Showing posts from September, 2008

Sweet nothings

So last night we were talking about an upcoming post that I am working on for Blissfully Wed . And that led to one of those way too late at night "talks". The kind that my husband likes to describe as me telling him what he's doing wrong. It's not that far off. Yeah, smack me. No really. And I didn't mean for it to go that way, truly I didn't, and I kept trying to end it so he could go to sleep, and it kept going anyway. And in the end he said what may be one of the sweetest thing ever said in the history of marriages. "I acknowledge that I'm an asshole. And clearly, I always have, still, and will love you." I had to write that down somewhere to remember the next time I get upset about water far under the bridge and throw it downstream after it so I don't keep trying to haul it all back and examine it again. I really am blessed to have him. But that's not at all what today's post is about. Go and check it out to find out what i

Sniper Hugs

It is a typical afternoon outside my house. Which means that there are a ton of kids and a few parents all hanging out on the hill in front of my door and running madly all over the place. Mostly it is is the kids running madly. I am sitting on the hill talking to a couple of other moms and holding the Baby in my lap. She sits down right beside me, this girl I know. She's been playing with my children for 2 years now. She's 6 years old. She smiles up at me, this little girl, and I smile back at her and then turn to answer a question and keep the Baby from doing a face plant as she struggles out of my grasp while I put her shoe back on. And suddenly quick as she can, while both my arms are full and I am not looking she reaches out and wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes tight. It is the briefest of hugs, a sniper hug. And then she is up and running off to play again without giving me a chance to respond as I sit there, my heart breaking as I think about what just happen

When it Matters

A little girl went missing tonight. She waved goodbye to her friends at the playground, turned down an older girl's offer to walk her home, and that was the last time anyone saw her. An hour later she still was not home. My neighbor chased me down as I was walking, oblivious to all of this, to ask me if I had seen her. Another neighbor and her daughter were going door to door near the playground. Her friends were carrying her picture around. And as the GH abandoned our dinner guests to go searching into the night I noticed several bobbing flashlights. People that I only know by sight, but have never spoken with past hello, out in groups searching for a little girl with long black hair. The men were in whatever state dress they had been when the knock on the door came. Rushing out without shirts, in flip flops, with flashlights they combed the neighborhood. The 13 year old who was the last to see her walked by again looking distressed. I asked, "Are you worried about her?&q

The Fabulous Thing About 4 Year Olds

is that when they are present as you assign early morning chores to their older sibling they beg to be given a job too. And when you scramble internally for something to give her so that it sounds like you were thinking of her all along, (What? You never do that?) and tell her she can wipe off the bathroom counter in the mornings she says, "Can I clean the toilet too?" And when she wakes up the next morning, and you have already forgotten about it, that's exactly what she does. And she does it well.

Barbie shows and life

Today we went to the grocery store, the kids and I. And at the check out the Boy and the Girl scattered as usual in the direction of the movie displays nearby. They came running to me as I walked out of the store yelling, "Mom, come and look it's The Diamond Castle." With princess Barbie as the main character no less. So I used my standard evasion and said, "Not today. It's time to go." And as we walked home from the store the Girl went on and on about how she wants me to buy her that show someday so that she can watch it. I don't know what it was today, if I was feeling particularly testy, or rushed or distracted but I chose this moment to completely dash her hopes. "I won't ever buy you that show. I don't want you to watch shows like that. I don't think they are good for little girls to watch." And then there was much sorrow, and loud crying, and also many questions. They all sounded like, "BUT WHY MOMMY? WHY CAN'T I?

An open letter to Americans who don't vote

Seriously? You aren't going to go and cast your vote on election day? What? It's too much work? You are too busy enjoying the rights and freedoms you possess in this country to take the time to educate yourself about the issues and have a say in the process by which your country is governed? Because it would be a shame for you to have to take some time away from watching your regular television programming to do some reading and make a choice wouldn't it? And yes, I know what day it is. What 9/11 means. That's why in spite of all the other things I was going to write about to day I'm writing about this instead. I'm not from the US. I don't even like some things about the US. But I tell you, if I could vote I would. My children are US citizens, and their futures will be affected by the decisions made on election day. But the stupidest decision I think it is possible for someone to make is to refuse to make one at all. Do you have any idea what it's li

A Boy's Work

"If you can do two days worth of school tomorrow I'll take you to work with me when I go the day after." the GH said to the Boy last week. He's renovating the bathroom at his parent's house right now, so it's a safe place to take a child. "I could come and watch you work dad?" he asks. "Oh you will do more than watch me work, you will help me to get my work done. I'll have jobs that you need to do for me." I watch as the Boy's visibly swells with delight at the prospect of working with his dad. Needless to say, any time he got sidetracked at school the next day all I needed to do was remind him of his desire to go to work with daddy tomorrow and he was right back on track. Except for the times when he couldn't sit still for excitement and instead would do things like bring out his jeans with the hole in the knee and say, "I could wear these tomorrow when I go to work with daddy. Sometimes dad wears jeans for working in

We are a Cause on Facebook

So I finally figured out how to link directly to our Facebook cause page. If you are on Facebook you can join and recruit your friends to join the cause and get updates. Cool huh? The Charis Project Real post coming soon. Sorry, it's been a crazy busy couple of weeks.

And I missed another person

Undercover Mutha also linked back to the refugee kids post. Thank-you.

quick question

If the Mormon Missionaries* come to my door to try and convert me to their religion and instead I manage to sell them handmade Karen bags to support our cause instead, does that mean I win? Or does it mean that I'm becoming shockingly good at this fund raising business? Or is it just testimony to how cool the bags actually are? * They are usually nice boys so be kind to them instead of laughing at them when you see a few riding around in the sweltering heat on their bicycles. Postscript: The GH is home. Hooray, and sigh of happiness. I have a very exciting story to tell you about what Chala was able to do with the money you sent, but it must wait until tomorrow. And I have yet to see his pictures or videos either. The man must sleep first. 50 hours of travel make him a little cro-magnan like in his conversation skills.


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Support the Blue Family's Work in Thailand

I'm always on Instagram