Quick story:

Two women were out for coffee one day, and Sally was trying to get Mary to commit to a particular project two days away.  Mary hemmed and hawed, before finally admitting she was having emotional and health issues that left her with little energy for more than the basics.

“And sometimes I barely make the basics,” Mary confided.  “It was hard to even to get here today.”

Sally gripped her cup a bit tighter and asked Mary what she’d rather be doing.

Mary blushed, and asked Sally if she was done with her spoon.  Holding Sally’s spoon, and her own, Mary snagged a handful of spoons from an unbussed table nearby.

“Let me show you something.” Mary laid out the spoons in a row. Seven of them.

“This spoon is getting three children fed and out the door in time for school.  This spoon is getting to a meeting on time. And some days, like today I only have four spoons. And one of those was used up showering and getting ready for the day.”

“This is your way of saying you have a finite amount of energy,” said Sally, now understanding.

“And that I value you a great deal,” said Mary, “even if I couldn’t be here.”

I am currently very low on spoons.  I welcome your prayers.

The Amalgamation of Childhood

Listening to my children play is like picking apart the seeds of dreams.

Elisha and Melody have been play slave-escape stories again tonight, and Elisha restarted a scenario, carefully setting it up:

“The White Dragon will protect us from the Red Dragon–Kill it! And then help us escape to Freedom.  Carry us. But not in its jaws, on its back.”

Care to see the sources?

I love the way my kids produce stories.

Specializing… soon.

Just now I’m feeling like all I want to do in my free-time is write, but I have to admit that there are are more interactive projects out there, and a lot of them look really cool both to me and my kids.

Here’s what I’m tucking away for later.

And a recipe to file away for when we seriously try for dairy-free: Coconut milk

Looking for Rhythm

This is a “preaching to myself” post.  What I need to hear/remind myself right now.

One thing I like schedules for:

  • To show that it’s possible (or not) for everything to be done that needs to be done.

If you are looking for advice (wonderfully detailed, practical advice) on how to assemble a schedule, look at the resource Managers of their Homes at Titus2.com. That is where I got the information I am about to share with you.

The funny thing is that my newly-promoted-to-manager husband attended a training seminar not long before I started processing this information, and he said this method (minus the acknowledgment of God) is the same as he was taught in his workshop.

~ ~ ~

The most useful thing to start with is a basic understanding of God, his character, and your place in his world.

As I have enjoyed quoting before: “God does not have to depend on human exhaustion to get His work done.” And, “There is enough time in each day to get done what God wants you to get done.”

With this in mind, prayerfully make a list of what you feel God wants you to get done in a day.

Not what you think you “should” get done or really *want* to get done (there are still approximately 3 more instruments I want to learn to play).

Seek God’s will, try to see through his eyes.

Continue reading


I am so hungry for closure right now.

We only have until October 27, and then our contractual relationship with our realtor will end.

The house will be off the market for the amount of time it takes for their buffer-zone (where they claim their full commission despite being out of contract) to expire, and then it will be up to us.

I wanted to start this way, but considering only 3 or 4 houses like ours have sold in the six months we’ve been on the market (and we might not have know that on our own), I’m thankful we went “by the book” at first.

Jay plans to take off of work two extra days after we’re off-market, in order to help us move back in.  This is a huge blessing, especially considering he’s been completely comfortable with the Spartan lifestyle of the last six months.

It’s the kids and I who’ve been missing our comfort objects.

For six months we’ve maintained our house “by the book,” keeping the rooms set up as the professional stager advised.

This has been hard for me on a few levels, especially considering how much I enjoy rearranging in our little house. It’s always made me feel rather creative.

Now (or rather, in three weeks) we will be *living* in our own house again.  Yes, we’re still trying to sell– later– but for now we’re changing things back to our own:

The extra room will no longer house an unused bed.  It will return to the domain of books and toys (did I mention that we had a solid wall of bookcases in that room?  The longest wall. And all those books have been in boxes for this time).

And I freely admit that one of the biggest things I learned this season was that books are my comfort-object.  I’ve decided most adults have one: if it’s not a cell phone it’s a key wad, purse/wallet or pocketknife.

We will still be in ambiguity– not sure if God intends for us to stay in this home or move– but I anticipate a much more comfortable level of ambiguity.

One that might even include a dish-drainer and a Kitchen-Aid mixer again.

When was the last time you cried while laughing?

Today, for me.

Here’s the scene:

Oh, yay, it’s snowing. Oops. I haven’t shoveled the yard in a bunch of days.  Ugh, that means I have to get dressed to go outside.  I was hoping to avoid that while sick.

[Be the adult, get dressed for the day {about noon} and stagger out to the living room realizing that simple act consumed my energy allotment for the hour.]

Thank God Jay’s back from his morning of running errands.  Collapse on the couch and confess negligence and abdication of scooping responsibility.

About this time Elisha comes back inside, glowing with smiles and cold.

Don’t worry Mama we saw it.  It’s not buried yet.

Now, I have already forgotten both that I’d offered the excitement of watching mama race the snow and a 4-year-old’s interest in poop.  I was only sick and tired and annoyed that one of my articulate children once again used a pronoun instead of a noun that would actually convey information.

I have grown to hate the words it and thing with severe intensity.  They’re like serotonin inhibitors– filling a hole that would normally be a channel, or at least a resting place, for something that could contribute a great deal more than the current squatter.

When I finally understood what the boy was talking about, he also conveyed that he and his sister were (helpfully!) doing what they could to make sure the piles were still visible.  Actively “brushing away” the still accumulating snowfall.

Keeping a straight face I politely informed him that I don’t want that job done any more, and asked him to leave things as they lay till Mother can deal with them herself.

Oh you don’t have to worry about that, Mama.

I am now worried.  This is a new phrase for him.

I be sure to stomp it.

How this could, in his mind be either helpful or reduce my inclination to worry, I think I’ll never know.  I was ready for a good cry by this point, and here was as good a trigger as any.  Jay was home and I could retreat for a little private catharsis.  But I couldn’t even speak, I was laughing so hard.  Tears streamed down my face, and poor Jay had to wait quite a while for my answer to, “What did he say?”

So I got my cry in the best possible way.  And yeah, I feel better, too.