It’s not a secret: I have been doubting, squinting, cocking my head at all the things I thought I knew. I have been wrestling with… whatever the hell we wrestle with in existential crises – which is the question here, this time: it is what, not why, nor how. What. I have doubted God’s kindness. I’ve doubted God’s provision, God’s fairness, God’s predisposition. I’ve doubted God’s intentions, God’s story, God’s plan. And now I have doubted God’s being as I’ve always understood it. But do you know what I never stopped believing in? What I haven’t doubted (yet) for even one second? Love. I believe in Love. I believe it matters how we treat each other,…
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Grapes of Fury
He gets it from me. Maybe I gave it to him on accident, through the genetic concoction which gave him those gorgeous brown eyes and that caramel skin. Or maybe he saw me do it when I’ve failed the resistance against my tendencies. When I’m hurting deep I get angry and look for something (or someone) to blame. I look for a place to land my blows. I’ve got 27 years on him and I still throw tantrums. That night he took issue with my placement of grapes on his plate. It was during another dinner far from his table, far from his dad and his dog and the place he calls “home” from the…
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Playtime
And they play together. She is tirelessly into all.the.things. She is relentless in her exploration. Big things. Small things. Sharp things. Messy things. She will decimate a Jenga set in .342 seconds after it took me 3 minutes away from the oven to put back together and in the box. He is crawling after me, then her, but mostly me. He is putting the big, small, sharp and messy things in his mouth. He is being encouraged by excited cheerleading from the big one. He is coming dangerously close to climbing. Dangerously. And they are an unholy army of ruckus. They are amok. The children are amok. But then, as…
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Goodnight, Children
It’s that time of night when he is fighting sleep like a little warrior. Mission: stay awake forever. Tactic: gain sympathy. He will give in with pathetic whimpers of defeat as he falls into whatever babies dream about. And it’s that time of night when I let the Mommy settle a little. Netflix streams, junk food reigns, the fairy that gets this place tidy sometimes makes an appearance, and I cozy into the quiet. This is the time I get to process the day; even if that is by not thinking at all. And on good days and bad; the days she wouldn’t listen at.all, the days he won’t let…
