Skidding Shards and Stupid
So do you remember when I wrote about the little shepherd boy I shattered into barely glue-able smithereens? Well, God didn't think I got the point.
Today, I knocked off the entire wall shelf and busted the other shepherd into 7 separate chunks. Amazingly, the already broken one caught in the shelf and survived the four foot fall and the little lamb (read into this what you will) skidded across the kitchen floor completely unscathed.
And yes, I was mopping again. I can't figure out if I'm really that clumsy or if somehow the kitchen table has shifted closer to the wall or if I just so desperately hate mopping that, subconsciously, I will do anything to get out of it (even breaking beloved manger scenes). I moved the table just to make sure my bases were covered. I'm running out of super glue.
It took me all day to get that shepherd back together again. I'd glue a piece in--go read a few more pages of my book. Glue a piece in--go pick up dog poop in the back yard. Glue a piece in--start the chicken pot pie. Glue a piece in--bathe the boys. And some of the pieces really had to be delicately man-handled.
And I kept wanting to say: I get it, God! I get it! Brokenness! I'm there. I understand. Healing hurts sometimes and it takes a while, but you have said (and reminded me repeatedly)--blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.
But instead of saying that (or maybe along with saying that), I took both boys and the dog out for a walk in bitterly cold 20 mile an hour winds because I am a smart mom, and now I will be known forever as the woman with the Crazy Eyes because every person that drove by received The Look (whether they were considering calling Child Protective Services or not) as I held onto the wind-tugged stroller and dragged the shivering dog with one hand while pulling a protesting Littles behind me with the other.
They don't call me bright for nothing.
Then we came home and Littles tried on The Man's combat boots, and maybe I'll have something profound to say about that later, but for right now, enjoy:
Today, I knocked off the entire wall shelf and busted the other shepherd into 7 separate chunks. Amazingly, the already broken one caught in the shelf and survived the four foot fall and the little lamb (read into this what you will) skidded across the kitchen floor completely unscathed.
And yes, I was mopping again. I can't figure out if I'm really that clumsy or if somehow the kitchen table has shifted closer to the wall or if I just so desperately hate mopping that, subconsciously, I will do anything to get out of it (even breaking beloved manger scenes). I moved the table just to make sure my bases were covered. I'm running out of super glue.
It took me all day to get that shepherd back together again. I'd glue a piece in--go read a few more pages of my book. Glue a piece in--go pick up dog poop in the back yard. Glue a piece in--start the chicken pot pie. Glue a piece in--bathe the boys. And some of the pieces really had to be delicately man-handled.
And I kept wanting to say: I get it, God! I get it! Brokenness! I'm there. I understand. Healing hurts sometimes and it takes a while, but you have said (and reminded me repeatedly)--blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.
But instead of saying that (or maybe along with saying that), I took both boys and the dog out for a walk in bitterly cold 20 mile an hour winds because I am a smart mom, and now I will be known forever as the woman with the Crazy Eyes because every person that drove by received The Look (whether they were considering calling Child Protective Services or not) as I held onto the wind-tugged stroller and dragged the shivering dog with one hand while pulling a protesting Littles behind me with the other.
They don't call me bright for nothing.
Then we came home and Littles tried on The Man's combat boots, and maybe I'll have something profound to say about that later, but for right now, enjoy:
Oh, and (because this is just too cute not to):
The End.
