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It’s March. Unfortunately, the weather hasn’t realized that it is already spring and yet, snowflakes danced around my kids as they headed to school this morning. Yes. Snow.
While I normally love the whole winter-wonderland thing, it doesn’t love me back. Fibromyalgia has given me the weather-sensing superpower that just means life hurts more when the temperature drops. Like right now. In March.
All (joking) bitterness aside, it is ironic how something as mundane as the weather can feel so overwhelming. Invisible consequences of an everyday kind of event (generally speaking, at least, since snow is common other places) don’t really register on other people’s (weather) radar. In between errands, work, and homeschool, the idea of not noticing things because they are so “normal” hit me.
Normal is relative.
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One of the great ironies of life is that when we say that we would never do something, more often than not, we find ourselves doing that very thing. Years ago, I was in a health class learning about all the different kinds of vegetarians when I decided that I could understand most kinds of vegetarian diets, but there was no way in the world that I would become a vegan. A little bit later I also swore that I would never homeschool my kids because I didn’t think it would be a good fit for my personality. So, naturally, I’m now a homeschooling vegan.
A few months ago, something incredible happened. Some dear friends of mine have stepped out on faith and developed a brand new social media that is focused on generosity. They asked if I would be able to volunteer with its needs as it launched and I said yes. It isn’t often that things align like they did so God’s hand was clearly in it. My skill set, background as a foster parent, and passion for making a difference for Christ were exactly what was needed. I’ve been doing some writing for the Givefinity blog and want to share one of my posts there. Please check out the new social media platform here. Here is my post:
I might have mentioned that we have a guinea pig. Harry is the progeny of the class pets at the local elementary school who joined our family when my oldest asked if we could keep her (yes, Harry is a girl…). My husband told Ethan that it was up to me, a mistake he regrets because he really didn’t want a guinea pig, and our very timid and traumatized guinea pig moved from a raucous class of third graders into a family of four kids. She’s still traumatized.
Last week, the thing that I have been dreading happened.
As embarrassing as it is to admit it, my kids recently stole my hairbrushes. All of them- literally. Luckily, this happened on a Friday after I had brushed my hair, but by the evening they were gone. Every. Single. One.
After essentially having a conniption Saturday afternoon and looking like some wild cave creature with my hair literally sticking straight out (I’m so glad I didn’t have to go anywhere that day), my kids finally started to help me look for them. Emily had stashed two under her bed and another one appeared in a kitchen drawer next to the can opener.
A friend emailed me this week and invited me to an online event on Friday night. I told her that I would love to be there, but Brian was going to be a men’s camping retreat with church so I was going to be on my own with the four kids. I said that I would be there, barring any unforeseen chaos.
I actually used the word “chaos” in my email to her. I learned a lesson this week.
Don’t use “chaos” in reference to something you are hoping doesn’t happen with three boys and a foster daughter. I also shouldn’t play the song “I Lived” by OneRepublic as it has the line “With every broken bone I swear I lived.” It’s only setting myself up for failure.
This week, I have to confess I got kind of annoyed with a sign. Yep. A Sign.
And all this offending sign said was, “Smile!”
I was taking out two of the boys to McDonald’s just to hang out when I was confronted by said sign at the register. Maybe I was just a little tired, but it seemed funny being told just to randomly smile by a sign that clearly had no self-awareness. I suppose that the management wanted to reinforce that McDonald’s was a happy place to be, but it’s symptomatic of an interesting trend.
I adore my three-year old. Jackson is hilarious, loving, and preciously protective of his siblings. He is still three, though, and doesn’t like going to bed.
He really doesn’t like being put to bed for the eighth time (per evening, and all of these times in the course of writing this post) and spontaneously appears around the house several hours after bedtime has commenced. I’m considering making a suit of pajamas out of Velcro and constructing special Velcro sheets to match: he is officially a night person.
Last night I told Brian that I had seen a list of things parents never thought they would have to say… until they had a boy. The list was funny, but most were pretty mild. I mean, “Why is there pee on the floor?” is amongst our weekly refrains which usually ends in all three boys pointing immediately at another brother…
Thankfulness has been weighing heavily on my mind lately given everything we’ve been going through with our serious car accident, my health, and our foster daughter. With Thanksgiving this week, the topic has been on most people’s minds too though probably in a different way from mine.