend church-sponsored events, or paint the whole family as Zombies and groan around your neighborhood. I haven't made up my mind. The day is made extra complicated at our house because we can't eat half the candy. And it's big one's birthday.

The girls don't care what the day is. They just want to wear princess dresses. To church. To the playground. To Trader Joe's. With rain boots. Whatever. Any excuse to dresses head to toe in pink glitter.

A brief guide to surviving childhood, part 1

Something is in the water. All of my friends are pregnant {if you're a non-pregnant friend, you're still my friend, but the hyperbole doesn't work if I say 'about half'}.

As I watch them nest and prepare and count down, especially the first timers, I keep thinking of things that I wish had been included in prenatal classes. So I'm passing one along:

Make Poison Control a favorite contact.

I seem to call poison control as often as some of my family members {more often than some}. We should be on a first name basis. My children eat any and every thing that grows in the yard, which leads me to my second point:

Do not buy the adorable, printed on 100% post-consumer recycled cardboard gardening book that teaches colors and features the catch phrase: I pick it and eat it.

Thanks to this book, the girls pick and eat everything. They stripped our tomatoes, blueberries and strawberries this spring, all while the fruit was still green. They've collected buckets of berries from the monkey grass and buds from the crepe myrtle {both non-toxic, I checked, but I imagine that if they were yummy, grown ups would eat them too}. They've sampled random mushrooms out of the yard {somewhat toxic, I checked, but not the kill you kind}. The other day I looked out the kitchen window and saw small one gnawing on the end of an eggplant still attached to the vine. She picks it and eats it.

Before you reach for a paper bag, only once have I needed to take them to the hospital. Which brings me to my final point, a carryover from vet school:

The solution to pollution is dilution.

When your kid eats something mildly poisonous {real life example - Borax} or simply disgusting {real life example - poop}, give them water, lots and lots of water. Water solves almost every oops, shouldn't have eaten that moment.

Alright, I'm done scaring the soon-to-be moms. This will be fun. Promise.

                                                                                                                                                              

Curious babies put stuff in their mouths. They are blessed with good immune systems and gag reflexes and great ER's when the other two fail. I find the PC staff comforting and supportive - not once have they criticized me for not hovering over my children. A terrific resource.

The computer won't cooperate

Opened my shopping list at the grocery store:

Now I understand what small one was trying to say when she stormed into the kitchen, yelling, Doggie! Puppy!

She was really saying, I've punched every key on that stupid computer, and it still won't play the dog show!

Which explains why she walked out in a frustrated huff when her clueless momma bent over and coo'ed Hey baby, did you see a puppy outside? 

Poor kid. Her grasp on the english language failed her again.

When worry hovers

I don't want to write on ugly days. When the cold comes from inside. I hide on those days. Hibernate in pity.

The last two weeks have been wonderful. Sister in town, camping with friends. Tim was home, and we spent time taking stock of our days, counting our blessings. My heart should rejoice before the Giver of every good gift.

But anxiety takes hold. My head makes my stomach turn. And the coffee helps me worry faster.

My anxiety isn't my situation - it's my heart. My heart that mistrusts God. Not even a specific mistrust. General misgiving and unbelief.

I would ask if anyone else struggles with unbelief, but that's a ridiculous attempt to self justify. You're either struggling with unbelief or overcome by unbelief. Anxiety is common, not right.

Break through from the God I'm barely speaking to:

The story of Esther preached - a woman who never records a prayer, doesn't even identify herself with God's people until the last second, and God uses her to save His people. Not even all of his people. His obedient people returned to Jerusalem with Nehemiah and Ezra. This was the rebellious crowd who chose to live in paganism. God used a borderline believer to save a hardened people.

I don't want to stay in a godless, wrestling state with barely a prayer recorded. But I needed a reminder that God doesn't 'need' good people. He uses struggling cowards too.

Today, I am a struggling coward, fearing man and striving after foolishness. There's still a place for me in God's kingdom. Amen.

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