name that goofball

Quick!  The internet is sputtering working! Put up a blog post!

So today I finally got around to teaching my preschoolers how to write their names.  They have been practicing behind my back, apparently.  Either that, or they are both geniuses.  The former is more likely.

I guided their hands for the first try, but the second attempt was all on their own.  Good work, goofballs!

www woes

A newer, faster internet service was recently "offered" at our apartment complex. Offered is sometimes synonymous with required in this country.

Stupidly, we opted not to upgrade.  Our punishment for not upgrading is this: we now have an internet connection that is so slow you could grow algae on it.  We're talking fermentation slow.  You would need a time lapse camera to chart its progress.  The computer goes into sleep before the picture uploads.  The weather changes faster.  My mood changes much faster.  My preschoolers eat their vegetables faster, for goodness sake.

Did I mention my internet is slow?

Anyway, this is my reason for not blogging lately.  As soon as we upgrade (like everybody else) and I drain the built-up emails from my poor, bloated inbox, I will blog again.

Until then, happy September!  Hope you're internet is faster than mine!

NOTE:

My previous post is composed of 100% irony.  I forget that some of my friends speak English as a second language; I would hate for that post to be taken literally.

ALSO NOTE: This right here is my 1,000th post.  Kinda anti-climactic, but oh well.

The confines of marriage

Married girls don't get to do anything! 

We don't get to sleep smack dab in the middle of the bed, for one thing.  And if an intruder ever came, we wouldn't even know it, on account of the big strong shoulder blocking our view of the bedroom door.

Married girls don't get to watch sappy romantic comedies and cry because that will never be us.  Because it already is.

We don't get to use, "I can't cook" as an excuse not to bring a dish to the potluck.  Because we can cook, and we cook well.  We've been cooking for the past eleven years, putting plates of steaming food down in front of the same grateful man, night after night. 

We're not virgins.  Not one of us.  What do you think of that?!

Married women don't get to gossip guiltlessly.  Our husbands would be too crushed if we did.

We don't get to do whatever we want with our hair, and we really should try not to let ourselves go.  Imagine how confining that feels, to be the only woman he ever looks at! 

We aren't free to lose sight of our dreams, because our husbands won't let us; and we can never again succumb to self-hatred.  We are loved too darn much. 

If you're single, and you're headed toward marriage, hear me say this: "Look out!  Your life will never be the same."

our new deck

We now have a place upstairs to lounge in our stocking feet.

pics off the phone

Seafood tea.  Think clam chowder broth, without the cream.  In a teacup.

Bright sparring with his reflection at the park.  Brave is running up behind.  I am teeny-weeny in the background.

The deck is almost finished!  Bright is swinging from the rafters in the foreground.  Have I mentioned how much I love our roof?  Well, I do.  G0D knows how to give good gifts.

And while Daniel had his tools out, he whipped up a nice bunny cozy for George.  Now George Fuzzy has a place to sprawl, a hollow in which to crawl, and plenty of wood that I don't care about for him to gnaw.  I don't know who is happier in this case, the bunny, or the bunny-owner;)

little anomaly

Don't look at the dimples and baby-blues and be tempted to type-cast this little guy.  Zion is like a Blow-Pop: sweet and predictable at first, but if you put in the time and effort, he will surprise you.

His handwriting assignment for this week?  A nice passage copied from his storybook B1BLE.  Lovely.

And then there is this. (one of the many drawings he completed during inside "recess" this morning)

Yep.  A man in striped leggings and a top hat, with a sword in one hand, and a bomb in the other.

Not even sure what to say about that.

But I am sure that I adore my little anomaly.

The family is growing

When he turned 30 (six years ago), he "still" wasn't married.  No girlfriend, either.  He had plenty of people who loved him, of course, including a great bunch of buddies, a doting mother and father, the wonderful Mahrya, Cousin Jay, a fun-loving little brother, and a faraway sister who blogs about him from time to time (that would be me).  Still, he went to bed alone, usually with his boots on, usually on the couch, while the TV fuzzed at low volume from across the living area of his bachelor pad.

My mom was worried praying for him.  I was praying for him, too, because I knew he wanted a wife and family.  He wanted someone to loft hay bales with, and drink hot coffee with on a hypothetical front porch somewhere on a peaceful piece of land.

Because really, my big brother, for all his cowboy-ness and machismo, is a family man at heart.  He has a huge capacity to love, I'm telling you.  And he is a good man.  A very good man.

And now he will have someone to bestow all of that love upon.  That's right...I am pleased to announce (though not as pleased as my mother), that he has found the proverbial "one."  The ring is on her finger, people!

I am going to be a sister once again. 

Welcome to the clan, Carrie!  I'm so happy for you and Kody!

Like a tourist

When you live in a foreign country, you forget to take pictures.  The sights, sounds, and smells cease to be "foreign" and therefore lose their photo-worthiness, in a sense.

But every so often, as we are headed out the door on a Saturday morning, to peruse the cobblestone trails at a local city park with friends like Graham and Ashlei (as was the case for us today), I remember to grab the camera.

Brave strapped in for the ride home, complete with head bandage.

751

Jubilee.

She once lived 750 days away from home.

Today, however, is her 751st day with us.  The history advantage is now on our side.

I love you more than I did yesterday, Sweet Girl.  Yesterday, I loved you more than I did the day before that.  As I was combing your radiant black hair last night before bed, you said to me, "I'm glad I have a family."  My jaw dropped and then I smiled, pulling you close.  I hardly knew what to say to that, and I hardly know what I ever did without you. 

Happy 751st, Jubilee Sue.  Your family adores you!!!  XOXO

A pretty hanky

My friend, Candace, has much to offer the world in the way of friendship.  I think so many of us, in this digital age, have lost sight of what it means to be in a relationship with another human being.

But not Candace.  She is an oasis of the genuine in a sea of fakey-fakey.  I know she's got my back, and I know she cheers for me always.  So many people in Louisiana, Kansas City, and around the world feel the same.

(I've mentioned Candace on the blog before.  My daughter thinks her name is Ms. Candle.  Quite fitting, I think.)

In one 1-hour span of time last week, Candace received word of three tragedies having befallen people she loves.  So what did she do?  She started praying, which is, in my son Bright's words, a very good place to start.  And then she started giving.  Giving is her talent; giving of her time, her thoughtfulness, her resources.  She's a giver.  And she gave this beautiful handkerchief with the explanation that "...every girl needs something lovely to cry into."

Candace's response to her friend's grief got me thinking.  Really thinking.  And I came to the conclusion that giving a beautiful hanky, into which tears of bitter sorrow can be shed, is about the most wonderful way to extend condolences that I have ever heard of.  

We can't stop loved ones from tragically dying, and we can't stop the tears of the bereaved, but we can, through love, provide a soft landing for those tears.  Yes, we can do that.  And we should.  And I intend to.  Thank you, CDC, for another lesson in what it means to be a friend.