Well, it didn't take me long to skip a day! But I hope I will be forgiven. Yesterday was just generally a bad day. Aaron was working, and I was frustrated. Lately I have been feeling sort of depressed because I realized that all the holidays were over and now there is nothing to look forward to. Then, on top of that, Aaron has been working on weekends a lot lately. When he isn't home, there is no weekend for me. Every day feels the same as the last, an endless monotony of children and diapers and just being alone, yet not alone.
On the bright side, I got to go on a date with Aaron to Olive Garden and to see Sherlock Holmes, which was a really good movie.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Get a Good Start
Today we got a good start on the New Year. I mean, there's nothing like the cops bringing your two year old to your front door to really ring it in, right?
I was sitting at the computer and realized that Izzy was no longer in the room. This usually means I will find him smearing toothpaste in the bathroom or decorating the kitchen floor with eggs. After a moment, I think, I'd better go find him, even though I don't feel like dealing with it. I sigh, get up, go look in the bathroom. Not there. Kitchen. Not there. Under the dining room table. Not there. Living room. Not there. Oh, great, he's probably wreaking havoc upstairs. I look, but he's not there. Hmm. Maybe I missed him. I go back downstairs and re-check all the rooms, plus the spare room. He's not there. Maybe I missed him upstairs? Back I go. Not in my room. Not in the boys room. Not in the baby room. Not in the bathroom. Oh boy. Then I hear a knock knock knock. I am relieved. I think it must be our neighbor, Manuel, bringing him back. The boys like to go over to their house because they have a little girl around Malachi's age, and in the summer they would give them kool-aid. But when I get to the door, it is not Manuel. Rather, it is a police woman. "Do you know this little guy?" she asks me. I do. Apparently he took a walk down the street to 11th Avenue (which is a rather busy street). I thank her profusely for finding him, and after showing her my ID and talking a little more, she leaves. Then I lock the porch door, all three locks on the front door, and put a gate up between the living room and the entry way so he can't even go there. I felt like my heart would fall out of my chest. Soon after, the little escapee falls asleep on the couch. His adventure has tuckered him out.
The funny thing is, this is not the first time this has happened. He did the same thing while at a friend's house last spring. What does it mean when your kid has had two run-ins with the cops and he's not even three years old yet?! But really, I am just glad he's okay, and he's back with me, safe. The little guy can certainly be a trial at times, but I love him, and I couldn't bear to have anything happen to him. One of those weird paradoxes, I guess.
I was sitting at the computer and realized that Izzy was no longer in the room. This usually means I will find him smearing toothpaste in the bathroom or decorating the kitchen floor with eggs. After a moment, I think, I'd better go find him, even though I don't feel like dealing with it. I sigh, get up, go look in the bathroom. Not there. Kitchen. Not there. Under the dining room table. Not there. Living room. Not there. Oh, great, he's probably wreaking havoc upstairs. I look, but he's not there. Hmm. Maybe I missed him. I go back downstairs and re-check all the rooms, plus the spare room. He's not there. Maybe I missed him upstairs? Back I go. Not in my room. Not in the boys room. Not in the baby room. Not in the bathroom. Oh boy. Then I hear a knock knock knock. I am relieved. I think it must be our neighbor, Manuel, bringing him back. The boys like to go over to their house because they have a little girl around Malachi's age, and in the summer they would give them kool-aid. But when I get to the door, it is not Manuel. Rather, it is a police woman. "Do you know this little guy?" she asks me. I do. Apparently he took a walk down the street to 11th Avenue (which is a rather busy street). I thank her profusely for finding him, and after showing her my ID and talking a little more, she leaves. Then I lock the porch door, all three locks on the front door, and put a gate up between the living room and the entry way so he can't even go there. I felt like my heart would fall out of my chest. Soon after, the little escapee falls asleep on the couch. His adventure has tuckered him out.
The funny thing is, this is not the first time this has happened. He did the same thing while at a friend's house last spring. What does it mean when your kid has had two run-ins with the cops and he's not even three years old yet?! But really, I am just glad he's okay, and he's back with me, safe. The little guy can certainly be a trial at times, but I love him, and I couldn't bear to have anything happen to him. One of those weird paradoxes, I guess.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Day 1
The problem with writng EVERY day is that I don't always feel like I have a lot to say. I suppose that's why it will be good for me, force me to dig deep and all that. Actually it's not so much that I have nothing to say as it is that I don't know what I want to say that I also want other people to read.
Right now, I have two thoughts going on in my head. The first is "Look I have now kept my New Year's Resolution for one whole day isn't that wonderful."
Secondly, as I write, I can hear Aaron on the baby monitor. He's telling the boys the story of Moses and the burning bush, and he's telling them how God heard the cries of the Israelites enslaved in Egypt, how God hears us and He loves us. I am struck by the beauty of it. I wonder what they think, those little boys, hearing for the first time (or at least not remembering if they've heard it before). I wonder what they think about God. I wonder if they really know yet that He's real. I think Malachi does. Recently he had been complaining to his grandma that his leg hurt, and when she asked him about it another time, he said that it was all better because God noticed him. God noticed that he was hurting and He healed him. It's nice when God notices you...and He does a lot more than we think. There have been times I have felt like He had forgotten about me...but He didn't. He noticed me. He noticed that I felt forgotten too. He is really always working. One of my favorite verses is Philippians 1:6, "Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ." I'm glad to know that.
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