Crazy Talk


Most days, I like inquisitive conversation with my five-year-old and two-year-old about as much as I like tea made with toilet water (which I have tasted more often than I would like to admit, thanks to the two-year old). Sure, curiosity and discovery are a normal, beautiful part of a child's development. And excruciatingly annoying. My intention is to honestly answer my children's questions in hopes that they will learn new things about the world each day. That lasts about five seconds. They are never satisfied with a satisfactory answer to a question, so the questions are endless. Soon they are questioning the construct of a question itself, and I'm left with an empty stare and existential drool dripping from the side of my mouth. 

TWO-YEAR-OLD (looking at cracker): What does this say?
ME: It says Glutino.
TWO-YEAR-OLD: What does this one say?
ME: Glutino. They all say Glutino.
TWO-YEAR-OLD: What does this one say?
ME: Every single one of them says Glutino. They are all the same.
TWO-YEAR-OLD: What does this one say?
ME: Bangs head against the wall.

Admittedly, the five-year-old has grown out of the endless questions game, and grown into a new stage of confidently defying fact and logic. 

FIVE-YEAR-OLD: Mama, I'm playing a memory game with my crackers to see if I can remember which one is which!
ME: But... I just said... they are all exactly the same.
FIVE-YEAR-OLD: No they aren't. This one has a couple of tiny scratches on it!

Usually my brain has finished reforming from the pile of mush it became just in time for more invigorating toddler/preschool conversation topics. By the end of the day, I'm not sure I remember who I am, or why I am here, or if the crackers really are all the same or the cracker company just wants us to believe they are all the same at first glance in order to hide imperfections and keep us in a calm state of cracker acceptance and consumption. On the occasion that another adult calls or stops by, I am in a state of desperation, ready to talk about anything and everything unrelated to crackers. Please, DEAR GOD, save me! 

My children have learned too well the "...I need a break!" response that often comes after several hours of interrogation. It's so familiar, they've even started saying it to each other. Which, when you think about it, is a great communication skill in the face of conflict. They're learning their own limits and how to let someone else know their limits, too. And that's, of course, what I have planned all along. I am such a good parent like that. Deep down, I am teaching my children valuable life lessons by letting them break me. So deep. Deep end of a pool deep. Lake deep. Mariana Trench deep. So deep, I've stopped treading water and... help, I'm drowning!


Sauvie Island Farms

Whenever my soul is worn out, I can count on Sauvie Island to refresh it again. There's something about the open clean air, the green, wildlife, the abundance of growing things... it's almost impossible to not feel baptized into the vibrant life that is everywhere you look. Each time I visit with my kids, I know that our visit was necessary.















I don't know what to call it. Grief is too dark a word; joy is too weak. It is the glorious pain that is known only by a mother as she watches her children grow.

Is it love? Love seems too simple a word.

It becomes the blood, which is pumped through her veins, reaching beyond her extremities, pouring out onto every aspect of her life--every part of who she is.

No longer can she live as one. A kiss goodnight. A temper tantrum. Nights spent awake and confused and consoling. Milestones. Arguments. "I love you"s. At each of these moments, is a headstone which marks a part of herself given--a piece of her heart that will always there remain.

But why should she want these pieces back? Though in affliction, the more she gives, the more she understands who she truly is.

One day, those children will not be children. They will leave her... her heart will break and she will cheer them on as they step into the world on their own. But she will not be the same.

And she will begin to grasp how the slow, sacrificial death of her Lord accomplished his love and brought forth new life.


Life lately.


Rainy Sunday.

we sit
resting together
from everything
from the world.

we would be
searching for the
we have already
here in the dark.


Real life.

Salem is four.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...