I am blessed.

It's 2 a.m. I've been sick for three days. Not just a little sick. The real thing sick.

God does this to me every once in awhile. He says, who are you kidding? Shouldn't you slow down? Don't move so fast.

And when I don't listen. He shows me the way.

I'm blessed to have the Guidance that knows what is better for me than I do. For that and a million other reasons, I am blessed.

The Angels in my House

No doubt the days can be long and hard,

Early to rise, late to rest,

Few minutes to stop and breathe.



Lunches to pack, errands to run,

lists, lists, lists.

Squabbles and tantrums, skinned knees, bruised egos, are daily fare.



Some days I wonder how much more can I bare?



How much more should I care?



Sometime after the sun finally sets and the moon is watching,

I labor the stairs and the final remains of the day.



I step over a basket of laundry, dirty or clean, it's hard to say.

The teddybear princess lies thrown to the floor waiting for tomorrow to bring her back to life.



On the final stair, I turn and greet the angels in my house.



They lie nestled and snuggled,

their round faces dreaming of what might be.



No struggles, no skinned knees.



Quiet beautiful angels, that God has given to me.



I brush a cheek , kiss a forehead, and linger there a bit.



It's there in the presence of angels, I see how it all fits.



It's there that I breathe and am reminded that these angels are my gifts.



They're to teach me, test me, mold me and show me how beautiful life can be.



It's then that I finally lay my head down and thank Him for sending these angels to me.



Tomorrow I will try harder, be more patient, and work to deserve the angels in my house.

christmas list

The girl is just like her mom, a list maker, an organizer, a throw things when they don't go right, kinda gal. I love this mini-me of a girl. Over the weekend, I suggested to the boy and the girl that they ask their dad to take them Christmas shopping to buy their lovely mother some gifts.

I find it helpful to drop these little hints mid month.

I asked them if they would like for me to make a list for them like they do for Santa. The boy loved this. He ran to get his paper and pencil and sat with me while I recited the Mom Christmas list. You know the one, candles and bath stuff that require one stop at the drugstore and no sizes to remember.

The boy carefully wrote all of my requests.

The girl went into the other room with her paper and marker to make my list for me. You see, the girl has it right. She's not really intersted in what I'm asking for. She already knows what she wants to buy me!

So, the happy family - boy, girl, dad - go on their shopping trip.

It begins to rain.

They return home, not all that accomplished in their shopping but happy to have spent the day together. The dad says to me, "Her coat might be ruined." What would a day out with dad be without a ruined article of clothing or some other mishap. Here's how it happened.

While gripping her list and running to the car in the rain, her list, made lovingly in marker, began to run and fade down her paper and onto her coat.

I found her little list all folded up in the bathroom. I won't tell her I read it. It would break her heart. One thing is for sure, I love sweaters, tennis shoes and pony tails. The girl is good.

I'm not sure what I'll get for Christmas from the girl but the thought of her running through that parking lot, gripping her list and trying to protect it from the rain is a real gift I want to remember.

This is Christmas!

Today it finally happened. A moment in December that really felt like the Christmas I imagine. We found a space, a moment.

Gingerbread house

Polar Express

hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream and candy cane sprinkles

big bowl of popcorn

and two kids not fighting, just enjoying. Finally.

Why our house might not sell

If you have never tried to sell a home in a down market with two kids, two full time traveling jobs, a dog and cat, then this won't make a bit of sense to you.

Unfortunately, that is our reality.

The last showing was the day before Thanksgiving which to me was just plain mean. Aren't those people at the grocery store like everyone else? Is this a test? Sometimes I feel like God taps an angel on the shoulder and says, "Today we test Rebecca to see if she's ever going to learn anything about patience and grace under pressure." Give her a house showing while she's up to her elbows in pie dough and both kids are home from school. Let's see what's she got for us today.

So, the call came a day early that we have a showing tomorrow. That's a huge amount of notice from what we normally get. AND, you don't sell if you don't show so stop bitching and clean the house. I started the normal moving, shuffling, tidying. Somehow every showing requires a trip to Target, Lowes or WalMart for some new idea that I'm sure is the staging secret. This time it was Lowes for small evergreen trees to go into the pots on porch where the dead mums now reside.

I say to the kids, we have a showing tomorrow. Which is code for "you get even one Barbie out or think about playing with those Bionicles and you die." Sadly, they know the code. They are gracious and cooperative.

We also have a blanket of freshly fallen snow that looks beautiful and also covers the pile of leaves and two rakes that are still in the back yard. If it warms anymore before 12:45pm, we're busted.

Last night the boy goes to the neighbors house to play. We quickly instruct him to walk out the front door, down the driveway, down the street, into the cul de sac to the neighbor's house that lives directly behind us. Why you might ask.

So you don't mess up the snow silly!

We've got a house to sell and we're not messing around. At 10pm the boy comes home full of stories of video games and pizza at the neighbors. Very suburbian and all. What does his psycho crazed mom say to him after looking out the backdoor, "You walked through the snow!!!!!!!!!!!!" The boy looks at me and says very sweetly and apologetically, "I'm really sorry Mom, it was just too creepy to walk around the block this late."

Remember our motto, Therapy Fund, not College Fund.

This picture illustrates why our house might not sell today.

Four Hours of what will be almost 20 hours called today

4 am – the train roars into the station. I awake, rattle the train off his tracks and try to go back to sleep. Sleep. I remember sleep. I remember the kind of sleep that felt like eternity and not like an overdue nap.

6 am – I give up, the dreams that come when you try and force yourself to sleep next to the train tracks are not worth the 7 extra minutes of shut eye.

Shower, robe, hair combed. Time to get the boy. The girl gets 7 more minutes before I deal with her. Please let it be the nice girl that crawls out of that pink bed. Not the screaming, kicking, crazy one. She scares me.

7 am – It’s wandering from one bedroom to the next making sure progress is being made. The clock is ticking. This is a race. A race to the big yellow bus that comes at exactly 8:07 and waits for no one. Put on your socks, put down the legos. Jeans or skirt? Hello Kitty or sparkly snowflake shirt. Put on BOTH socks. Where are your shoes. Put down the legos. Downstairs now! 6 minutes later, put down the legos, downstairs now! What would you like for breakfast? What do we have? The same things we have every single day, why do I need to recite the list like the diner waitress? Tips would be nice.

He’s being mean. She looked at me funny. He won’t stop tapping his foot. She stuck her tongue out at me. Eat your cereal.

Teeth and Shoes, everyone. Teeth and shoes. 10 years ago I would have never thought I’d say that as a sentence. Now I say it multiple times a week. Code. Mom Code.

Where’s your backpack, get your coat, hat, gloves, Oh crap it’s 8:02. Hustle.

8:04 almost out the door and one shoots past me up the stairs. Where are you going!!!! I forgot my bionicle for recess. My heart pounds fast. It’s like slow motion. Blue coat flying past me into the room that’s 3 feet deep in bionicles. What are the chances that he’ll find the one he wants and get back down the stairs in 1 minute? I panic and scream threats and profanities that will probably stay with him until 1st recess. I blink and he’s back, smiling, found it! Thank God, I’m sorry God. I’ll do better.

Kiss, I love you, have a super fantastic day, hugs.

There they go. Off to the bus. Will I remember that image in my head forever? Please tell me I’ll remember. God, help me remember.

Reach for Me

Reach for Me –

Tiny fingers around my giant one. The first time you reached for me. In that moment, I am sure. Sure of what I can provide. Sure you are safe, Sure you are loved.

Little fingers gripping mine. One step, two steps, get your balance. Almost there. Oh the freedom these steps will bring. Needing to reach for me. I am there. I am sure. You are safe. You are loved.

Always holding hands. Together we walk. You instantly reach for me. Uppie Mommy. Reaching for me. Always reaching, knowing, trusting. I am there. I am sure. You are safe, you are loved.

You run, you play, you spin, you laugh. Then you return and you reach for me.

We are walking, the street is near, we’re talking and walking, instinct, you reach….. put your still tiny hand in mine. For you it is a habit, for me it is electric. That feeling of you, trusting me, needing me, holding my hand.

My mind races. When will the moment come when you no longer reach for me at this street, any street? I swallow hard, you look up, you smile, I smile.

You bring me beautiful crayon masterpieces of hearts and flowers and love. These are pictures of you and me, holding hands. This is who we are, reaching.

Tonight you label the picture as you always do, then you stop, you mark it out, and make a monumental change. Mommy to Mom. I ask..... You say, because I’m a big girl now. I swallow hard. Yes you are.

We walk to the car, we get to the street, I hold my breath. Will she? She does. She reaches for me. Thank you Lord.

How do I keep you reaching…..reaching…..reaching?