Eraser

"Hey, what is this?" I say. I pluck a white cube-ish eraser, pea-sized from a pile in Lucy's pencil box.

"Oh," Jack says, nose, for the moment, no longer in his math book.

"What?" I say. "What is it?"

"I think that's the eraser that Lucy put in the vice," he says.

"What?" I say.

"She thought it would just compact and then go back, but it broke into a million of pieces."

"Ahhhhh," I say. "Huh." And so it is, another mystery solved. I nod, then shake my head. "Makes sense," I say. Sense, that pile of eraser pieces, saved in a pencil box, that's usually how it finds me too. And good Lord, who knew it would crush like that?

Gratitude:

6526. The children recover from a bout of croup.

6527. Jack and Joe continue to learn endurance, preserving, and resilience through wrestling.

6528. Chicken soup with rice made from scratch.

6529. News of dear friends pregnant.

6530. I pass notes with a dear friend from decades past.

6531. The greenhouse plants continue to get stronger and bigger.

6532. We visit long over Sunday dinner and enjoy the voices of all the children.

Hand-Me-Downs

"Whelp," I say, "I think we are on at least step seven of organizing the hand-me-downs." The words leave my mouth pearled together in a long looping sigh.

The living room a castle of bins, clothes bundled and ordered by age and gender, I sink into the couch. We save meticulously, sometimes too much. A tower of donation items holds down the entryway. Bins on one side, bins on the other, it feels like parting the sea.

"Hmm," Jack says, "step seven of seven hundred." He grins. I shake my head, then nod.

"So true," I say. We laugh and laugh. So many hours wrangling organization out of so much blessing. It's harder than it sounds. I wonder what step eight will be.

Gratitude:

6522. Jack adds humor to our days, leafed in, gentle and without expectation of the hilarity that ensues.

6523. Jack and Lucy bake ginger snaps.

6524. A dear friend sends me a wrap to try with chunky fringe.

6524. The kids continue to work hard practicing art lessons.

6523. I learn again the good fruits of forcing myself to do dreaded tasks. Strength, peace, and tidiness appear, guests adored.

6524. The children continue to watch me flounder and then step into strength. So humbling. And yet so good.

6525. I sigh another tired sigh, contentment close on its heels. Sleep, the reward of the weary, I measure its goodness.

Ten Minure Timer

"Ten minute timer," Craig says. He patrols the hallway, rounding up bedtime stragglers for evening prayer. "Jane, you didn't make it," he says.

"No," she says, "I'm ready!" She blubbers around a toothbrush corralled in her cheek. "I'm alllllllmost ready."

"No," he shakes his head, "you're not done."

"But," she wrinkles her forehead, raises her shoulders. Sigh, "Ok."

"She didn't make the timer," Craig calls around the corner to me ten steps later, a bale of laundry now blooming from the dryer into his arms.

"I ALMOST did," Jane says.

"But you didn't," he shakes his head.

"It's because I linger and talk and relish relationships more than just the task." Her face sings.

"Sounds like Mom," Myra lilts. Sprawled on the floor, she passes puffs of post-documentary popcorn to George.

"But," I say, the big popcorn basin in my lap, hulls between my teeth, "what we want you to understand, Jane, is that you need to hurry and get the task done so you CAN get out here and enjoy the relationships."

"Oh," she says.

Oh, that. Finish the task to make room for margin. This is an art I am still learning, and in good company.

Gratitude:

6515. A new ruler, a teeny tiny triangle one, like a mini-drafting one with a pencil clip on the side.

6516. Friends invite us to dinner and serve oxtail. Bonanza! And there is so much affection and fellowship in the evening, we stay way, way, way to late but enjoy the camaraderie so much.

6517. Dad's birthday lands on Saturday-pancake-breakfast and in all its maple syrup and whip cream bounty we celebrate. Joe and Myra surprise us by eating 10 pancakes each. Best of all, we linger in stories and laugher.

6518. We celebrate the life of Great-Grammie, 102 years. Family gathered, we remember the irreplaceable riches of a life well lived.

6519. Jack tears out two shrubs and a fence for us, the beginning of another new garden.

6520. The children tend to their 1000+ baby plants.

6521. I land this Sunday more tired than I've been in a very long time. Sleep is such a gift. I can't wait to open it tonight.