Queen

Usually all the responsibility for housework falls on my shoulders. Any time I am at home doing anything other than house-related chores, I am always painfully aware that I need to be straightening and cleaning up. My attention is always split between what I'm doing with the kids and what I "should" be doing in the house. And the housework is never all done at the same time.

BUT yesterday we hired some help to come clean the whole house. And I sat down and read books to my kids. My house was being cleaned and I was--in those moments-- truly freed from the burden. And that, friends, was an amazing thing to me. I was able to really enjoy myself and yet there was still work being done on my behalf; my attention to the children did not have to be divided. I was able to rest and really BE with my kids, vs. hearing that nagging voice in my head pulling me toward chores even as I read aloud the words, "Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle likes children." What a blessing; I felt like a queen.

One of several applications:

I long for the day when my recognition and awareness of God will not be divided either. I will intentionally glorify God in all that I do and say, whether I'm reading or scrubbing floors or grocery shopping or playing at the park or working out. God will be a conscious presence in my everyday life. Because He is here, whether I realize He's present or not. But I would like to do a better job of relating with Him momently. The truth is I may not be a queen, but I am His bride. All day, every day. Wow!

Patrick

We finished testing at Special School District this morning, and the results are in: we don't qualify for services. This is great news--he's above average in most every area except one visual perceptual sub-test that they're calling a fluke. It doesn't change that he has areas that need attention, it just means that I went home with a stack of papers helping me know how I can give him that attention. He's just too darn good in what he's good at; it skews the scores.


He also doesn't have Leg Perthes (still) or an infection in his left hip, even though he hurts and is limping. We spent Tuesday morning at Children's Hospital getting xrays, an ultrasound, and some bloodwork done that all came back normal--except a little fluid on his joint that might be causing the pain and limp but not enough to go after.

I feel like I look like that mother who creates issues for her child even though there's nothing wrong with him. I should be thankful that everything is testing normal. Maybe God just gave me a child whose hip will hurt every now and then and who will always struggle to find words. Maybe he'll become the funny limping boy, with coping strategies for his deficits. Because, hey, we all have deficits and ways of coping so others don't see them.

Bipolar

I've often wondered if I were bipolar. I'm really joking. Kind of. Pretty much. I mean, I'm not that extreme in my highs or lows, but I definitely am noticing cycles of ups and downs.

If I were to document (journal) consistently my ups and downs, I'd see they probably run in about 2 month cycles. I would also see that the drug that levels out my ups and downs is called "time with the Lord." It seems that when I am consistent in my time with Him, communing with Him through the Lord's Supper and prayer, feasting daily on His Word, I am a more joyful and *peaceful* woman. But then I'm feeling good. Feeling capable. Stretching my independence. Moving away from my source of peace. And I fall flat. on. my. face.

What's that they say--knowledge is half the battle? Well, I am (once again) sick of myself and ready to do things right. Here's to consistency. And God's faithfulness to (once again) draw me near to Himself. Oh, that I would be healed of my independence and run a consistent and faithful race, remembering that true peace comes from God alone.

And "all of this" is also my prayer for you, because we are all struggling sinners.

Kill, kill, kill!

I feel like Mrs. Hannigan. Over-worked, under-paid, overwhelmed by all the "little 'people', little 'people', everywhere I look," and in desperate need of a drink.

Oh, Lord, save me from myself. From my selfish heart that wants things to be my way--an easier way--no matter what is best. Save me from feeling overwhelmed when the truth is that you give me every resource to stay calm and at peace. Spare me from feeling desperate when I look at circumstances and people, not at the heart of the matter.

I, like Mrs. Hannigan, need rest. Need to rest. And when I don't, it turns into "Kill, kill, kill!" and I start reacting to life vs. living intentionally. After finals are over, we're going to carve out a morning or afternoon when I can get away. It may be that Brian keeps the kids or we hire a babysitter, but it needs to happen. I need to have some rest time scheduled in my life. I need to be a better mom. And Lord willing, I'm heading in that direction.

Moving

I'm just not used to people moving, but it's happening all around us.

Aaliyah is moving tomorrow. She is our first neighborhood friend--a six year old two doors down who, with her father, is moving out of her grandparents' house into an apartment with his girlfriend and her 3 daughters. She has been a regular playmate for Sarah Frances and Catherine. Patrick too. They ride bikes and scooters, play games, and climb trees together. She called me Mamacita early on. We will miss her, but she'll finish out the school year here and be at her grands most days after school.

Then Trey, our next-door neighbor, doesn't realize how much he's going to miss his fan club. He got a youth internship at his church, which provides free housing, and he's moving sometime in the next couple of weeks. When we got home from errands this morning, he was walking down to his car, and I could hardly put the car in P before they all four clambered out to say hi. Even Lillian in her sweet, high voice was calling out, "Hi, Trey! Hi, Trey!" He plays freeze tag with the kids and has been over for dinners a handful of times this year. And he's been our babysitter. And he brings me a cherry limeade from Sonic when he comes home during happy hour. But he works at Schnuck's about a 1/2 mile from here. Maybe he'll swing by after he's off, if he keeps the job.

Lastly, the Woods, our precious friends, are fixing their house up to sell and move from St. Louis. They don't know when or where they're headed, but it's bound to happen. Marne and I are still making summer plans together, supporting each others' denial.

All this change is breaking my heart. Better get used to it, I suppose. It's not like this is our last move either.