Monday

I meant to get this post written on Monday, but alas it did not happen.  I guess it shows what kind of week I've had that I'm just now getting to it on Friday.

We were still dragged out from a long weekend when we woke up on Monday morning.  My little guys got up with runny noses and coughs.  Yes, that means that within the next few weeks, I can anticipate all of us getting sick.  Our first winter cold--in September.

My first order of business for the day was to pack lunches for Matt and Grace.  I was sending Matt off to what I knew would be a tough day at work, so things were already a bit tense.  Then Matt accidentally burned Joseph as he was dishing him some eggs.  As he pushed the eggs from the skillet onto the high chair tray, Joseph moved his arm and scraped it against the hot skillet.  He started howling immediately.  I quickly grabbed the baby, ran cold water over the small area that was burned and settled him down.  The burn blistered a bit.  I applied coconut oil to it throughout the day, mostly to make myself feel better.

After Matt and Grace left, I got showered and sat down to work on Bible study with the kids.  It didn't take me long to determine that the younger kids would not make it to BSF that evening.  I didn't want them to spread their cold germs.

Then I scurried around doing I can't remember what until 2:30 p.m.  All I know is that I distinctly remember it was one half hour into quiet time by the time I got into my bed to rest my weary bones and brain for a bit.  Ten minutes later, Paul came into my room.

He had a tourniquet around his hand.  He asked me if I could help him put on a band aid.  When I saw that the color was drained from his face, I told him that he'd better sit down at the kitchen table. Let me just interject here.  I don't do well with blood.  Blood and barf.  I can handle any other grossness that motherhood throws at me, but I can't handle blood and barf.  So I steeled myself before I removed the tourniquet.  It took me one quick look to realize that a band aid would not be sufficient.

I put the handkerchief back on Paul's hand and told him to get into the van.  I gave Elizabeth instructions for child care and dinner prep and then Paul and I headed to the urgent care clinic.  I hate that place.  I swear if you don't die of whatever ailment brought you there, you'll expire from the long wait. On the way there, Paul explained what had happened.  He'd been splitting kindling and the hatchet had slipped.

When I asked the woman behind the front desk how long the wait would be and told her my son had cut his hand, she asked, "Is his hand bleeding?"  I answered, "Oh yes, it's bleeding."  She said, "Oh. Well, we'll take you right back then."  Score!

Once the nurse saw Paul and she determined we would not have to go to the ER, the doctor came in to take a look.  She asked Paul how he'd done it.  After telling her, she said, "Well at least you did it doing some manly thing instead of playing Xbox or something."

She numbed the finger with an injection of Lidocaine (the worst part of the whole procedure) and then she sewed up the cut with six stitches.  In and out in a hour and a half.  That's my tip.  Go into the urgent care actively bleeding to avoid a long wait.

The rest of the week has gone by in a blur.  Tomorrow, our first born son, Paul, will turn 13.  I sure hope he'll get wiser as he gets older.  He already seems to be heading in the right direction.  He's fashioned himself a kindling holder so that his hand will be well clear of the hatchet as it comes down on the wood.

Rosh Hashana

We celebrated the Jewish new year tonight (in a Messianic way).  I surprised the whole family with the celebration.  I had Elizabeth set a nice table with one of her stellar flower arrangements.  Joel, Jude and Isaac also picked and arranged flowers.  Lydia meticulously cut Asian pears into neat slices to add to our meal.  I prepared the spiral shaped challah loaves.  We had Christian country music playing on Pandora while we worked.

Grace came home from school, looked at the table and wondered what all of the fuss was about.  Liz said, "It's Rosh Hashana!"  Grace immediately asked, "But what about the bread?"  I surprised the resident bread maker by motioning to the oven. The first loaf was already turning a deep golden brown.

Matt was equally taken aback when he came home.  His job has been difficult as of late.  After 21+  years at his place of employment, Matt is now looking for other work.  We have yet to know whether God has plans for us to remain here or move us somewhere else.

So with all that going on, it was nice to celebrate a new year--a time of new beginnings.  It was good to be reminded that we are just sojourners here on this Earth.  Jesus will come again to take us to our true Home.

"Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed." 1 Cor. 15:51-52

(Matt played this shofar blast for us at the beginning of our meal.)

Half a Day in the Life (Cause a Whole Day Would be Too Much to Handle)

I was just getting motivated to climb out of bed yesterday at 7 a.m. when Lydia poked her head in my bedroom.  "Could I make soap out of bacon fat today?"  That would be a "no."

Once out of bed, I suffered through several plank exercises.  For the past five days Matt has had the whole family on a cross fit regimen.  It's killer.  Supposedly it's some sort of beginner level thing.  I need the remedial version.

I headed downstairs to walk on the treadmill.  When I came back up, I packed both Matt's and Grace's lunches (Grace started cosmetology school a few days ago.)  Joel was in tears because he couldn't find a coat.  I told him where to look for it (laundry, dresser, van).

I ate my breakfast, yelled for the kitchen helper to get going on the dishes, got Grace and Matt out the door and realized I would have to help the still despondent Joel find his coat.  I looked through the dirty and clean laundry.  I looked through all of his dresser drawers.  No coat.  I went downstairs and grabbed the size 8 box and dug through that.  No coat.  I again asked Joel, "Isn't that black hoodie still in the van?"  "Yeah.  It is.  It's under Jude's seat."

I showered, answered and wrote a couple of emails and then went to dry my hair.  Lydia came into my bathroom looking guilty.  I just kept drying my hair.  She fessed up.  "I broke a glass jar outside."  "Well, go clean it up," I said.

I finished drying my hair, walked out to the kitchen, completed the morning kitchen helper's unfinished work, sorted the laundry, picked up the piles of mittens and hats by the front door (cause it's in the 60s--mighty cold) and then Paul walked in.  He informed me that he rappelled out of the second story window of the play house and it hadn't gone so well.  I told him that he was teaching his younger brothers to do the same and he said that he didn't think they'd want to copy what he just did.

I walked back into the kitchen, where Lydia was filling a jar with water.  The jar had black soot in it from the back yard fire pit.  She saw me coming and began explaining.  I didn't need an explanation. I know all too well how that child's mind works.  "That's not how you make ink!" I said.

Then I saw Paul with a homemade tourniquet around his arm.  His shirt was bloody.  "Take off your shirt," I said.  I proceeded to take off the tourniquet and get a proper bandage on his arm.

Next, the door bell rang.  It was my friend.  She stopped by to pick something up and we stood at the door and chatted for a bit (alright, maybe a long bit).  After she left, Lydia announced that Paul's back was all scratched up.

I found Paul in his bedroom.  He was changing his shirt for the second time.  I asked, "Did you do that again?!" Brother.  It's wasn't even lunch time yet.

And this morning, after my walk, I came up the stairs to find the kitchen abandoned except for the baby, who was standing on the tray of his high chair.  We don't know how to start days off in a quiet manner around here.

It's Not About Me

This summer has been nuts.  Crazy.  Here it is September and I feel like I never really got a summer.  Change is afoot.  The big kids are busying themselves with more adult endeavors.  I'm suddenly the mom of all littles again.  It was quite unexpected.  I told Matt that I wished someone had said to me, "Melissa, your life is about to change drastically."  He was silent for a minute.  Then he said, "Melissa, your life is about to change drastically."

 Uncertainty looms on the horizon on several fronts and frankly, I don't like it.  I've never had an adventurous spirit.  I prefer a quiet, predictable life.  But the Lord doesn't guarantee such things.  He only promises to be with us whatever befalls us.

He broke through my bleakness a few mornings ago and I realized once again, it's not about me.  It's about Him. So I wrote a note and taped it to my mirror to remind me of this truth.  I needn't worry about the future, sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.

                                        Soli Deo Gloria means, "Glory to God alone."