I figure if I started writing this deeply spiritual blog post about bread and spilled grape juice I would get distracted enough to not fold the mountain range of laundry I need to do. You understand right? If you tune in here maybe you can like not do the dishes or brush your teeth before bed maybe?
Procrastinators and poor hygiene unite in the name of sitting .
Let’s talk about bread first , ok?
Bread is a very controversial topic in our marriage. In fact before we got married we went through several sessions on grains. As it is THAT important to Matt to have bleached white , lard bread. No we didn’t but he did specify said that he wanted white bread. And when he died , he wanted white bread in his casket to take to heavens gates.
You can’t take it with you honey.
I informed him that we all have to answer to our sins, but alas he is in denial that white bread is a sin. All I can do at this point is pray for his eyes to be opened. Shaba lord. More lord. Show him your Ezekiel bread Lord.
After all it’s in your word. Please show him I am more holy because I choose sprouted bread. Moving on, this gets emotional. It’s the only argument we’ve ever had in our marriage . White or wheat. Well, the only argument that matters deeply anyway. Please put us on your prayer chain at church. As well as the fact that Asher asked me today why the men with brown faces at Wal mart let their pants hang too low so we can see their underwear.
Can I just state that we aren’t racist, but just have curious and outspoken children. Yes, just please pray for my eyes not to water when I have to explain that some people, white purple or green make bad choices in their wardrobes. Although I realize there are no green people it makes me feel better to say that. As if to say I am excepting of all colors. Except blue. That means lack of oxygen, or for lack of a better term a deprived husband. So here we go.
Can we talk about what Asher did tonight? While I was changing Adah’s large mound of fecal matter he decided to take matters into his chubby fingers and try to pour a glass of Welch’s grape juice. This is in no way a promotional post for Welch’s , although I will take any donation from the company and put it in my ” let’s buy more yoga pants” so I can appear to be athletic.
I might as well work out , after all I have a tremendous amount of free time and tennis shoes. No. How do tennis shoes feel on your feet? I wouldn’t know.
Back to my story, I walk in the kitchen to find a horrible mess of grape juice and white cheddar pop corn and a 6 year old biting his finger nails.
” mom I’m so sorry. I will make sure to clean my room tomorrow and brush my teeth.”
Oh good son, things you are required to do anyway. I’m so grateful.
I was rather loud in my state of panic and later had to apologize. Sometimes Mommas are human. Isn’t that crazy?
Luckily our sweet kids are luring me back into life after the loss of Jude . More like they are laughing me back into reality, which Is needed . But they way they are doing it is rather socially unacceptable.
Kinda like yesterday when Adah noticed a little girl with a hello kitty bathing suit.
” oh kitty! Kitty on my Appies!” ( her top )
( she calls boobs Appies)
She swims over to the mother who was rather well endowed. Much more then I could ever imagine or dream of. I wonder what that’s Iike to not have breasts like you are 87 years old and have fed 1223798 children.
She proceeds to grab her large breasts and point to her daughter .
” Appies!!!! Mmmmm”
As if to say : man. She must get serious milkshakes out of these puppies. I only get skim milk, if that .
Needless to say I am beginning to get back into life. It didn’t take me long, although maybe it should have. Maybe I should have allowed myself more time. But you know, KIDS.
You know. Blessings in my life.
I’m grateful to my children for being real and funny. I’m grateful to my husband for being on Vicodin while he suffers through a wisdom tooth tragedy. He’s funny on it.
I’m grateful for modern medication. In fact if it weren’t for Xanax I couldn’t have made it through the past week.
I’m learning to sit on my Papas lap and simply be his daughter. His tiny hurting daughter. How he delights in my laughter and joy. Please bring me more joy Daddy. Allow me to sit on your lap a little longer . It would distract me from the housework.
I’m learning if I put my tough image on it’s difficult to do life without Christ. It creates messes and spills that stain my counter tops and eventually my heart.
Take my heart and heal it lord. Im yours .