My Cousin, my Friend.

Jacob's Cousin Mark is visiting us from New Hampshire. He came down because he is seeking a life change, and is considering working with Jacob and his company for iPhone Apps. 

Interesting. 

Their mothers are sisters, and everyone pretty much looks like each other. I knew this the first time I saw pictures of Jacob's cousins at his Grandpa's house. They all have the same eyes. What I didn't know, was they have the same gestures, the same expressions, and they also talk the same. My husband has an incredible brain and sometimes when he talks to me, it's as if God built a robot out of man-parts and then put him on Earth to play tricks on all of us normal humans. God sits back on His Lazy-boy and laughs out loud at my facial expressions when Jacob says something that goes completely over my head.  

The other day, I asked Mark "what do you wanna to do today?"

And he responded " What are you capable of facilitating?"

Which completes my theory that somewhere down the line they are robots. 

Two Black Eyes and a Roundabout Kick to the face, please.

I wish I could reach into the internet and  beat the hell out of someone.  I really do.  As a God-fearing Christian, YES. I TOTALLY DO. Some people just need a good punch in the face.  And God knows this, and I think He would be okay with it. 

My sister has just gotten a dose of what Dooce gets most likely everyday, and  at first, I was thinking to myself "Oh, just like Heather Armstrong. " 

Instead of laughing about it and posting remarks making a valid point like Heather, my sister has been hurt by the words  "You are a bad mother" or "You are an idiot". I think she feels threatened enough that she is willing to take her ENTIRE blog down. This is tragic for me. 

1. I have gotten so much closer to my sister through reading her daily blogs. We connect like we haven't connected in the past. 

2. I feel angry that someone has hurt her in a way for her to even consider such an action. 

3. She is a WRITER.  This is her passion and her way of expressing herself through her art.  

I wished I lived closer to my sister.. To hug her, to let her cry on my shoulder, and to look her square in the eye and forcefully tell her to stand up for what is right and blog all she wants. 

Also.. you know, she didn't do anything wrong. AT ALL. But words hurt. Especially when it is about your kids. Maybe I am just more aggressive than her, but I would abuse them right back with a Fist of Words. 

Jerks.

Easter Weekend.

Easter Weekend wasn't so bad this year. It was actually kind of nice. There were no screaming matches, no food was thrown ,  no vomit, no goose eggs on foreheads.

First, I went to my Mothers side of the family and had lunch with corresponding Egg Hunt.  Then I went  to my Dad's, where we had church, lunch and corresponding Egg Hunt. 

This is my Dad's last year to be preaching during Easter. This June he will retire from the Clergy. THANKYOUGOD. For once, I would like to not have to travel all the way down to Deliverance country and perhaps go to my very own church for Easter Sunday.  I think the church will really miss him.  He has been there for about 12-13 years now, and he has traveled an hour there every Sunday and back again for that long.  His gas bill, and his car, will thank him come June.  

My step mother put  yellow roses she cut from her garden in our room where we stayed, and that made a difference to me. I love yellow roses. She probably didn't know that, but it made me happy to see them and it was sweet.  

Here, I like to joke that my Dad is saying "Lord, what am I going to do with these granddaughters of mine??" They are quite the handful. 

Madeline, standing outside of my Dad's church, being all cute and sweet as usual. 

She reminds me so much of myself when I was her age. 

Here, Lily shows her Aunt Beth this flower she picked and how it is more special than any other flower in the whole wide world and can I ride home with you, please??

When I was Lily's age, I sucked my fingers the exact same way she does, only it was with my other hand. My Step-mother made these dresses for the girls. 

Lily is upset with me that I am trying to take her picture, and clings to big sister Anne for help. Anne loves Lily and loves to show affection to her little sister. She just hugs her back. 

That was pretty much my Easter. It was nice, but I am so glad to be back home and be in Florence. There is no other place like it for us. We've visited all over the country, but Florence holds special meaning for us and we wouldn't trade it for anything else.  Now, if you have a bungalow down in the Caribbean and there are sandy white beaches and twizzlers to drink our coconut drinks out of, and palm trees and all of our friends can come, then I might think about living there for half of the year.

I realize that I am not having any more children, and with that, the sadness comes that I will never again hold a little newborn that is my own. I am not letting Lily's youth slip away from my memory like I did with my other two girls.  I remember being so tired and just wishing they could hurry up and learn to eat by themselves, to tie their own shoes, to go potty by themselves, and put themselves to sleep.  With Lily my reality is solidified by the fact she is the youngest. It all comes into focus. It becomes important. 

So the other morning while I was getting my coffee, I looked over and saw her sitting there, quietly, eating her breakfast cereal, by herself.  I smiled and watched her, so big, not needing me for anything.  I grabbed my camera which just happened to be on the counter and  took a few pictures of her. One day I will look back and miss these days.

Splashing in the puddles.

The other day, 

When it was still warm Spring weather,

it rained.

I took the advantage,

I let go of the fear. 

I took my girls outside

to jump in the Springtime puddles.

The warm rain had left a small puddle in our driveway

where the nutrients and rich soil

drift in the tiny river 

covering the small delicate feet of my children.

Children don't understand the complexities of Motherhood.

The dark black footprints left on my white carpet,

The wet hands clinging to my cotton shirt,

tugging at me because they are barefoot.

They watch as the snails creep by. 

They too, are enjoying the wetness and smell of a fresh rain.

Splashing and jumping,

Splashing and jumping,

The girls become mud monsters,

Attacking me with their muddy hands and feet.

I lean against a brick wall and watch them.

I am filing this memory in a special place. 

Watching the clouds roll in, another rain storm is coming,

our time is short. 

I sigh and take more pictures,

because soon they will be all grown up,

and just like me, they will keep their shoes on, 

and lean back, 

and take pictures themselves.