Late October

A few from today that I want to remember.

Skin

Someday I want to post about the amazing questions Mister has been asking lately about skin color. It has been deep around here lately and I want to remember what his heart was telling me about being a brown-skinned baby in a white family at age four.

But until then, here is one of conversations where my intentions to nurture fell flat, flat, flat...enjoy a giggle on us!



I love this picture from Rwanda and finally framed it yesterday. I was excited for the kids to see it and fit it into our conversations about race. To me it speaks to prayer and community. When Mister saw it he said, "Why are those people all waiting for sanitizer?"

Oh well. Try again tomorrow.

An Apology for Peanut

I did a lot of yelling this morning. I like to think of it more as extra loud doses of logic and instruction. I like to think that when I am yelling, I am helping my children understand that the helpful advice I am giving them is so valuable it is worth sharing with the college-aged neighbors who are probably sleeping but might also need to be reminded that “WE WASH OUR HANDS EVERYTIME WE GO TO THE BATHROOM” or that “WEARING A SHIRT WITH YESTERDAY’S SNOT IS NOT OKAY - YOU HAVE LOTS OF VERY NICE CLOTHES THAT ARE CLEAN BECAUSE I WORK SO HARD TO WASH AND FOLD THEM.”



So, there I sat at 6:50 am with puffy eyes and pillow creases, sitting on the floor in my pajamas, folding laundry and yelling, yelling, yelling. Peanut came and stuck her face up against mine – nose to nose – and said, “Can you be nice, Mommy?”

It was a fair question. At the moment of asking, my niceness was most definitely MIA. And Peanut knew she was going to be stuck with me all day. And she did not want to be stuck with the yelling Mommy, so she calmly asked the question. And I decided that maybe she was right and the day would go better if I decided to act like a grown-up, or at least like a grown-up worth growing into.

So, we have been on a run. And on a bagel date. And the blanket she peed on last night has been washed. There has been some singing and silliness mixed in with Friday chores.



And so, as an apology to Peanut and a confession to the Village, I offer Peanut’s favorite mood-changing tune.



Thank you, Jesus, for little people and big reminders.

Bring it, Birthday

I can't even pretend to be profound today. My brain is full of sugar and happiness and there is an enormous crown on my head. My birthday was this weekend, and I want to remember a few details.




We went to the pumpkin patch/corn maze with grandma and grandpa. We snuggled under blankets and watched a Disney movie that made me cry (of course). I did not pick up my homework or any dirty socks (both of which await my inevitable return to reality).

Sister made me breakfast in bed: sugar smacks, four marshmallows, an apple muffin, and a half-eaten cherry yogurt. Delish. I was drinking my coffee in bed downstairs when I heard the party starting to make its way down the steep wood stairs to the basement where we grown-ups moved a few years ago when we found ourselves outnumbered by babies. "H-a-p-p-y B-i-r-t-h-d-a-y t-o *crash* *spoon hitting each stair* I'm okay, I'm okay! I'm glad I remembered not to use anything glass!" The birthday parade arranged itself on my bed and ate my breakfast for me locust-style. Then Sis sneezed. I found the sticky, slimy bits of chewed marshmallow on the comforter later.




And she made me this great crown. And everyone over the age of three got to take turns with the camera. I am chubbier than last year. And a have a few more wrinkles. But I think I am a better mom and a more fearless woman. So bring it, Birthday. I'll take what your handing out.