The best Sundays are, in my opinion, lazy. I think all of us but my workaholic husband accomplished a best Sunday.
We had another wonderful church service. It was Communion Sunday, and they had put a red rag on every chair with this verse from Isaiah on it: We are all infected and impure with sin. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags. Before taking Communion, we put our rags on the cross, because the blood of Jesus makes us pure again. Thank God for that. Even writing this brings me to tears again, because I screw this up so often. So Often.
Kevin says that we’re all human, we all mess up, but sometimes I feel like I’m the only one. I’m the only one to ever lose my temper. I’m the only one who is so selfish, I’d rather not share a tasty treat with my three-year-old. I’m the only one who is so judgemental or sorely lacking in self discipline or so irritable. I’m the only one who ____________________(fill in the blank with sin of your choice).

I know this isn’t true, I know this is distorted thinking, but it still feels true sometimes, and I feel so sorry. Sorry for the people who have to live with me. Sorry for my Jesus who had to die for someone like me.

Enough pity party. I’m doing the best I can.
We were then given a verse bracelet with 1 Timothy 4:12 on it to remind us to live pure. It was a meaningful morning to say the least. My parents had gone to a different church for a jazz service, and brought us home lunch. We ate outside, admired my parents’ new car, played outside,

then everyone had a nap except Kevin, who worked diligently scraping the house so it can be painted by the girls’ birthday party on Sunday.

After we all got up, we took the jeep to an ice cream social, where I got to have homemade apple pie with crumbly crust topping, homemade vanilla ice cream on top and fresh strawberries to go with it. Upon arriving home, the small ones played in the pool. After some unwinding time, a couple stories, and much ado, they were in bed. I did a scrapbook layout and Kevin worked on the hobbit room a bit more.

It was a wonderful day.
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Can’t a girl just lounge?

Sometimes I really miss being single–when I could sleep in as long as I wanted, get up and do whatever I wanted, stay in my jammas for as long as I wanted, leave projects spread out all over for as long as I wanted: you know, back when the world revolved around the axis that is Jessica.

It’s a gorgeous Saturday. I got up with Brielle at 6:45 (after nursing her on and off since 5). I got up and got her breakfast, chatted with Kevin a little while we ate breakfast. I tried to kick my brain in gear to make a card for the wedding we’re going to this afternoon. He showed me the progress he’s made in the hobbit room. I picked up my picture organizing project was working on two nights ago, so no small person could wreck everything. As I was getting Aviana’s breakfast around 8, some guy showed up to buy eggs, quickly followed by a corn customer. After arranging babysitting details for the wedding and discussing last night’s 4-H photography judging I assisted with at the fair with my mother-in-law, Brielle needed a little nursie time.

No lounging around in my nightgown, leisurely reading my latest book for me.

And I’m better for it.

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Am I so weird?

I didn’t like the design on a box tissues my mom picked up for us, so I opened it from the side, took out all the tissues, opened the old box, put all the tissues in, and taped it shut. After I did it, I thought to myself, “Who has time for that?”

Me, apparently.

So that’s what we are:

Aviana to me while nursing the baby: You’re a newrswer.
“Oh really”
“And Bwee-elle’s a eatwer.”
“And I’m a totwer.”
“And Dada’s a wowr-twer”
“And Ameeya’s a duddwer.”
“And Tassy’s a wunnwer.”
“And Deejee doz wif Tassy.”

(translation: You’re a nurser. Brielle’s an eater. I’m a talker. Dada’s a worker. Amelia’s a juggler. Cassy (my parents’ dog) is a runner. And Gigi goes with Cassy.)

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Birthday Fete

What a beautiful day!

We went to play at the park, then went to Happy Joes for pizza, a birthday song, birthday sundae and birthday balloons. We then went to Toys R Us to choose a birthday present and another birthday balloon and a birthday crown. After a quick rest at home, we went over to Grandma’s for another birthday song and birthday cake and more birthday presents! I wonder who had more fun, me or Aviana.

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This is my 411th post, so you’d think it would come with some informaaaaayshun, but nope–just a bit o’ prose before I drag my weary tail to bed. I don’t even know why I’m still up as a matter of fact. Probably because sleeping’s boring.

I think about my young all the time. My wee ones. My babes. My offspring. They are never far from my foremost thoughts and never off my heart. Even when I am tired of them, and even after I snap loudly and grumpily at Aviana, “If you ask me for Goldfish one. more. time, you’re not even going to get them for your BIRTHDAY!”, and even when I am sick of Brielle pulling at me and climbing on me and nursing for a second and memorizing me glowingly with a playful glint in her gaze, but still NOT SLEEPING, I love them with all of my being. To my very core.

Then as if to make up for the hard feelings I still harbor, instead of “indulging myself” by reading one of the four books stacked next to my new chair, I search eBay for cute little outfits, or buy ribbon with the intention of making adorable korkers for their hair, or read about preschool activities to enhance learning. I search slacker moms and read about moms who snap at their kids more than I do, in hopes that it will assuage the guilt I feel or least will give someone to point my finger at and say, “So there, hah. I’m better than you.” But it’s all hollow. We have good moments and bad moments, and they add up to days, and mostly, the bad moments are just the pepper.


If you dump out a cupful of salt onto a piece of white paper, and then shake a teeny bit of pepper onto it, what do you notice? The pepper. Mix it up. Still notice the pepper? Me too. That’s how my bad moments are.

Today I have been my child’s ideal mama: playing rough and tumble games, reading about babies doing the polka and shiny trains, introducing her to bongos and buffalo drums, taking her on play dates, answering endless questions, offering positive reinforcement, discussing the minute and monumental, lavishing affection, hugging, kissing, carrying, nuzzling, loving. I was patient, yet firm, when she yelled at me for taking a bite of her cottage cheese. I was tender, yet serious, when she wouldn’t share with her friends and when she poked them in the face with a toy. I was gentle, yet steadfast, when she screamed for some juice right now. I was kind, yet resolute, at every single crossroads between temper and temperance. Except once.

But it’s just the pepper.

Now, I’m going to go stroke some boa soft cheeks and listen to some deep sighs of breath. I’m going to smell the milkiness and sweatiness that is a sleeping baby. I’m going to corn silk kiss some lips, finger some dandelion strands of hair, pray for their love of Jesus, and mine, to grow in depth and breadth, and thank Him for the salt and the pepper and the opportunity to grow from it, then slide into our burgundy sheets right next to the man of my dreams.

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Apparently, we aren’t smart enough to think for ourselves

This from Consumer Reports:

A BAD BUY Though the Consumer Product Safety Commission outlawed lawn darts in the U.S., we were able to buy them on eBay from a British seller. CPSC spokesman Scott Wolfson told us the agency is working with eBay to ensure there are no more U.S. auctions of lawn darts.

Lawn Darts

I must not be responsible enough to decide for myself if I and my family should play lawn darts. The Government has to step in and decide for me. Do I really need a Government that thinks I am such an idiot, it needs to tell me to buckle up in my own car, not use my blowdryer while sleeping in my own house, and what games I can play in my own yard?

As an aside to this tirade, can you guess the first Government to ban smoking in public places?

Give up?

The Nazis.

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Aren’t we just the cat’s pajamas?

The girls got early birthday presents today. We went out to hang up clothes when we noticed the box from UPS (who, by the way, told Kevin he wasn’t going to deliver here anymore because of Grumpy Roscoe–I hope he was kidding.) Aviana, taking after her mother, wanted to open her present right away, but I made her wait until Dada could come up to the yard and see too. After an agonizing half hour(for her because she had to wait; for me, because she asked if she could open it every five seconds) he finished chores and we could open it. From a dear college friend of mine, they got KittyCat Cards, KittyCat Beanie Babies, KittyCat stickers and these adorable KittyCat jammas from Old Navy, and buttons to wear at their party that read “I’m 3/1 today”. Everything was pink–Aviana’s favorite. She was just telling us today that she wants a pink pool, a pink slide, pink swings and pink trees.

After all the initial opening excitement was over, Aviana wanted to take everything out and play with all the presents, right then, there in the yard; she was so thrilled to pieces. When I repeatedly answered “no” to all her requests, she picked up a stick and in the same excited tone said, “Wook! Hewre’s a stict! May we pway wif this?”

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