Sharing...sorta

I started this blog adventure as a way of giving all this stuff inside of me a way out.  Over the past year I've barely had moments to catch my breath, let alone sit down and gather thoughts together in any form of an organized, fit for human consumption post.

Life takes its toll.  Little by little.  Bite by bite.

There are Things I can't talk about.  Things I wish I could share.  Things I'm not quite ready to give life to.  I realize that sounds far more ominous than it really is.  Really.

For tonight, my prayer remains the same as it's ever been.  I pray for peace.  I pray for quietness of the soul.

"Quiet your mind.  Soak it all in.  It's a game you can't win.  Enjoy the ride!" ~ Zac Brown

A self portrait...

Whilst watching political debates...

Generation gap...

The wee girl is growing up but not out.  Now that her arthritis has been under control for over a year she's finally reaching the height of a typical 4-year-old.  But without an ounce of fat on her tiny little body.  Which means jeans she's had for a couple of years still fit--I just sew ruffles to the bottom to accommodate her height.  Last year's dresses are now shirts.  And therein lies the daily struggle...

Me:  If you're going to wear that top, you need to wear pants.

Her: But these are my favorite, favorite leggings! (Editor's note: she calls tights "leggings"...anything without feet are called "pants")

Me:  Leggings aren't pants.  And that dress is now a shirt.  Shirts are worn with either pants or skirts.

Her:  But it is a dress!

Me:  It's too short.  It's now a shirt.  Find a pair of pants.

Her:  See? (turning so I see her backside) It covers my panties.  It's a dress.

Me:  Oh...that is so not the definition of a dress!

In the end she found another actual, length appropriate dress to wear with her favorite, favorite leggings.  Her teenage years are going to be awesome!  Though, in retrospect, I should be happy she at least wears panties.

Status report...

Sick bay's full.

Mama's functioning on ginger tea and Nyquil.

Been mostly dead since Friday.

Storming the castle is quite out of the question in these conditions.

Just another Sunday...

The first hint that something wasn't right was the sound of my daughter's door opening when she woke up yesterday morning.  And me realizing that I was in bed alone.  Himself still not home.

He kissed us all good bye the night before and went to work.  Typically on these nights he's home by 3 or 4 in the morning.  As I laid in bed, listening to the sound of my children playing upstairs, I didn't worry.  I mentally went through our Plan.  The Plan of what to do if he doesn't come home.

Given the life I've lived and the life we live now, it's pointless to waste energy worrying.  But it would be naive to not plan.

Going about the morning routine with the kiddos...drinks (coffee for me, warm chocolate milk for them), feeding the animals...I sent him a quick text...

Hey...you okay? Love you!


Yep.  Finishing up paperwork.  Be home soon.  Love you too!

Twelve hours after he left home, he walked in the door.  Exhausted, worn out from dealing with difficult drunks, but very much alive and home.  And bearing hot-fresh-now doughnuts.

There's an old hymn that runs a constant stream through my brain..."But I know Whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able..."

Balance...

Yesterday I learned that a dear friend's dad was diagnosed with inoperable terminal cancer.

Today I found out that another sweet friend is expecting her first baby, due this summer.

Both made me cry.