It's So Short

At 2:30 this afternoon, we said good-bye to Karis' hair. Well, to most of it, anyway. Thank goodness for sunglasses, which hid my tears from a very excited little girl, who adores her new 'do. I'll admit it - I cried. Then I devoured most of an 8-oz block of Swiss cheese which I had just purchased at Kroger. Most people drown their sorrows in chocolate. I go for cheese - lots and lots of cheese. Which may explain my need to drink so much coffee.

Anyway, I do realize it could have been much worse. But for now, I'm going to let myself be just a little bit sad as I mourn the loss of pigtails and braids, and try to console myself with the thought that it really will grow back.

We're a Mess - I Mean . . . a "Work in Progress"

It's been a week . . . a week that has felt like a month.

Nearly 8 years of mom-hood has taught me that daily life rarely turns out the way you had planned, or even hoped, it would. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's just that some days (weeks, months) are messier than others. Like this one. And I want to someday look back and remember it all - to keep it close to my heart, and maybe even to laugh about it.

But rather than rambling on about our week, I'll just let you see a few snapshots of it. It wasn't BAD, as much as it was crammed full of little, and big, surprises. And some elements of it were just . . . pretty typical.

First I'll tackle Mr. Moo. I could just say "he's 2", and leave it at that - no explanation needed! But the past couple of weeks he's been especially 2-ish.

His battle-scarred face bears witness to the fact that it is nearly impossible for the little guy to avoid catastrophe 2 days in a row. His mishaps with bikes, teeter-totters, furniture and his own feet (most of which, I just realized, have involved Karis in one way or another), together with the growing red lump that's been camping out under his eye since Christmas, have pretty much kept me on the alert for Childrens Services. I expect them to call or just show up and take him away at any moment.

Fortunately, I was able to get a last-minute appointment with an eye surgeon on Monday, who informed me that the lump is due to a blocked oil duct, needs to come to a head and then drain, and should do so within the next 6 months. I wasn't exactly expecting to receive a diagnosis of "huge year-long eye zit", but hey, at least it's nothing 5 or 6 warm compresses a day can't cure!

By the way, the caption for the picture at the top reads: "Why not to turn your back for a couple of minutes when Malachi is eating tofu pancakes" (I use the word "eating" very loosely.)

On to the next mess . . .

It's almost never a good sign when you get a call from the school nurse, especially when she uses the words, "head injury." It turns out, Rachel had a run-in with a little boy during gym class, fell backwards and hit her head pretty hard on the concrete. Her eye looked more purple each day for about the first four days after the incident - that little boy must have had one hard head! As for Rach, she's thrilled to have one more reason to act pathetic. (Interestingly, her eye really starts to bother her when she's asked to make her bed, clean up her room, or do homework.)




I walked into Kari Bou's room yesterday to find this . . .



Assuming (desperately hoping?) it was doll hair, I went to ask her about it, and found this . . .



Let's hope the hairdresser can work some magic on Tuesday. I didn't take any disciplinary action, because she was devastated enough when she realized she may have to have all of her hair cut short like a boy.

So, Moo is a mess, Rachel is a mess, Karis is a mess, and now even the outside of our house is a mess. At least it matches the inside, I guess! Danny has begun the process of scraping and primering, and hopefully within the next month or so, we'll have the whole thing repainted - and there won't be any debate this time as to whether it's gray or blue! I can't wait.




As for the Beef Man, I've dubbed this "The Week of the Meltdown." I think just about every day this week has involved at least one. But it's all good, because I finally got a decent picture of him and it's been less than one month since his birthday! Last year it took me 6 months - my silly little dude just does not like cameras.



I don't have the room here, or the time, to go into the other "hiccups" that have taken place of late. But I'm thankful for the past couple of weeks. Mostly I'm glad that not every week is the same, and that my kids' personalities are so different, it forces me to study them, to learn what makes each of them tick. It makes me appreciate the love and support I receive from Danny, the time he spends playing with, and teaching, our children. I'm thankful that life is not predictable, because how boring would that be?

Mostly I'm thankful that God is good no matter what, and that His grace is sufficient for any and every hiccup, regardless how large or small.

Good-Bye

I've shared several other posts on this blog about our family visiting my Grandpa Emch. One week ago today, he exchanged his earthly body for a heavenly one.

We knew this day was immanent. Ever since a major surgery he had last August, his health, and his ability to think clearly, had steadily declined as his body began to shut down. The news of his passing, while not surprising, was still strange. He's been around all of my life. I used to climb up on his lap as a little girl and share ice cream cones with him. He would hold me and tell me how special I was. He took us for motorcycle rides and told us stories about life when he was a boy.

But after hearing so many captivating accounts of his life, I didn't realize how much about my Grandpa I never knew - until my Uncle Daryle shared at his Celebration of Life service on Wednesday. I always knew that Grandpa and Grandma left their church, which was really more like a family, shortly after they married, and that this was prompted by a pursuit of Biblical Truth. Their faith was in Christ alone, not a works-based religion. I knew that they were shunned by friends and family alike afterward and as a result they faced much loneliness. What I didn't know was how much hostility they faced, even to the point that my Grandpa's own parents burned the Theological books he had purchased while he fought in WWII. Still, he pursued the truth.

I knew Grandpa had fought in WWII, as a medic. What I didn't know was that he was sent to the wrong location at first and asked to handle a gun, and because of his convictions he refused, asking to be transferred. He endured hostility and persecution at the hands of fellow soldiers and officers alike, until the situation was finally corrected.

Grandpa was not the perfect husband, father, or grandfather. He had a fierce temper and could be very harsh at times, especially to those he was closest to. But I've gained a new respect for him, and for the legacy he left his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. His life wasn't easy. Despite losing friends, family and a business he'd devoted countless hours and energy to (in a fire back in the '70's), he remained strong. And there is no doubt that He loved his Savior.

I pray that I can pass his strength, and pursuit of truth, on to my own children. I pray that I will be faithful to share with them the way that God worked in the life of their great-grandparents and has continued to work in their parents. And I love that I will someday see him again in heaven. Good-bye Grandpa . . . until we meet again.