Yep. I have to sit this close to the wheel to reach the pedals.

They dressed like what they wanted to be when they grew up. Isaac chose being a Dad. What a sweetheart!
His teacher, Mrs. Debbie loaned us a doll and stroller from the preschool.

Do you ever find yourself wondering when the last time will be that you do something? Certain last times stick with us, the last day of school, the last day of a job you are leaving, or the last day before you get married. However, as we move through life, without even noticing it, we pass through many “last times”. You may think of something mundane you did with someone you loved and then lost, and now you wonder, how would I have changed that if I had known it would be the last time to do that thing with that person?

I have thought about this a good bit recently. My mother in law is a very plain spoken woman. I love her. She’s hilarious. She says out loud the things you were thinking but would never say, along with some things you would probably never have thought.   She will sometimes declare that this is the LAST TIME she’ll ever __________. Most recently, it was with towels. She bought an entire new set of towels for her house, that all matched. We were beneficiaries of this event, because we got some of the older towels from her. I use towels until there’s absolutely nothing left of them. I’m sure she had probably noticed that . . . lol Anyway, she said, okay, this is the LAST new set of towels I’m buying before I die! I busted out laughing, of course, and so did she. I said, you know, most people probably don’t actually identify the last set of towels they buy. In fact they probably have no idea that they are buying their last set of towels, their death towels. At that point we started busting out laughing again.  Well, at least we both share an inappropriate sense of humor.

I was trying to think of something that I have done that I kNEW would be the last time I did it. Off the top of my head the only thing I can think of was when Oliver was born. He was the 5th C-section and I was getting my tubes tied, so I thought, this is the LAST time I’ll be in the hospital having a baby of my own body.

(Unless, I’m one of the 1 in 1,000 women for whom a tubal is not successful. Yes, I’ve watched too many episodes of “I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant”)

Have you ever done something and thought, “this is the last time I will ever do this!” and if so, what was it?

Before I left for work and to take the kids to school this morning, I ran over to Kroger to buy 4 gallons of milk and some Folgers. True story.

12.5 years into raising 5 boys we are 100% cavity free. I am now considering the gallon of milk a day we use an investment in teeth.

My current babysitter, Sara, sometimes washes dishes while she’s here. I’m considering nominating her for a Nobel prize.

I cut my finger while making guacamole on Sunday and almost passed out. I can doctor up these boys, no problem, but if the injury is mine, well, it’s not good.

Isaac graduates from preschool tomorrow night. They dress up like what they want to be when they grow up. Isaac’s choice: a dad. (Swooning Mom over here!) We are borrowing a baby doll. We don’t even own one!

Isaac just said to me, “Hey mom, Christ is risen!” So I replied, “He is risen indeed!” Then he said, “High Five!” Not the traditional closing but I like to think Jesus would go for it.

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” -C.S. Lewis

That quote pretty much sums up my feelings this fine day.

Two quick pics from the weekend below. The first one was taken by my sister-in-law while Alex and Isaac were at their grandparent’s house this weekend. Why is it that you’re with them every day but if they leave overnight and someone sends you a picture you see all the changes you miss in the everyday?? How is it that my baby is this big?  When did that happen? What was I doing that I didn’t see it going on right under my nose?

What is it about baby #5 that makes every single thing he does adorable? Is it because I know he’s  the last one? I’m less worried than I was with the other 4? Or is it because he really is just. that. cute. even when he makes grumpy faces?

I got this kiddo from preschool yesterday and he’d been running and playing outside and I thought to myself, I really just love that sweaty, smells like outside, rosy cheeked boy. He’s so much fun. After I took this picture he said, “Mom, I’m thirsty!” Then I said, “You’ll have to wait til we get home.”

Later, Alex came in from outside and said, “Um, Mom, there’s a cat stuck up in a tree in our yard.”  WHAT!? Everyone ran to look. Sure enough.

Thomas said, “I thought that only happened on t.v.”  I texted the picture to Steven and he wrote back, “Call the fire department.” (he was joking) and I wrote back to him, “I don’t know if you know this or not, but we don’t live in a children’s book.” to which he replied, “You may not, but I do.”  I still don’t know what that means but it’s funny.

Poncho had basically treed this cat. I climbed up there and it hissed at me. I said to the cat, “Okay buddy, your loss!” and came back down. Someone on facebook suggested I put out tuna so I did, in a place that Poncho couldn’t get it. For awhile I suspected the cat was actually stuck in the tree, but seeing/smelling the tuna did cause it to move some.

So I quit worrying about it. He had quite a long stay up there, I’ll tell ya. I don’t know how much of yesterday during the day he spent up there but it was in the 80′s here. He was really panting when I climbed up. Steven tried removing Poncho from the backyard a couple times to give the cat a chance to make a break for it but the dumb cat stayed. He stayed all night. Poncho would get to barking and I knew the cat was trying to leave. At 3:45 this morning I opened the backdoor and lectured Poncho about barking and leaving the cat alone. He looked at me real sheepishly and I’m about 65% sure he understood what I was saying. He was quiet for the next 10 minutes anyway. Steven said the cat was still in there at 5am, but when I got up at 6 he was gone, finally. I don’t think he’ll be recommending our backyard to the neighbor cats.

After something like yesterday’s events, we are all so low. We find ourselves glued to the t.v. reports or googling on the internet to hear the latest news, the most up to date information on the tragedy. We get mired down in this swamp of depression. It doesn’t matter if we know the victims personally or not, we feel connected with them and we hurt for them. We muck around in the swampiness of grief and sadness and shock.

We don’t have to do that. Recently, I was talking with someone about dealing with tragedy. When it comes to things you see and hear and read, once you take them in, you can’t get them out. Some things, they just stay with you forever. Be cautious of what you allow in. It becomes your constant roommate. You also traumatize yourself, every time you see it again. People recovering from trauma, they need normalcy and routine. So do you.

When confronted with tragedy, remember this thing: you can do good. People were doing good in the midst of the tragedy. The masses get scared and run away, and yet, the helpers get brave and run in. Some lives were lost and broken, yes. Grieve that loss for them, then go do good. If you can’t do good for people in Boston today, do good for the people whose lives are broken near you. There is always good work to be done, and there’s always a choice to be made. Choose to do the right thing, every time you can. You can’t control what terrible, hateful, nasty things other people are going to do, but you make your own choices for you. 

Give someone a hug today.
Say a kind word.
Buy someone a meal or a coffee.
Volunteer.
Donate money/stuff you’re not using to someone else in need
Pray, not just for the safety of your family and loved ones, but for those you don’t know and for those who intend you harm.
Love, without ever expecting it in return.

What you’re about to see, may disturb you.

This post is not for the faint of heart.

Not suitable for Neat Freaks, Individuals with OCD, or anyone who is caught up on their laundry.

Once your family reaches a certain level, the clothing can be come unmanageable. No one talks about this. We leave the horror of it alone and pretend like it doesn’t happen to us. We hide it in closets and other rooms when people come over. But the reality is, our lives are being taken over by laundry.

It has a mind of its own. You never know when it  might take over your favorite chair. You never know what it will do. You CANNOT control it.

Look, it’s even spreading to that chair next to it. *shudder

It hides things, for very long periods of time. This baby wash cloth, I haven’t seen it anywhere since right after Oliver was born, 2.5 YEARS ago. Then, a couple days ago, BAM. It’s in the dryer. How did it get there?? Where was it hiding?? No one knows.

When we saw the shirt below, our oldest child’s favorite “classic white tee” (that’s what HE calls it), I was beside myself. This is after it came out of the washer and dryer with other clothes. What horror happened in that shirt?? Steven said, “The people on the Walking Dead who have been attacked by Zombies have cleaner shirts than this!”

Also, you realize that clothing makers surely did not design this shirt. You can’t just combine any old thing into one shirt pattern. This must be how the clothing reproduces itself. Two completely different things mate to birth new laundry items when you’re not looking, as evidenced below with the Toy Story shirt, edged in, that’s right, camo print.

Soon, you start finding laundry in unauthorized places. It migrates. It has no reasonable pattern, in fact, it places itself seemingly as if people just took off their clothing and lay it down wherever they were when the idea hit them. As if that would ever happen . . . .

Let this post serve as a warning to you. Laundry is everywhere. It’s alive. You’ve been warned.

I woke up when I felt the depression from the side of the bed. Grandma had sat down next to me. Her hand tousled my hair and she said, “Good morning, sleepy-head. What do you want for breakfast?” I knew what I wanted. She knew what I wanted too, but it was our ritual. I must’ve smiled at her, because I could see it reflected back on her face. “You can have anything you want. ” she let me know. It was always hard for me to just come out and say what I wanted, even when asked specifically. I mumbled probably too quiet to hear, and she replied, “Hotcakes it is!”.

She got up and headed back down the hall. I lay there a few more minutes in that extra bedroom with the pink hue. The wall along the door was lined with a low book shelf. It was filled with Grandpa’s unpainted ceramics. When I would go to bed at night, I was always slightly afraid of them. So much so, that I would lay really still til I fell asleep right where I was. After a few moments I smelled them, the hotcakes. They were mixed in with the coffee scent coming from the kitchen. Everywhere else in my life they were called pancakes. Grandma was the only person I knew who called them “hotcakes”. Hers even tasted different. As an adult, I don’t know how many recipes I’ve tried, trying to replicate them.

I padded down the hallway and came into the kitchen. Grandpa was sitting at the table with his paper. One side would go down and he’d say, “Well, Good morning, Stranger! Who are you?” and I’d giggle accordingly. “Where’s Grandma?” I’d say, and he would always reply the same thing. “She went to Muskogee.” “No, she didn’t, where IS she?” I’d reply, with a smile on my face, one that I could see reflected back on his face. Then she’d come around the corner from wherever she’d had to step off to for a minute.

Depending how far into the cooking process she was, she might pick me up and sit me on the counter top near her, so I could watch. She had stainless steel mixing bowls. I loved the way the kitchen smelled, some elusive mix of the wood from the cabinets, her spices, and whatever else was in there. When the food was ready the three of us sat at the round table in the corner, between the two big windows. We’d watch the the hummingbirds dance around the feeders on the porch and we’d eat warm hotcakes, with fresh milk Grandpa had brought inside, in a plastic wide mouth jug. It was easy not to notice how hard they worked, when I was a little kid. I suppose it was due to the fact that they never drew attention to that. They just seemed content to discuss the paper, and the birds and take the day as it was, however it was.

It’s one of my best memories, Grandma, Grandpa, and the hotcakes.