We love you and miss you and hope you are having a lovely party in Heaven today.
We will sing to you and eat cake and share good memories.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Six
Happy Birthday Jameson.
We love you and miss you and hope you are having a lovely party in Heaven today.
We will sing to you and eat cake and share good memories.
We love you and miss you and hope you are having a lovely party in Heaven today.
We will sing to you and eat cake and share good memories.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Gone
I'm struggling this week. Missing my boy. Thinking about what 6 should be like. Remembering how awful things were three years ago. Wishing so hard it were all a different story I could be sharing today.
My heart is imploding as I write this; grasping to find the words that I cannot articulate. To describe what it is like three years later. The loss is just as great; it does not diminish over time. Instead, it almost feels like it gets bigger as more time goes by. More time that could have and should have been. More time that was stolen away from us. The nagging feeling that we've been cheated out of one of the best things we ever had never goes away. It is always right there, under the veil of composure we try to hard to maintain.
But this week is tough one. It is harder to focus, to talk, to think, to breathe. The ache tugs a little more. The hole gapes wider. The tears flow faster. And there is no release. He is gone in the morning when I wake up. And gone when I accidentally pull too many bowls down for the cereal at breakfast. And he is gone when I make the beds and fold the socks and pick up the toys littering the floors. He is gone when we drop off and pick up from school. He is gone when we walk to the park. He is gone when we eat dinner and when we have baths and read stories. He is gone when the prayers are said. And his bed stays empty when the others are tucked in and kissed because he is gone. And he is gone when the sun goes down and the world gets quiet. He is gone when the dishes are washed and the shirts are ironed. He is gone when I lie in bed at night. And he is still gone when I wake in the middle of the night and can't sleep. He is always gone.
And while I sit here in a puddle, gasping for breathe, struggling to stay present, the world just keeps spinning. And people all around me keep smiling. And breakfasts till need to be made and dishes still need to be done. And laundry mountains grow and drywall sits unfinished and paperwork piles up because I cannot move. And I try to be gentle and allow the grief to happen. Because it's okay to have hard weeks. But the world still turns. And I pray for grace to flow out and cover my family. Because I am not the only one grieving. This is hard week for all of us.
My heart is imploding as I write this; grasping to find the words that I cannot articulate. To describe what it is like three years later. The loss is just as great; it does not diminish over time. Instead, it almost feels like it gets bigger as more time goes by. More time that could have and should have been. More time that was stolen away from us. The nagging feeling that we've been cheated out of one of the best things we ever had never goes away. It is always right there, under the veil of composure we try to hard to maintain.
But this week is tough one. It is harder to focus, to talk, to think, to breathe. The ache tugs a little more. The hole gapes wider. The tears flow faster. And there is no release. He is gone in the morning when I wake up. And gone when I accidentally pull too many bowls down for the cereal at breakfast. And he is gone when I make the beds and fold the socks and pick up the toys littering the floors. He is gone when we drop off and pick up from school. He is gone when we walk to the park. He is gone when we eat dinner and when we have baths and read stories. He is gone when the prayers are said. And his bed stays empty when the others are tucked in and kissed because he is gone. And he is gone when the sun goes down and the world gets quiet. He is gone when the dishes are washed and the shirts are ironed. He is gone when I lie in bed at night. And he is still gone when I wake in the middle of the night and can't sleep. He is always gone.
And while I sit here in a puddle, gasping for breathe, struggling to stay present, the world just keeps spinning. And people all around me keep smiling. And breakfasts till need to be made and dishes still need to be done. And laundry mountains grow and drywall sits unfinished and paperwork piles up because I cannot move. And I try to be gentle and allow the grief to happen. Because it's okay to have hard weeks. But the world still turns. And I pray for grace to flow out and cover my family. Because I am not the only one grieving. This is hard week for all of us.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The First 50
An update...
1000 List
1. Cleansing rain
2. New beginnings
3. Kilz paint
4. Morning snuggles with sleepy babies
5. Doggy deep breathing at my feet
6. Professional installation.
7. Park Time with new friends
8. Thunderstorms
9. Nap times
10. Thai food
11. Cool evenings and family walks
12. Swim lessons
13. Tissues with lotion
14. Daddy's day off.
15. Home depot employees
16. A good vet
17. Losing my voice while learning to hold my tongue
18. Running water. Clean running water.
19. Wrinkle free dress shirts
20. Turkish delight.
21. Reading together too late at night
22. Enjoying the all night snuggle with the sick and fussy baby.
23. Football season and a working TV.
24. watching her hair grow and curl the same way her brothers did
25. Text from hubs with an unexpected and early leaving from work.
26. Gummy vitamins
27. Teeny wet footprints
28. Coyote howls
29. Having a loop in the house
30. Watching them play together
31. My mom's meatloaf in the oven
32. Baby squirrels chirping and chasing
33. Painting with toddlers.
34. Daily new beginnings
35. Spider webs
36. Coffee. How did I wait this long to write coffee?
37. Tissues with lotion
38. Fresh bread...even if it didn't rise right
39. Baby gates
40. Wild flowers on the side of the road.
41. Grape vines in my yard
42. Acorns
43. Watching my boy play four square with new friends
44. Coffee. Did I already say that?
45. Being married to my best friend
46. Having a mom who always picks up the phone even when I call 7 times in one day.
47. Garden snakes. Yes I did just say that.
48. Not being afraid to try drywalling.
49. IPod music
50. whipped cream
What are you thankful for today?
1000 List
1. Cleansing rain
2. New beginnings
3. Kilz paint
4. Morning snuggles with sleepy babies
5. Doggy deep breathing at my feet
6. Professional installation.
7. Park Time with new friends
8. Thunderstorms
9. Nap times
10. Thai food
11. Cool evenings and family walks
12. Swim lessons
13. Tissues with lotion
14. Daddy's day off.
15. Home depot employees
16. A good vet
17. Losing my voice while learning to hold my tongue
18. Running water. Clean running water.
19. Wrinkle free dress shirts
20. Turkish delight.
21. Reading together too late at night
22. Enjoying the all night snuggle with the sick and fussy baby.
23. Football season and a working TV.
24. watching her hair grow and curl the same way her brothers did
25. Text from hubs with an unexpected and early leaving from work.
26. Gummy vitamins
27. Teeny wet footprints
28. Coyote howls
29. Having a loop in the house
30. Watching them play together
31. My mom's meatloaf in the oven
32. Baby squirrels chirping and chasing
33. Painting with toddlers.
34. Daily new beginnings
35. Spider webs
36. Coffee. How did I wait this long to write coffee?
37. Tissues with lotion
38. Fresh bread...even if it didn't rise right
39. Baby gates
40. Wild flowers on the side of the road.
41. Grape vines in my yard
42. Acorns
43. Watching my boy play four square with new friends
44. Coffee. Did I already say that?
45. Being married to my best friend
46. Having a mom who always picks up the phone even when I call 7 times in one day.
47. Garden snakes. Yes I did just say that.
48. Not being afraid to try drywalling.
49. IPod music
50. whipped cream
What are you thankful for today?
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Dates
Yesterday was August 31st. I thought about it a week ago-ish and then I had my days all mixed up and they day went by wholly unnoticed. And then again all day today, I forgot all about it until tonight. I was just picking up Narnia to read to Little Man when the date crashed over my head like a ton of bricks. Along with a few extra bricks at the end for not remembering on the date.
Three years ago on August 31st, Jameson went in for a routine hernia surgery and our world changed forever. Because there was never anything routine about Jameson. And this routine surgery turned into a hospital stay, which turned into a PICU stay, which turned into the worst nightmare ever imaginable and in so many ways, it is still going on.
And now it is September first. And school is starting in two days for Little Man. And if Jameson were still here, he'd be going into kindergarten. Come Wednesday, I'm going to feel pretty damn sad when I think about how I should be packing two lunches. And in two weeks, my special little boy would be turning 6. He's been gone for almost as long as he was here.
There seems to be a fine line in this grieving between remembering and allowing myself to be sad and dwelling on the sadness. The dwelling is easy, but it totally sucks. Because it isn't Jameson, which is really what I want to be thinking about it. It's not looking at him, but looking at the black hole that is where he used to be. And that sucks. September is a hard month to remember but not dwell. But I'm going to try.
Tonight, though. I'm just tired. The days are long but the years are short. It is one of the most true statements I've ever heard about parenting. But enough of all of this. I'm going to bed and I'm going to think of my Jameson. Not his four months of dying or his death or his absence, but of him. And his laugh. And his painting eating. And the way he would stick his whole fist in the yogurt and giggle while the dogs licked his hands. And the way he danced. And the way he snuggled. And the way he made everyone around him love him just because.
I can't believe it's already been three years.
Three years ago on August 31st, Jameson went in for a routine hernia surgery and our world changed forever. Because there was never anything routine about Jameson. And this routine surgery turned into a hospital stay, which turned into a PICU stay, which turned into the worst nightmare ever imaginable and in so many ways, it is still going on.
And now it is September first. And school is starting in two days for Little Man. And if Jameson were still here, he'd be going into kindergarten. Come Wednesday, I'm going to feel pretty damn sad when I think about how I should be packing two lunches. And in two weeks, my special little boy would be turning 6. He's been gone for almost as long as he was here.
There seems to be a fine line in this grieving between remembering and allowing myself to be sad and dwelling on the sadness. The dwelling is easy, but it totally sucks. Because it isn't Jameson, which is really what I want to be thinking about it. It's not looking at him, but looking at the black hole that is where he used to be. And that sucks. September is a hard month to remember but not dwell. But I'm going to try.
Tonight, though. I'm just tired. The days are long but the years are short. It is one of the most true statements I've ever heard about parenting. But enough of all of this. I'm going to bed and I'm going to think of my Jameson. Not his four months of dying or his death or his absence, but of him. And his laugh. And his painting eating. And the way he would stick his whole fist in the yogurt and giggle while the dogs licked his hands. And the way he danced. And the way he snuggled. And the way he made everyone around him love him just because.
I can't believe it's already been three years.
Monday, August 26, 2013
It's not about Me
It is raining outside. It sounds so lovely. The pitter patter on the roof, the deck, the driveway. On one had it makes me nervous because so much has gone wrong with this house that I find myself walking around staring up at my ceiling, praying I don't find any new water marks. But I should not worry. I'm fairly certain we have a good roof.
Rain is also so soothing. It kind of melts my insides when I sit back and just listen. Everything slows down and there is only me and the rain and dark.
It hasn't really rained since we've lived here. A sign of God's faithfulness and love to me. Since we've moved in, we've had building materials, carpeting, old drywall pieces, and all kinds of construction trash piling up all around our house and under our deck. And I was concerned that if it rained, it would make a colossal mess and everything would be a million times harder to dispose. And it didn't rain. And weeks went by and it was hot and sunny, but cool at night. And dry. Always dry. And then the dumpster came. And we spent three days filling it to the brim. And the day it was taken away, it rained. Maybe it seems like a coincidence to you. Maybe you'd like to say we just got lucky. Or tell me it's just how an Oregon summer goes. But I know better. It was a gift in reply to a prayer.
And now it is raining. And I feel my soul melting down and relaxing into this blessing. This rain is washing away all that is left of the cat pee and drywall dust and the memories of it all will fade away.
I love the rain.
As I sit here at the computer, waiting for Hubs to call for a ride home on this dark and rainy night, I'm trying to figure out where to go from here. It has been a trying week in some ways. Emotionally and spiritually I've been challenged in powerful ways to think better, speak better, be better.
These moments of reflection and challenge are so interesting in the way they can rock your world without a single other soul noticing. It's kinda funny that way.
I've been angry and sad for little while now. All the time angry and sad. And I can still smile and have a nice day, but deep down in my core, there are black clouds that need to go. And the snippy replies and the yelling and unyielding darkness need to go too. After talking with a very smart and trusted friend, I've come to the realization that my grief has made me angry and bitter and sad. But I don't want to be angry or bitter or sad. I want live. I want to be happy. I want to do right by J's life and do right by mine.
And so I spent more time thinking and writing and speaking with another good friend about it. And I realized that in this whole grieving and blogging and talking process, I've become so fixated on trying to figure out who I am now and what I am feeling now and how I fit into the world that I've failed to grasp that it isn't really about me at all. And perhaps in my search to navigate the world I've been spending so much time focusing on myself that I've become a self absorbed, angry, bitter woman.
And maybe, just maybe, instead of spending so much time trying to see how I fit, how I feel, how it all works for me, I need to stop thinking about myself all the time.
Because it's not really about me at all.
Or at least it shouldn't be. Don't get me wrong, self reflection can be a good thing. Clearly this post involves quite a bit of it. But one thing that I've learned more than once and seem to keep forgetting is that unhappiness follows when it's all about me. This whole self serving mindset that our world touts is nothing but a lie.
Joy doesn't come from looking in the mirror. Joy comes from looking at God. From seeking Him. From searching for His gifts and His challenges just for you. Yeah, challenges. Who doesn't like adventures that make you grow? Sure, climbing a mountain is hard work. But once you reach the summit, you are stronger and can appreciate the beauty and accomplishment of that moment. That moment of joy doesn't come when you take the gondola up. It's the challenge and the overcoming and growth that make it make it worthwhile.
It's a very humbling experience to write out a fault. And then to publish it for the world to read. But accountability is a good thing. And I don't want to be like this any more. I've been working very hard to look out instead of in. I've been working very hard to speak love. I've been biting my tongue a lot and trying to stop and just not be angry all of the time. It takes a lot of patience. I used to be really good at patience.
The one thing that helps the most when I'm angry and bitter and sad is to find something, anything to be thankful for. And I've read the book and followed the blog, but I've never really wrote out my 1000 gifts before. So I'm going do it here. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, look up Ann Voskamp and her best-selling book One Thousand Gifts.
1. Cleansing Rain
2. New beginnings
3. Kilz paint
4. morning cuddles with sleepy babies.
5. doggy deep breathing at my feet
My perspective and life are going to change. Would you join me?
Rain is also so soothing. It kind of melts my insides when I sit back and just listen. Everything slows down and there is only me and the rain and dark.
It hasn't really rained since we've lived here. A sign of God's faithfulness and love to me. Since we've moved in, we've had building materials, carpeting, old drywall pieces, and all kinds of construction trash piling up all around our house and under our deck. And I was concerned that if it rained, it would make a colossal mess and everything would be a million times harder to dispose. And it didn't rain. And weeks went by and it was hot and sunny, but cool at night. And dry. Always dry. And then the dumpster came. And we spent three days filling it to the brim. And the day it was taken away, it rained. Maybe it seems like a coincidence to you. Maybe you'd like to say we just got lucky. Or tell me it's just how an Oregon summer goes. But I know better. It was a gift in reply to a prayer.
And now it is raining. And I feel my soul melting down and relaxing into this blessing. This rain is washing away all that is left of the cat pee and drywall dust and the memories of it all will fade away.
I love the rain.
As I sit here at the computer, waiting for Hubs to call for a ride home on this dark and rainy night, I'm trying to figure out where to go from here. It has been a trying week in some ways. Emotionally and spiritually I've been challenged in powerful ways to think better, speak better, be better.
These moments of reflection and challenge are so interesting in the way they can rock your world without a single other soul noticing. It's kinda funny that way.
I've been angry and sad for little while now. All the time angry and sad. And I can still smile and have a nice day, but deep down in my core, there are black clouds that need to go. And the snippy replies and the yelling and unyielding darkness need to go too. After talking with a very smart and trusted friend, I've come to the realization that my grief has made me angry and bitter and sad. But I don't want to be angry or bitter or sad. I want live. I want to be happy. I want to do right by J's life and do right by mine.
And so I spent more time thinking and writing and speaking with another good friend about it. And I realized that in this whole grieving and blogging and talking process, I've become so fixated on trying to figure out who I am now and what I am feeling now and how I fit into the world that I've failed to grasp that it isn't really about me at all. And perhaps in my search to navigate the world I've been spending so much time focusing on myself that I've become a self absorbed, angry, bitter woman.
And maybe, just maybe, instead of spending so much time trying to see how I fit, how I feel, how it all works for me, I need to stop thinking about myself all the time.
Because it's not really about me at all.
Or at least it shouldn't be. Don't get me wrong, self reflection can be a good thing. Clearly this post involves quite a bit of it. But one thing that I've learned more than once and seem to keep forgetting is that unhappiness follows when it's all about me. This whole self serving mindset that our world touts is nothing but a lie.
Joy doesn't come from looking in the mirror. Joy comes from looking at God. From seeking Him. From searching for His gifts and His challenges just for you. Yeah, challenges. Who doesn't like adventures that make you grow? Sure, climbing a mountain is hard work. But once you reach the summit, you are stronger and can appreciate the beauty and accomplishment of that moment. That moment of joy doesn't come when you take the gondola up. It's the challenge and the overcoming and growth that make it make it worthwhile.
It's a very humbling experience to write out a fault. And then to publish it for the world to read. But accountability is a good thing. And I don't want to be like this any more. I've been working very hard to look out instead of in. I've been working very hard to speak love. I've been biting my tongue a lot and trying to stop and just not be angry all of the time. It takes a lot of patience. I used to be really good at patience.
The one thing that helps the most when I'm angry and bitter and sad is to find something, anything to be thankful for. And I've read the book and followed the blog, but I've never really wrote out my 1000 gifts before. So I'm going do it here. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, look up Ann Voskamp and her best-selling book One Thousand Gifts.
1. Cleansing Rain
2. New beginnings
3. Kilz paint
4. morning cuddles with sleepy babies.
5. doggy deep breathing at my feet
My perspective and life are going to change. Would you join me?
Monday, August 19, 2013
Live And Learn
Things are really starting to heat up in home improvement world. We had the dumpster delivered this past weekend and ripped out all of the flooring in the entire upstairs. And then a few walls and subfloors as we found new surprises.
This is my entryway and stairwell. We found more cat pee in a few areas when trim and flooring were removed. I'm going to refrain from sharing my feelings about cats and their pee and their owners. And I'm terribly sorry about the smell if you come over. I'm going to do all my Kilzing at the same time, so it's on hold and nasty.
The kitchen floor is also a nasty mess. When we ripped out the 2 layers of linoleum, the particleboard subfloor was actually wet and all musty and a little moldy. Awesome. Yet another subfloor bites the dust. Hubs dug it all out and cleaned it up while the kids and I got some fresh air. So along with the a huge chunk of the kitchen wall that has been ripped out, the the two walls and floors in our closet, a large section of subfloor from our bedroom, the basement storage closet, the basement bathroom wall behind the vanity, and the two walls in the stairwell, we've tossed out a large amount of sheetrock and particleboard. Nasty, stinky sheetrock. Sigh.
But this weekend is hopefully the last of the big demolition projects. Hubs also cut up the 30 year old hot tub that hasn't been turned on for at least 20 years and shoved that in the dumpster too. It was so full by that point that he actually had to get in the dumpster and go at a few corners of the tub with an axe so nothing was sticking out. It maybe wasn't his favorite day, especially after working a night shift. He slept really, really well when he finally got to bed last night.
I'm hopeful to think we are now on the upswing and the rebuilding stage of this colossal project. The guys at Home Depot know me by name and have repeatedly told me we are rebuilding a whole house! It sure feels that way. It seems like I'm there almost every day as we find surprises or try something and it doesn't work and have to go back and find something else.
I'm learning a lot about a lot in this process. And a lot of it is by trial and error. Like attempting to texturize an entire ceiling by flicking joint compound off a freaking scrub brush. My fingers are almost healed now. Almost.
And maybe don't stand right under the roller when painting your ceiling unless you want white hair and a speckled face. And for the love of God, use primer first, which everyone in the world must already know. Here we are with a 34 year old ceiling that has never once been painted and I'm the idiot who just finished the third coat of paint and praying to God it drys well enough because it is the thirstiest ceiling in the world. Yes.
And drywalling is incredibly frustrating, especially when working around pipes. Holy crap, working around pipes just made me want to give up. So I did. I figured that since it's going to be under a cabinet it doesn't matter what it looks like and just cut a big square out of the middle, pieced some drywall where I could and then filled in the gaps with Great Stuff foam. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.
But then I started thinking about how impossible it is to remove that crap. If we ever have to do any repair work in that wall, we're gonna have to hire someone just to save our marriage. I already feel bad for our future plumber. But at least the wall is closed? Tomorrow I will paint that bumpy mess "celery ice" and be happy. Hey, at least it's not cat pee...
It is all so much work. And most of it isn't fun work. But the feelings of accomplishment afterward tend to make it all worthwhile. And if the feelings don't do it for me, the new kitchen
probably will! Only 8 more days of washing dishes in the bathroom sink. I think I can, I think I can...
This is my entryway and stairwell. We found more cat pee in a few areas when trim and flooring were removed. I'm going to refrain from sharing my feelings about cats and their pee and their owners. And I'm terribly sorry about the smell if you come over. I'm going to do all my Kilzing at the same time, so it's on hold and nasty.
The kitchen floor is also a nasty mess. When we ripped out the 2 layers of linoleum, the particleboard subfloor was actually wet and all musty and a little moldy. Awesome. Yet another subfloor bites the dust. Hubs dug it all out and cleaned it up while the kids and I got some fresh air. So along with the a huge chunk of the kitchen wall that has been ripped out, the the two walls and floors in our closet, a large section of subfloor from our bedroom, the basement storage closet, the basement bathroom wall behind the vanity, and the two walls in the stairwell, we've tossed out a large amount of sheetrock and particleboard. Nasty, stinky sheetrock. Sigh.
But this weekend is hopefully the last of the big demolition projects. Hubs also cut up the 30 year old hot tub that hasn't been turned on for at least 20 years and shoved that in the dumpster too. It was so full by that point that he actually had to get in the dumpster and go at a few corners of the tub with an axe so nothing was sticking out. It maybe wasn't his favorite day, especially after working a night shift. He slept really, really well when he finally got to bed last night.
I'm hopeful to think we are now on the upswing and the rebuilding stage of this colossal project. The guys at Home Depot know me by name and have repeatedly told me we are rebuilding a whole house! It sure feels that way. It seems like I'm there almost every day as we find surprises or try something and it doesn't work and have to go back and find something else.
I'm learning a lot about a lot in this process. And a lot of it is by trial and error. Like attempting to texturize an entire ceiling by flicking joint compound off a freaking scrub brush. My fingers are almost healed now. Almost.
And maybe don't stand right under the roller when painting your ceiling unless you want white hair and a speckled face. And for the love of God, use primer first, which everyone in the world must already know. Here we are with a 34 year old ceiling that has never once been painted and I'm the idiot who just finished the third coat of paint and praying to God it drys well enough because it is the thirstiest ceiling in the world. Yes.
And drywalling is incredibly frustrating, especially when working around pipes. Holy crap, working around pipes just made me want to give up. So I did. I figured that since it's going to be under a cabinet it doesn't matter what it looks like and just cut a big square out of the middle, pieced some drywall where I could and then filled in the gaps with Great Stuff foam. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.
But then I started thinking about how impossible it is to remove that crap. If we ever have to do any repair work in that wall, we're gonna have to hire someone just to save our marriage. I already feel bad for our future plumber. But at least the wall is closed? Tomorrow I will paint that bumpy mess "celery ice" and be happy. Hey, at least it's not cat pee...
It is all so much work. And most of it isn't fun work. But the feelings of accomplishment afterward tend to make it all worthwhile. And if the feelings don't do it for me, the new kitchen
probably will! Only 8 more days of washing dishes in the bathroom sink. I think I can, I think I can...
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Happy Hikers
I'm afraid I'm not much better at texturizing than I am at mudding and taping drywall. But I think I'm good enough. It is a messy messy process! I'm standing on a ladder, up by the ceiling, flicking watered down joint compound onto the ceiling from a scrub brush with my fingers. And the joint compound goes everywhere. It was in my hair, in my eyes, the floor is covered, along with all the cabinets and appliances. The process hurts, too. I had to stop yesterday because the bristles in the scrub brush started cutting open the tips of my fingers and all of a sudden the brush was pink. Six bandaids later I tried again, but they wouldn't stay on. It's no joke that I've poured blood, sweat, and tears into this house already. I'm going to have to try a different method today, because my fingers are shot.
The home improvement projects are getting busy and a little crazy for the next two weeks. We are getting a dumpster delivered in a few days. I'm crazy excited about this. It's also our anniversary weekend and let me tell you, we know how to keep it hot! Eleven years is garbage and demolition for this lucky couple. We are tearing out all the kitchen cabinets, appliances, flooring. We are finally getting rid of the piles of junk the sellers left us. The remaining cat pee drywall and subflooring will finally be gone.
Ah. Getting rid of the junk and mess will be so nice. Even if it does take two weeks before we have a functional kitchen with running water again. The upside about this is that we get to go out a little more than normal. I'm really excited about that one.
Saturday Hubs had a day off and we drove over to the Columbia River Gorge and did a beautiful hike. It ran along a creek and there was a beautiful, slightly hidden waterfall. And beautiful rocky formations. It was shady and cool by the creek and the boy found giant slugs everywhere. It was quiet when the girl wasn't yelping to get out of the backpack. We walked. We noticed the trees. We stopped to let the kids explore the rocky cliffs and throw pebbles and chase frogs at the creek bed. We heard the birds singing sweet melodies and watched hawks circle the skies. We held hands and told jokes and smiled. We thanked God for this wild and amazing world.
It was a lovely afternoon and so needed. The joy soaked into my bones and it is still here, radiating through my body. Stepping out and disconnecting from the normal and SEEING the world is, for me, a necessary process. I can feel the world chipping away at my soul day after day and there is nothing that heals me like a walk in the woods. It is the nature. The calm. The unpluggedness of it all. There are no agendas and no chores. There is God's creation all before me and a yearning from within to look and SEE. And not only see the splendor of the forests and skies but also of gifts before me each day that I take for granted at times. Getting out into the wild makes me SEE my Little Man and Little Lady. And Hubs. When we hike, all becomes a gift.
Well, almost all of it. The boy still whines about blisters and asks us eight million times for granola bars. The girl fights to get out of the backpack, tries to run the other way, cries when we don't let her pick the poison oak. And it can sometimes be a lot of work to see past all that in order to SEE. But there is magic in the slugs and waterfalls and majestic trees and they call to us all and we soon stop worrying about the funny tag in the shirt and the dirt on the blankey and the whines and cries settle and we can all take a deep, clean breath and just be. We seek and we receive Joy.
The home improvement projects are getting busy and a little crazy for the next two weeks. We are getting a dumpster delivered in a few days. I'm crazy excited about this. It's also our anniversary weekend and let me tell you, we know how to keep it hot! Eleven years is garbage and demolition for this lucky couple. We are tearing out all the kitchen cabinets, appliances, flooring. We are finally getting rid of the piles of junk the sellers left us. The remaining cat pee drywall and subflooring will finally be gone.
Ah. Getting rid of the junk and mess will be so nice. Even if it does take two weeks before we have a functional kitchen with running water again. The upside about this is that we get to go out a little more than normal. I'm really excited about that one.
Saturday Hubs had a day off and we drove over to the Columbia River Gorge and did a beautiful hike. It ran along a creek and there was a beautiful, slightly hidden waterfall. And beautiful rocky formations. It was shady and cool by the creek and the boy found giant slugs everywhere. It was quiet when the girl wasn't yelping to get out of the backpack. We walked. We noticed the trees. We stopped to let the kids explore the rocky cliffs and throw pebbles and chase frogs at the creek bed. We heard the birds singing sweet melodies and watched hawks circle the skies. We held hands and told jokes and smiled. We thanked God for this wild and amazing world.
It was a lovely afternoon and so needed. The joy soaked into my bones and it is still here, radiating through my body. Stepping out and disconnecting from the normal and SEEING the world is, for me, a necessary process. I can feel the world chipping away at my soul day after day and there is nothing that heals me like a walk in the woods. It is the nature. The calm. The unpluggedness of it all. There are no agendas and no chores. There is God's creation all before me and a yearning from within to look and SEE. And not only see the splendor of the forests and skies but also of gifts before me each day that I take for granted at times. Getting out into the wild makes me SEE my Little Man and Little Lady. And Hubs. When we hike, all becomes a gift.
Well, almost all of it. The boy still whines about blisters and asks us eight million times for granola bars. The girl fights to get out of the backpack, tries to run the other way, cries when we don't let her pick the poison oak. And it can sometimes be a lot of work to see past all that in order to SEE. But there is magic in the slugs and waterfalls and majestic trees and they call to us all and we soon stop worrying about the funny tag in the shirt and the dirt on the blankey and the whines and cries settle and we can all take a deep, clean breath and just be. We seek and we receive Joy.
"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in
and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul." -John Muir
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