Dylan riding the helicopter

Dylan on a spaceship

If you...

Thanks Grandma G. Thank you mom!

Thanks Carrie.

Thanks Grandma W.

It is 3:47am. I am exhausted. My sweet son is teething, again. He is hopefully asleep after giving him some pain killer. I, however, was doing dishes until a moment ago. I'm upset. Why? Being a mom is the most thankless job, so if you have a mother, wife, or sister with a child thank her. Thank them for the time they spent wiping your tiny hind parts, giving you baths, and putting clean clothes on you for the emp-teenth time. Thank the lady who thought you were more important than the friends who didn't have time for her anymore. Thank the lady who wiped your tears away and held you. Thank the lady who held you before God the moment she found out you were to be and gave you back to his keeping when you were born. Thank the lady who signed up for a 40+ year job. Thank the lady who will always see you as the 6lbs 13oz sleepy bundle she brought home with her. Thank the lady who will clean up the results of your bodily functions without gloves or a clothes pin on her nose. Thank the lady who didn't let you drink the chemicals you somehow got your hands on. Thank the lady who didn't let you play in, on, or around the toilet. Thank the lady who makes scrap books of your milestones. Thank the lady who worries about who you are around, all while being so proud she wants to show you to the world. Thank the lady who doesn't allow you to do whatever you desire. Thank the lady who heart falls out of her chest when you decide to jump from the 12th stair up or you bonk your head on the corner of some furniture. Thank the lady who gave you to someone else because she could not care for you the way you needed. Thank the lady who took you in and became your mother. Give them a hug, a call, a smooch. They deserve it.

Thanks Bernice.

Thank you Karly and Destiny!

Thanks Dylan you made me a mama.
I can never thank you enough.

hmmm?

I haven't posted in a few days. I don't know what to write. It all seems like pointless drivel. I'd prefer not to write another whiny blog about how things are not changing fast enough. I will say I enjoy MOPS. I'm looking forward to Dylan's first birthday party. The planning has given me something fun to do. I'm enjoying cooking recently and am happy Dylan's third tooth FINALLY poked through. Sounds pretty basic? It is.

These Hands

         Large hands placed on tiny feverish head. 

Hard-working calloused hands placed above a prostrated graying head.

Hands gently covering a tear stained wrinkled face.
Hands clasp a microphone to sing praises in a booming tenor voice.

Hands making peach cobbler.

Hands canning peaches and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Hands with fingertips lightly touching while in thought.

Hands grasping a black worn bible.

Hands raised in surrender.

These are strong hands.

These hands keep the man from stumbling.

Hands covered in rich earth from planting.

Hands playing Phase 10 and Scrabble.

Excited hands opening Christmas gifts. 

These are my grandpa's hands.

Its all about the mortar

I wrote this earlier tonight.

Sitting here in a room filled with praying souls, I envision a picture before me. From a distance my face stares back at me from a simple black frame. Something brings me closer to this portrait. It's like being under a magnifying glass. I begin to observe the fractures of a mosaic held together with mortar. Closer still I look, the ties begin to be clearer. They are snippets capturing defining moments in my life. Curious at which moment are being displayed, I try to make out what different tiles portray. I see the look on my parent's faces at my birth. I see my first time in church. There is a tile showing my dedication to the Lord. My grandpa's large brown hands palming my tiny head gently. I see me sitting in various Sunday School classrooms and church services over the years. I see the times I choose to raise my hands in surrender to the Master. I see birthday parties with my friend's eager faces. I find a tile of my dad's weary face as he prays for me in the wee hours of the morning. Every tile is held together by the mortar. I find more tiles. There is one of me sitting at our kitchen table with frustrated tears rolling down my face over a pile of home I didn't understand. While a couple more display my baptism and accepting Jesus as my own. There are a few of my high school choir. I find a few of good friends who made my life better. (Yes, you silly!) I find a tile or two of my high school prom and graduation. I see my wedding day, my son's birth and me standing watching my baby cousin's casket roll by. All these mosaic tiles are held together by mortar carefully placed by the Master's artful hand.

He that began a good work in me is able to complete it...

There are consequences...

I haven't written much recently. I have a lot of transition in my life right now. I'm just trying to make these changes gracefully. Some changes are positive. While others are leaving me with this feeling of being stuck in a rut.

At work, my co-workers are being shuffled around to different departments. A few of them, who I felt the most camaraderie for, are moving on with new employment. I continue to work at my deli job. I really have checked out of there emotionally. I'm past ready for new employment. I've said it before. I shall say it again. I'd like to work in a office because I don't have the degree I need to do what I really want to do. Without a degree, I'm left with a very few employment options: retail, factory work, hospitality, food service, banking or office work. If I was employed in a different retail position, I believe I'd be doing much of the same. I'd be getting similar pay for similar hours. Factory work is to difficult. I don't want to do food service! Banking is for people who are good with numbers. As you can tell, I blog and am good with words. I'd be open to hospitality because it's similar to office work.

The house hunt and life continues. Need I say more?

To sum up this rather whiny blog. I always have hope things will be well with me eventually, however the view on the hamster wheel is freaking me out. I feel the weight of being mildly stuck and leaving an honorable legacy for my future generations. I've been transfixed by my genealogy. One idea keeps ringing true to me: my choices do impact others. I am living because a few someones had children. Their choices on where they lived and what they believed have impacted me. I know little things things don't matter like what I'm going to eat for lunch or what color to paint a room. Its the larger picture. After my last breath on this earth is complete and I have joined the faithful generations before me, I want them to know I've handled their legacy with care. Yes. Indeed I do.