Skip to main content

Oh, hello there

I feel like I should apologize for not updating for so long. Then I feel a bit immodest for wanting to apologize – what, do I think there are so many people waiting with baited breath for my next post? It’s a weird thing, having a blog.

My reasons: I was in internet blackout mode for much of last week (insofar as possible, given that I work in web design) for fear of Harry Potter spoilers. I’ve been busier at work than I normally am. And my kids haven’t done anything interesting, funny, or adorable lately so what’s to write about? (Joke.)
Our parish priest died in his sleep a few nights ago. I was talking to my mother-in-law about it, and she said she can’t figure out the reason behind it. (By which she meant the cosmic reason, not the actual reason – he died of sleep apnea, apparently.) I was struck by that. I’ve never been one to believe that “everything happens for a reason.” Is there a reason that Aimee’s friend, a young woman of three young children, may not live to see her kids grow up? If there is a reason, it would have to be a pretty crappy one. I’d prefer to believe that things just happen. I don’t think that God makes things happen; I think that God is just there to help us cope with what does happen.

Uh, welcome back! This isn’t quite what I planned to write about. I’m not sure what I’m even trying to say. Maybe I should disappear for another week.

Anyway. Here’s a cute pic from our vacation, which seems like years ago already. Do we have cute kids or what?

Comments

aimee said…
Hi! I missed you! And is it immodest of me to say, "Does there have to be anyone else that misses you if I do?" Maybe a little, huh?

I have struggled with that "everything happens for a reason" too. I still struggle with it.

Sweet photo. You will have to email that to me.
Anonymous said…
I missed you too! So that is two of us.

I also struggle with the reasons of things happening. It seems almost trite to say that, or maybe it is trite because we hear it so much. But I really don't know what I think. What possible reason can there be for young mothers to die of cancer, or for children to die, or for hundreds of other things that seem unexplainable to us? I just don't know.

That is one of the few group photos with Phoebe in it. I am working on my scrapbook of that week, and I seem to have very few pictures of her.

Mom

Popular posts from this blog

I ask you

This is my garden: Or rather, this is the patch of soil that was my garden last summer. It produced millions of tomatoes, dozens of green peppers, a handful of cucumbers, and two puny watermelons. I do not wish to repeat last summer's vegetable bounty, because most of said bounty went to waste. Nor, however, do I want this patch of soil to remain brown and bare throughout the summer, because it's unattractive. So, what do I plant here, in the shrubbery/flowery vein? Keep in mind that I do not have a green thumb. Also, I don't want to spend a lot of money. Also, this area is in full sun most of the day. And it's really hot. And sometimes we get rabbits. Any advice? To thank you in advance, I give you these goofy photos of my children and their homemade parfaits (which Mallory persisted in calling "specialinis").

the closet

Amy has challenged me to list 8 things that are hidden in the back of my closet. I try not to actually look to closely at the back of my closet, so these are my closest guesses: 1. At least three no-longer-needed diaper bags. 2. An outfit that I've been meaning to return to Land's End for at least six months now. 3. One of our wedding pictures, which has a broken frame which I keep meaning to replace. 4. Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes. 5. Possibly a pair of fuzzy slippers. I miss those fuzzy slippers. Maybe I should brave the mess and go try to find them. 6. Baby blankets. 7. A few small toys that I meant to stick in the girls' Christmas stockings. Maybe next year. 8. And I'm guessing, a bunch of mismatched socks. My closet isn't very interesting, I'm afraid.

It's what's for dinner

One of the things that I failed to appreciate about my mom until I left home is that she always made dinner (although I think we called it supper then), by which I mean, something hot, usually involving a vegetable. I don't remember my mom ever saying sheepishly to her hungry spouse and offspring, "I don't feel like cooking, how about a bowl of cereal?" I hate making dinner. Haaate it. It's my least favorite chore. It's not necessarily because I can't cook. I can usually manage to create something edible, although I have yet to perfect the science of getting, say, the chicken and the broccoli and the rice and the rolls all ready at the same time. (There are those among you who may be surprised that I make and serve broccoli. It's true! It's best when roasted: Toss with olive oil and salt, spread on a baking sheet, put in 400 degree oven for about 8 minutes. It's delicious! Delicious as broccoli can be, at least.) It's also not necessarily t...