Sachi

hope

Hope is a quiet creature. He doesn't precisely sneak back in because how can something that is so looked for sneak? Yet, for all my waiting and praying, for all my searching and midnight vigils at the front door, I woke up this morning and found Hope standing there in companionable silence- as if he'd never left at all.

-Zonoma

bad day

Yesterday was a good day. The fog lifted and the clouds parted and, for a few moments, I was able to see the goal - my fondest hope, that elusive city on a hill - and move forward with a smile on my face.

Today the mists have returned, as dense and miserable as they ever were, and I am utterly lost with the whispers of my heart and the loving nature of my God as my only guides  through this dejection and anger. The dejection is actually easier to handle than the anger. I can speak with it and keep putting one foot in front of the other as the path presents itself. The anger is trickier. I can't escape it and suspect that I may need its services to survive the coming days but, for now,  it is a siren luring me into actions and words I know I will regret later. It is so compelling, though, and it feels good. 

Today is a bad day.

-Zonoma

hope is hard

How can one live on the razor's edge between heartbreak and hope? It is living as a whisper within a world where profanity is not spelled out in syllables but in decibels. It is wanting to weep where tears are forbidden and longing to laugh where smiling is taboo. It is carrying a terrible sickness and having the antidote, too.

It is quiet here in this place.

-Zonoma

christian

I'm afraid that, here in the West, the term 'Christian' no longer imparts the kind of loving life I want for my children. Too many people accept that label but don't live the life.

-Zonoma

don't freak out, mommy!

As a mother, I get little glimpses of myself through the eyes of my children every day. Unfortunately, it isn't always flattering.

Yesterday we had Honored Friend and her 2.8 children over for dinner. As the children were unloading the dishwasher, I snuck off to change my shirt. Halfway with the shirt over my head, I hear a knock on the door. It was my oldest son, who by some genetic mutation, has the freakish ability to tell when I'm only half dressed and suddenly 'need to talk to me'. His brother, by the way, has a similar genetic disorder that hones in on those times when I'm in the bathroom, invariably taking care of business. They also both have the 'Quick! Mommy's in the bubble bath. Let's rescue her from all that peace and quiet!' disorder, though as I understand it, this is somewhat more common. Back to the story...

Captain Awesome, in the confident and high-timbered voice of a first grader, solemnly informed me (through the bedroom door) that he could now put away the glasses. Now normally, I'm the one who puts those away. The layout of the kitchen just doesn't allow for me to keep everything where they can reach and glasses seemed the logical choice for something kept up high. Today, though, Awesome told me that he could reach without a chair, without climbing on the cabinets, and without breaking anything (I know because I asked). After listening to his little speech, I wasn't sure how to respond and, in the time it took for me to think, he took matters into his own hands.

"Mommy, I'm just going to put them up this time."

"What? Are you sure you can do that?"

"Yes, Mommy. I'm going to put them up." He stood there in silence for another beat and then, before I could think of a reason to protest, he added, "Now don't freak out, okay Mommy?"

And he had me. Even through the door, my son knew me well enough that he cut off any further protests with that one little phrase. Such an adult thing for him to say, too. I wasn't certain whether I wanted to laugh or get offended. Why in the world would he say that to me?

"Mommy, did you hear me? Don't freak out when you see them put away."

"Okay, Honey. You can do it."

Oh yeah. I would have freaked out. If I had come back into the kitchen and found the glasses already put away, I would have third degree'd those boys! 

What are these doing up here? Who did this? Did you get Daddy to put them away? Did you get a chair? WHAT? Then you climbed on my counter??!! I don't believe you. There's no way you could reach that! Oh yeah? Show me. ... Oh. .... Okay. ... mmm sorry.

Do I always freak out about stuff like this? Looking back, I think I do. I never considered myself a 'freak out' kind of mom, but I guess I am. I recall a time last fall when Little Man came home with grass stains on his jeans and a serious, apologetic confession to accompany them. When I just him it was 'okay,' he was stunned.

He blurted out, "You mean you aren't mad?"

I laughed and asked why I should be.

"I just thought you would be. You don't like when I ruin my clothes."

I tried to explain to him that I understood when things were accidents and when they could have been prevented (wiping his hands on his pants instead of on the napkin, anyone?) but the look on his face told me that it never mattered to me before, at least as far as he understood. Wow, I really do sweat the small stuff more than I like to admit!

So, FreakOut!Mommy needs a chill pill, apparently. It is funny how simple moments become epiphanies that shine a spotlight on flaws we didn't even know we had. Thank goodness for these moments, else I remain flawed and my family suffer. Thank goodness for these moments, else it might be a tragic moment later on when I look back and see the flaws too little too late.

smooth criminal

Overheard today:

"Watch out, [Trooper]! Mommy just cleaned the window with a dangerous criminal and you shouldn't touch it."

I've always thought that Windex was a bit shady.....