Shutting It

My mouth, that is.  I have a wicked tongue and the "is it true, kind, or necessary" stuff is a struggle, especially the "necessary" part. Oh, and the "kind" section too.  Sometimes I have to physically remove myself from a situation to avoid saying something destructive. Not painting a pretty picture, am I? 

Case in point: I had an encounter with a teacher this morning (no, not one anyone knows so rest easy) and it ended up I discovered I was right.  Even if I had been in the wrong, the attitude I was handed was unpleasant and nothing gets me rankled so easily as attitude. But as it turns out, I was right and I really wouldn't care, but I was made to question myself and to feel like a flaky, disorganized and generally clueless parent (all things I am guilty of at times) and I clearly wasn't.  This time.

So I'm having difficulty letting this one go and even came up with a sweet way of making sure she knew I really wasn't being an idiot, but is it necessary to do say something? No, it is not. I have a wise husband who reinforced the idea that to address it would not help, and he is right.

It's so hard.  So very, very hard.

Big deep breath and sigh...

Champagne Problems*

A friend who I wish, wish, wish lived next door used this term during a recent conversation and I have fallen in love with it.  In a humbling sort of way.

These are almost exactly the kinds of problems I've been fortunate to have.  The ones where we have to decide which school district we should live in, which sort of car to purchase, which job to take or career path to follow, and on and on and on.

This doesn't mean I should feel guilty because I usually don't have serious decisions to make, but it does mean that my perspective is usually a little off and that is where the behavior modification needs to kick in. There needn't be any level of agonizing, or hand-wringing, or deep sighing, or the allowing of undergarments getting wadded somewhere. There needs to be more big-picture and contentment and less self-centeredness.  There needs to be more prayer and service and less grumbling.  And prayer. And maybe a beverage to keep it real. 


*Yes, I am very aware I may be the last person on the planet who has heard this phrase.  I know I am not cool or trendy.  I get it. It is unnecessary to remind me.

The Purple House

One of the girls is obsessed with this house.  She simply calls it "The Purple House" and requests a drive-by whenever we're close. I mean, what little girl wouldn't want to live in a purple or pink house? Perfectly normal, right?  Absolutely.

But for her it isn't simply being enamored with a home splendidly painted in her favorite color.  There is also a plan.  And the plan is that she is going to buy this house when she becomes a nurse and works in a children's hospital, and live in it with an assortment of animals whose names are already chosen, as well as some dear friends of ours (Fooz and Dord) so she can take care of them.  There will be a "food garden", and we (the family) will all be invited to come for dinner every night to eat on the balcony, which is not in the picture but, trust me, bears a striking resemblance to a deck. 

Word has it that she has described The Purple House to others as being "as beautiful as a rose petal".  And she means it. This child wears her heart on her sleeve, truly loves this house and has dreams for it. 


Oh to be five and live in a world where dreams and hopes of purple houses and taking care of people will, without question, come true. 

It's times like this when I realize how pragmatic I've become and I don't like it very much.  I used to be more of a dreamer, and while we all need a healthy dose of reality sometimes, maybe I've taken too much in the last few years and have come to depend on it. My children should not have to worry about whether or not the logistics of plans will work out.  There is too much time for that later.

First Piggies

Because they have to be documented.  If she follows the tradition of her sisters, this may be the last time she tolerates having her hair overly messed with.

So stinkin' cute.

Notes On Valentines Day Eve

1. Four kids = 73 valentines for classmates. Stunning. 

2. Plus extras they wanted to do for teachers, friends, neighbors...they got a little fired up.  I don't have a total count.  Probably somewhere in the mid to upper 90's.

3. The fifth child of course had to keep up, so she was allowed to put stickers everywhere just to keep her busy while John and I coaxed the older ones to sign their cards.  To be honest, only two needed focus.  The other two were incredibly self-motivated.

4. The dining room table looked like a vomitous mass of Justice League, Littlest Pet Shop, Puppy, and Madagascar cards and stickers, pencils and markers, and then the dreaded permanent markers because the pencils and regular markers were smearing or not showing up on Superman, all mixed in with princess placemats, normal placemats, and wadded up napkins.

5. Pinterest was making me feel like a crappy mom for this holiday, since I'm not doing 90+ homemade valentines with glow-sticks, covering the kids' door with cut-out hearts on which I had written all the things I love about them, and having heart-shaped themed lunches.  So I'm avoiding the place for a month or two. 

6. I have nothing planned for dinner tomorrow. We may be having leftover chili.

7. Actually, we will be having leftover chili.