Monday, June 20, 2011

Flowers From My Father

Have you ever had one of

*those days*

when breakfast was delivered to you in bed with a smile, and the kids had picked up their rooms, taken out the trash, fed the animals, put their clean clothes in the assigned locations, and gone outside to play together nicely for a couple hours? A day when the gallon of milk filled every cereal bowl at the table,  the growing boy's jeans still hit his tennis shoe at a fashionable length, and the washing machine repair man, who arrived on time, said, No problem, ma'am. I tightened that loose connection, and there will be no charge for my visit.

Ever have one of those?
Me neither.


I won't even describe mine to you (today) lest we begin to "one-up" each other and get bogged down in the realities of living life in the Mother Lane. or in the Wifing Lane. or in the Home Educator Lane. or in the Girlfriend Lane. I must say I have some amazing stories collected in my head, as well as on paper, of days with v.e.r.y. laughable least, they're laughable once those moments have passed.

On days with not-too-happy endings and tear-the-hair-out afternoons, I am grateful for 

Flowers From My Father. 

I'm sure I'll someday make references to my dad, Doug. Actually, I'm positive he'll get his own post sometime, (you will, too, Mom,) but when I say

Flowers From My Father...

I mean those little gifts that my heavenly Father leaves in quiet places to say,
I love you, Girl. 

Flowers, like:
the golden cast of sunset across the busy swing set
strong brown legs carrying a happy smile into my arms
the laughter of the kids in the pool
the single lily by the roadside, splashing color onto a drainage ditch
the exuberant warble of a hidden bird
a hard-working, helpful husband coming home every night because he loves us more than he loves himself
the chocolate kiss from sweet baby lips
a text from a friend that understands
an empty parking spot in the coveted shade (no matter how far it is from the store's entrance!)
a teenager's 'Night, Mom. Love you.

Things that make even the I'd-rather-not-talk-about-it days have sparkle, and life, and love. 
And that's the plan for this little blogspot. 
Musings of an honest friend, rantings of a frustrated mom, longings of my heart. I'll see if I can place them here, and when you stop by, bring a cup of hot tea. 
It's my one weakness.

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