blessed beyond measure

The ole garden didn't fare so well this year. For oh so many reasons. The mechanical tiller started out all moody and eventually went on strike altogether. The human tiller (me) started out admirably and then discouragement set in as she couldn't see the forest for the trees. Or weeds, in this case. And we'll go through the obligatory blaming of the jiggly groundhog and omnipresent rabbits, one of whom I had the privilege of stinging with a half-dozen bbs, to the delight of my boys. Turns out Mama's a decent shot. But really, it boils down to one thing. We didn't turn the soil over this past winter. As I recall, a little over a year ago I was bragging shamelessly about what perfect gardeners we had become, carrying five-gallon bucketfuls of veggies into the house and attempting to squeeze multitudes of beautifully sealed mason jars into my canning cabinet. Overconfidence. She'll bite you right in the rear. No, we fully ignored the garden spot all th...

Amid trying to settle into the school routine, which has been about as pleasant as nails on a chalkboard, by the way, we've had some opportunities to spend a little extra time with our church family. About half of our Sunday school class took off for the Peaks of Otter this past weekend to have a picnic and let the kiddos play in the creek. Despite a fifteen-minute downpour near the beginning, we all had a great time. In the end, the boys were soaked, nasty-dirty, exhausted, and glowing from the excitement. Then in conjunction with the 50th anniversary of Smith Mountain Lake, several area churches got together and held a lakeside worship service. Granddad was selected to deliver the message, and he spoke to us all about not forgetting what God has done, what man can do, and what the church must do. How special to gather with friends and those of other denominations to praise the Lord for the beauty around us. So nice to have a few peaceful moments, to be reminded of all th...

They have been dreading this day. Dreading. You can't blame them, really. They have had a fantastic summer. And they just don't want it to end. We went last week to find their classrooms, meet their teachers, and deliver hundreds (plural) of dollars worth of school supplies. Whereas this same outing served to excite them last year, it may have only increased their dread this time around. Both were thankful to have at least one of their besties in their classes, but that was about it. Aden went all limp-bodied over the impending schedule and Trey became visibly upset at the advance warning that fourth grade comes equipped with an hour and a half of homework each night. So you can't blame them. They fought like heck to push back bedtime last night, and whined their most pitiful whines when the time came. Two hours later and after several water and bathroom and question and complaint interventions, all became quiet for a while. I pause here to share critical backg...

They are my Olympics-watching soul mates. And it is a joy like no other, our shared excitement and shouting at the TV and oh, how we rejoice, again I say rejoice, at the victories of our countrymen. Those stars and stripes, they mean something. What better way could there be to teach my little men about Americanness than for them to see the US at its finest. My love for the Olympics knows no bounds. It was Kristi Yamaguchi and Jackie Joyner-Kersee who first pulled me in. But what made me a lifer was in 1996 as I sat on the living room floor in the blue house, glued to the TV, and watched Kerri Strug break her ankle landing from a vault. Pretty sure I didn't breathe as that tiny hero girl went back and vaulted again for the gold, broken ankle and all, and stuck the landing on one foot . I can't handle it, y'all. Knows. No. Bounds. To share it with these boys - from explaining how everything works to ugly crying my way through the Derek Redmond story. Oh the adren...

This is not intended to be a can of worms. I work through things by writing, apparently, and it just seems time for me to try and sort out what is going on in the world. How I feel, where I stand, opinions, yadda yadda. Because even though it is a great comfort and probably the only way any sane person will be able to survive through November, this covering my ears and humming every time politics comes up is getting rather old. My precious America is painfully broken. I have no fathomable clue how anyone could reason therwise. Just shy of my thirty-fifth birthday, how life is done around here has changed so drastically from my childhood. From a national atmosphere of trust and hard work and togetherness, to paranoia and entitlement and waking hours spent staring at a tiny computer. America was once not so long ago a powerful leader among nations, respected for its ingenuity, opportunity, and stability. And we were that way because our founders and those who followed after ...

We may be slow to do what we tell the kiddos we're going to do, but we eventually come through most of the time. Half because we want to teach the boys about integrity and sticking to your word. The other half because they offer us regular and persistent reminders. It was a promise made last summer, that Brandon would take the boys to play real golf. Like, real actual golf. Well, the bottom fell out of last summer and of course it didn't happen. So yesterday, with our waning summer intact and in sticky humidity, we ventured to the closest course and raced daylight to allow the boys to experience their first nine holes ever. As expected, some amazing shots, some balls never found, and a fair share of whiffs. Beauty and divots and deer and geese, bumpy cart paths, and trying to keep two little country boys quiet. A night to remember, long overdue.