Kittens and the House(s)

I sent the 8-year-old upstairs to put some clean, folded laundry on his brother's bed. He returned downstairs quickly (this was the first sign that something was "amiss" since the boys often scatter when there is work to do). I overheard a whisper but couldn't make out the content of the message.

Giggles. Loud footsteps. Doors open and closing.

Finally, a boy put out the challenge..."Mom. There are kittens upstairs."

I say "challenge" because my family is well aware that I do not relate well to felines.

They found three "gooey-eyed," "too little for their collars" kittens living in a closet in the oldest boy's bedroom. The mother cat was, I later learned, hit by a car.

All five "kids" enjoyed playing with the kittens through the evening.

While they cuddled with the babies and took pictures to post on Facebook, we also talked about B & J's plans for purchasing a house or renting an apartment after their wedding.

It was quite a different experience to be on the listening end of plans to search for and buy a first home. I appreciated the fact that their plans did not involve any choices or financial obligation on my part.

Mr. WestBerryDad and I are still waiting to sell our own House1, a smaller farm house we brought our second baby home to over 17 years ago! Once it sells, we may be able to buy a snow-blower or a tractor and, perhaps, a new couch. The couch we have now has seen 24 years worth of pets, kids, and winters and its arms have been emptied of all of their stuffing.

The cats can stay...for today.

Encouragement

The Fall 2015 semester began yesterday. I enjoyed seeing both new and former students return to our classrooms. Our shiny, new cafeteria is open for business and people are, once again, sitting around the tables in the lunchroom area.

Some of my favorite people returned to campus: my own mentor, Kathy, and an Education Professor I adore, Christine.

My oldest son and his fiancé decided to pop in and we found one another up in the hallway above the library. They had run into some other students from their local high school. We chatted and I invited them to see my office.

Christine had been my future daughter-in-law's favorite professor when she (B) studied here before transferring to a 4-year school to continue her studies. They ran into one another and B had the chance to show off her ring and share the wedding plans.

Christine stopped down to see me later...simply to share in the excitement over the engagement. She shared praises for "the kids" and most importantly, words of encouragement.

This was exactly what I needed.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits” (Proverbs 18:21)

Lord, thank you for Christine. And B. And J.

Tell Me Something Good

For some reason, I began this "business trip" feeling especially anxious about my responsibilities at work and at home.

My boss is the kind of person that NEVER says "thank you" and is especially stingy with words of encouragement. In fact, the entire office suffers from a deep lack of morale.

My house and yard strike me as in need of repairs and attention. Projects that are...big...huge...overwhelming. In fact, I wake up at night murmuring, "I have 17 rooms to clean. 17 rooms to clean."

I'm trying to finish graduate school, a program I've entered and re-entered three times now. The college had me re-take a course I'd already passed which means I can only go part time next semester which means...no options for loans or financial aid. Oh, and I'm "off sequence" so it is going to take me two more semesters to finish instead of one.

I was looking forward to going to the Puerto Rican Festival with a friend. And four kids. My four kids.

The city just experienced a drive-by shooting that left four young people dead and three critically wounded. I was nervous about the climate in the city (and about keeping my own gang safe and fed). It was awkward and uncomfortable to be frisked going into the festival. One of my boys had his cell phone stolen and sure enough, violence surrounded the festival. Thankfully, we didn't see any of the "action" but the experience was less than entertaining. And far less than relaxing.

Today the stock market fell...a lot.

Please. Please. Please.

Tell me something good.

Well, this morning I submitted my research proposal. Of course, it was submitted 13 hours past the deadline and I failed to review 10 sources (only noticing this requirement after I'd pressed the SUBMIT button).

Give me some credit, please.

Because sometimes we get stuck in kvetching or complaining or self-loathing and we have a symbiotic relationship so it’s like we share a brain, and anyway, the “tell me something good” snaps us out of the nonsense and whining. It forces us to pay attention and to, well, focus on what is good.

On what IS working rather than what is NOT.

It can be anything. Like “today I got out of bed.” << some days that sh*t is hard. It can be “My son graduated. It’s raining and I like it. I ate a beautiful salad. I got a raise. I didn’t have a suicidal thought today.” Anything. So you, tribe, my beloved peeps I love so much…. Tell me something good. I want all of you to comment. Seriously. Let’s do this.

1,000 Candles

My oldest son proposed to the love of his life! She is a talented, beautiful, Godly young woman, and...she said, "yes!"

To avoid revealing too much private information online, I'll share only the "teaser" that his proposal involved 1,000 lit candles!

The story of his proposal will be told for generations, I'm sure :)

Conflict Management

Conflict swirls everywhere around me.

The Iran Arms Deal.

The Confederate Flag.

Marines gunned down.

Donald Trump v.John McCain.

Monday - Friday there's conflict at work and boys battling to sit in the front seat of the van on the way to camp.

Student v. Instructor

Federal Regulations v. Local Needs

Nights and weekends I live with conflict at Job #2 over tip allocations and who will put away glassware and clean the bathrooms.

Family conflict between siblings. Conflict between divorced spouses over telephone calls.

Confict in my own brain over modernization and the preservation of memories.

It seems, lately, that there's no RECESS from the hard work of moving forward.

I could really use a pause button.


Psalm 143
A psalm of David.

1 Lord, hear my prayer,
listen to my cry for mercy;
in your faithfulness and righteousness
come to my relief.
2 Do not bring your servant into judgment,
for no one living is righteous before you.
3 The enemy pursues me,
he crushes me to the ground;
he makes me dwell in the darkness
like those long dead.
4 So my spirit grows faint within me;
my heart within me is dismayed.
5 I remember the days of long ago;
I meditate on all your works
and consider what your hands have done.
6 I spread out my hands to you;
I thirst for you like a parched land.[a]
7 Answer me quickly, Lord;
my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me
or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
8 Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go,
for to you I entrust my life.
9 Rescue me from my enemies, Lord,
for I hide myself in you.
10 Teach me to do your will,
for you are my God;
may your good Spirit
lead me on level ground.

Lord Have Mercy On Those Black Socks

Black socks, they never get dirty,
The longer you wear them the stronger they get.
Sometimes I think I should wash them,
But something inside me says No, no, not yet.
Not yet, not yet, not yet...

There sits a pair of black socks in the cup holder of my mommy van. A young man must have borrowed my vehicle and marked his trail.

I found some black socks in the garden, a few on the back porch, and I ALWAYS find several in the couch and among the couch pillows.

I was amused, this weekend, when I took a tour of my son's camp residence, an "apartment" located above the camp store. As a staff member he shares the space with two adult leaders and one other young staff member.

Underneath the stairs leading up to the loft, among the mud and blades of grass, I spied several "lost" black socks.

Black Pants, White Powder

Boys. They can overlook a coffee table full of dirty dishes in a TV room littered with candy wrappers and dirty socks.

They don't seem to "see" dirty dishes, a floor that needs sweeping, or a light left on in an empty room.

But for some strange reason, they all notice white powder on my black pants.

It struck me this morning when one of the teenagers ran after me yelling, "Mom! Mom!"

"You have...powder on your pants. "

I thank him but think, "so what?!"

Men are from Mars.

Women are from "If-my-slip - or - a -tag-shows -it's no big deal but-could-you-please-notice-that the garbage-needs to be-taken out-planet of - Venus."