blessed beyond measure

It's been a while since we carved pumpkins. The last few years I have fallen prey to sanity and pitched an overly enthusiastic, "Hey boys! Painting pumpkins is so much better than carving! Let's do that!!" to Trey and Aden. Who went for it, of course, and gave me the gift of not really having to do anything except shout at them from behind the camera not to fling the paint into each other's mouths. But they begged to carve this year, and in the afterglow-slash-guilt of underachiever Halloweens past, I agreed. Thinking that maybe they were finally old enough to do some of the work. We'll call this the before picture. I have no during picture because three one hundredths of a second after taking the before picture, the boys declared gut removal too hard, and ran off. So there I sat for the next maybe hour, degooping and carving. At one point, a teeny bit frustrated with the dullness of my knives and the numbness in my wrists, I said, "Hey Siri...

Dear swingset playhouse thingy, what a life you have had. A week after you were built a derecho picked you up and threw you sideways on the ground. We set you back up and three days later, another windstorm picked you up and threw you the other way on the ground. We set you up again, anchored you down, and ever since then, anywhere from ninety to one hundred fifty pounds of boy has knocked you about and loosened your screws and split your wood. We're a lot alike, you and me. And like me, I know you wouldn't change a moment with them. Your time is very short, as by the end of this past weekend's romp, you nearly collapsed. Just wanted to offer thanks for giving yourself to them. They learned to swing on you. They hid in your house-part and climbed on your picnic table. They pounded your sliding board with their shoes and stashed Easter eggs in the tall grass around you. You helped them fly . And, er, faceplant . Playset life well lived indeed. He runs hard an...

It's the day of the birthday party my sweet Aden has been looking forward to, like, forever. Because it's been, like, forever since friend's Mama sent me a save-the-date text. I really, really like friend's Mama. Friendly and genuine and loves the Lord and, ahem, loaded , and volunteers for everything and would probably handle a spider dropping into her line of vision while driving with utter grace and humor. I really like her, and am thankful to be getting to know her. That said, rich friend's birthday party had been on the calendar for months. At the bounce place. Because of course it was. Bought the gift, tried to get Aden to write legibly on the card, then we set out after church. Bless Aden's heart, we hardly go anywhere that costs money. What a treat for this boy. I caught both shoes as he threw them at me, accepted what I already knew would happen - that I would know no other adults there besides friend's very busy Mama - and found a perch ...

I stunk up last year's exploration season. But I tell you what, we're getting it in this year. First up, a very chilly Friday-evening boat picnic with Poppop. I pause here in honor of the coolness. He's something else, bare ankles and all. The joy expressed when one honks the boat horn when one has been asked not to by one's Mama. And daughter. Sent to our Giga, who undoubtedly missed us, but who was undoubtedly warmer than us, in sunny Florida. We docked the boat well past sunset and shivered our way back to Giga and Poppop's house for an impromptu lego competition. The below three are the only photos in this entire post that Trey gave me permission to share. Poppop and I were sternly instructed that we must be be impartial judges and were only allowed to select one winner. The boys displayed and described their creations, both of which turned out to be fortresses. And after the competition, both fortresses were quickly destroyed. By each o...

Trey drove Poppop's tractor by himself this week. Drove a truck by himself too, all within the safe confines and manure-spotted fields of the farm. No cows were harmed, and Trey was soaring high with pride in himself. Photo creds to Poppop. The elements to Aden's Halloween costume arrived this week, which means he's been wearing it 24/7, over pajamas even, wandering around banging on things, and saying stuff to me like, "Ma'am, I don't think this house is going to make it." One photo of each boy, every week, doing their thing.

Pig roast at church tonight. And these boys who won't touch pulled pork with a thirty-nine and a half-foot pole downed a few chicken nuggets and then spent the next two hours or so bouncing. Honestly, it's actually a blessing that they didn't stuff their bellies to capacity like, ahem, some other members of their household. Aaaand I'll stop there.

Our home, our tiny little bursting-at-the-seams house, is absolutely priceless to me. We have hacked away bit by bit at the nineties vibe that I myself am responsible for, worked on improving its structural flaws, and allowed daily life chaos to show us the best possible uses and places for everything. And in this TLC, I suppose I have fallen even more in love with the place, as imperfect as it is. Oh yes, there are imperfections. I battle out-of-sight, out-of-mind constantly. And then there are the man-child residents, roughly rough-housing the house. Holes in the floor, holes in the wall, trim paint chipped to look like polka dots. It will all get fixed someday. Until then, we live here. Not just live, but dwell . I love the word. It means to stay, to reside, to make a permanent home. Indeed. But so much more than that. When something is dwelt in, you can tell. It is used. Loved. Real. I could sit for a week straight eating rainbow sherbet out of the carton and wa...