Small Things

I haven't really written lately, because who would want to read about fingerprints on my oven door, jam dried on my fur boots, biscuits turned to confetti beneath our table, or any of the other humble makings of tiny love?

Forcing the days of giggles and kisses and grabbing each other tight to outweigh the ones where my back aches, everyone is pouting, and I have to keep myself out of the bedroom lest I spend two hours there in a sulky nap.

I don't know much about current events -or maybe it's just that I can't remember them- but I am fluent in Pixar quotes. Less poetry and more farting. Body fluids. The toddler's cold which manifests in a phlegmy cough that won't go away.

I am happy this way, in this smelly, silly, comedic mundanity that is raising two boys. Looking past the goofiness and boogers, and seeing two souls in my hands. Looking at the repiling mess (where does it all come from?) as an opportunity to be a servant instead of a defective apostle of Saint Martha Stewart.

I've realized that the people I find most encouraging are the ones who just let you see that they are real, and so I think I'm going to give blogging another shot, to share my experiences with these precious people, and hopefully to see myself growing as a wife, mother, and follower of Christ.

Up next will be Marion's birth story and maybe pictures of things I've made (besides my kids).