There once lived a little girl named Hannah. She was a cute fat little baby and loved by her whole family. She was all their baby and they dragged her around as their little toy and friend. She giggled and cooed, and followed along with the loving abuse. When it was time to eat she got special baby food, finally something of her very own, but when mommy turned her back, the loving sister who was supposed to be helping would instead be heaping all the yummy plums and peaches into her own mouth. Poor Hannah was left with the strained green beans. But Hannah knew she was loved, that this "over-attention" was nothing to resent, she loved her many older siblings and the love they offered her. When it was time to stand on her own two feet, she couldn't, her little feet turned in and walking was hard. But there were so many footsteps she wanted to follow in. She didn't give up, she'd climb up onto her broken little feet and slowly, slowly follow after her brothers and sisters.
That little girl grew up into a beautiful woman, and all the brothers and sisters were in awe. Was this our little baby that we dressed up in silly clothes and dumped mud on her head as she smiled along? She, of course, was still loved by all and quickly and easily a man came into her life. He was struck by this woman, no longer a fat baby with broken feet, and took her into his arms. They married quickly and he stole her up as quick as a wink to the other side of the country. With all her happy memories as a baby, she wanted babies of her own, and her little Emma was born. Not the baby of the family, but the oldest, the one to set an example for the rest. And what an example she set. Sweet warm eyes, beautiful golden hair, and soft and loving to everyone she met. She was patient with the "over-attention" she got from doctors, because they gave it in love and she smiled along. And then both she and Hannah were asked to set an example for everyone. Neither were babies now, though Emma was young. Emma was asked to go and to serve others with an undying love, and Hannah was asked to give up her baby so she could go fulfill this calling. They looked into each other's eyes, both babies, both women as their tears mixed together. They said yes.
The brothers and sisters stood in awe as she grew older than all of them. Her grace and beauty shined like heaven. Could this be our baby? She's so brave, so strong. We want to be like her. As she walks we try to follow, but only on broken feet.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Mommy, Do you like flours?
So Monday morning is always my cleaning day, but when it comes I sometimes need a bit of coaxing. I told myself it would be easier to clean after the babies go to sleep so what's the harm of turning on a movie, dozing for a little while and then clean for the rest of the day. I FOUND OUT THE HARM!!!! I knew for a while they were watching the movie because they'd hit me or sit on my head from time to time, then all of a sudden it stopped. Ah peace, a few minutes sleep won't hurt! After ten minutes I wake up with a start. I haven't been beaten by my kids for a while, what's going on?! They are not in the room with me, so I hop up quickly and try to navigate myself through the delirium. I find Baby Jane in the kitchen on the table tearing all the berries off my holiday centerpiece, but still no Clark. And then I see it... A trail of flour toward the pantry. There he is in all his glory (I mean Naked) basking in a 50 lb. bag of spilled flour. I mean he's swimming around in it, nothing could be more beautiful for this little three year old. I restrained the fury because of the hilarity and quickly grabbed the camera. Once the pictures were snapped I accepted that it was time to get on task, and I was rewarded for my laziness with an extra two hours of cleaning to make up for the ten luxurious minutes my son bathed in flour.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
What is irony?
Hello everyone!! Well, I know that butcher block was amazing, but two and a half years is a little extreme... the truth is Cameron started our blog, I was not up for it at the time, so when his interest faded it just sat there waiting for us. After enjoying and reading so may of your blogs I'm finally jumping on the band wagon! Some of your entries are truly touching, and after my sister, Kellie, helped show me how to make it look cute, I've decided to finally take over, as my husband always hoped!
To catch you up... we have had another baby since then, Jane Elizabeth Brown, born May 22, 2009. I'd like to say we're finished in that area, so now that's she's 18 months old, I have time to write a blog!!!
So now to get to the thing that's motivated me to write today, call it a chance to complain to the masses.
What is irony?
Irony is reluctantly taking four children ages 7, 5, 3, and 1 to a craft store, promising them that they will get ice cream if they're good. You race to just what you need, involving your kids in the process so they can feel special and a part of things. Then you run over to the fabric cutting table. Your son grabs a number and noticing that there are people in front of you patiently try to keep your kids happy as you wait. You wander through the aisles, you play hide and go seek. Your sweet son follows your baby around so she won't scream in the cart the whole time. You do this for more than TWENTY MINUTES!!! Noticing that there are many people now (it is Christmas craft time afterall) they are all grumbling about this ONE LADY who has at least twenty different fabrics in her cart and as she's getting them cut, she'e sending her daughter out to get more! I'm trying to set a good example of patience to my children so I don't say a word, though I'm the only one with crying kids. Finally my turn comes up and I race to the front so no one has to wait on me so long. I fly through my cuts, interspersed with calming and chasing kids. I had put my baby in the basket of the cart where I could be nearest to her, but as I try to grab another child who is doing laps around a display she gets up and wiggles. I grab her immediately, while still calmly directing the lady of what measurements I need. So.... the lady next to me, the one who if purchasing half the fabric in the store announces as loud as she could, "you know baskets have seats and buckles for your children!" I am in shock. First I have four children, should I push four carts? Second, the buckle was broken so it would have been more dangerous to have her sitting there. Third, I have kindly entertained my children for over twenty minutes so she could entertain her fabric obsession, and finally WHO DOES THAT?!!! Why are mothers so easy to criticize and ridicule in front of at least 25 people?! So, as my blood begine to churn and I am completely flabbergasted by this clearly neurologically challenged woman I immediately had a choice. I could blast her and I'd probably be cheered on by all the people who have had to wait for her, or continue to try and be an example to my kids. I will tell you I wanted justice so baqdly right then, a voice for all mothers so unjustly accused... but I simply said, " You know... keep it to yourself, you can't talk right now." Her haughtiness shrunk into oblivion, she turned and mumbled to herself. Everyone there was in shock. They were all pining to yell at this woman, and I had the chance, and what did I do? I taught a motherly lesson to all of them.
So my dear friends, this is irony and in the end the best kind of justice. Because I still had four children, that for a quick moment, could still look up to their mother.
To catch you up... we have had another baby since then, Jane Elizabeth Brown, born May 22, 2009. I'd like to say we're finished in that area, so now that's she's 18 months old, I have time to write a blog!!!
So now to get to the thing that's motivated me to write today, call it a chance to complain to the masses.
What is irony?
Irony is reluctantly taking four children ages 7, 5, 3, and 1 to a craft store, promising them that they will get ice cream if they're good. You race to just what you need, involving your kids in the process so they can feel special and a part of things. Then you run over to the fabric cutting table. Your son grabs a number and noticing that there are people in front of you patiently try to keep your kids happy as you wait. You wander through the aisles, you play hide and go seek. Your sweet son follows your baby around so she won't scream in the cart the whole time. You do this for more than TWENTY MINUTES!!! Noticing that there are many people now (it is Christmas craft time afterall) they are all grumbling about this ONE LADY who has at least twenty different fabrics in her cart and as she's getting them cut, she'e sending her daughter out to get more! I'm trying to set a good example of patience to my children so I don't say a word, though I'm the only one with crying kids. Finally my turn comes up and I race to the front so no one has to wait on me so long. I fly through my cuts, interspersed with calming and chasing kids. I had put my baby in the basket of the cart where I could be nearest to her, but as I try to grab another child who is doing laps around a display she gets up and wiggles. I grab her immediately, while still calmly directing the lady of what measurements I need. So.... the lady next to me, the one who if purchasing half the fabric in the store announces as loud as she could, "you know baskets have seats and buckles for your children!" I am in shock. First I have four children, should I push four carts? Second, the buckle was broken so it would have been more dangerous to have her sitting there. Third, I have kindly entertained my children for over twenty minutes so she could entertain her fabric obsession, and finally WHO DOES THAT?!!! Why are mothers so easy to criticize and ridicule in front of at least 25 people?! So, as my blood begine to churn and I am completely flabbergasted by this clearly neurologically challenged woman I immediately had a choice. I could blast her and I'd probably be cheered on by all the people who have had to wait for her, or continue to try and be an example to my kids. I will tell you I wanted justice so baqdly right then, a voice for all mothers so unjustly accused... but I simply said, " You know... keep it to yourself, you can't talk right now." Her haughtiness shrunk into oblivion, she turned and mumbled to herself. Everyone there was in shock. They were all pining to yell at this woman, and I had the chance, and what did I do? I taught a motherly lesson to all of them.
So my dear friends, this is irony and in the end the best kind of justice. Because I still had four children, that for a quick moment, could still look up to their mother.
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