grandma's christmas cookie cutters

sometime between dinner, homework and goodnight kisses 3 dozen cookies needed to be baked.  "it's a school project, mom." she said.  and who was i to argue with school or with a project.  "we need to have a recipe which we can halve or double, for Real World Math," she continued.  

"what? no slice and bake?" i asked, trying to conceal my disappointment. "we have to make REAL dough and bake REAL cookies...really? the whole nine yards? tonight?" 

 i glanced at the clock and did my best to stifle the sigh taking shape in my tired body.  rick was out of town and the oldest daughter was upstairs in bed, sick.  my usually helpful, oldest boy had announced he was slammed with pre-christmas-break-trying-to-fit-it-all-in-homework. and he disappeared down the stairs to his room.

that left me alone with the three youngest. i eyeballed them all standing expectantly in my kitchen, a cloud of anticipation hovering over their eager faces.  it was 7:45 and it had already been a very long day.  i just wasn't sure i had it in me to push back bedtimes and pull out the rolling pin and measuring cups.  

i tried one more time. "are you sure we can't do slice and bake?  how about drop cookies? rice krispie treats? oreos?" i was reaching for simpler straws here,  but my young ones, in their excitement, were already opening drawers and cabinets pulling out supplies and discussing decorating ideas.  before i knew what hit me, the island countertop was covered in flour and i had a mixing spoon in my hand.  my 11 year old daughter was calling out instructions to everyone. (she is like that).  somehow my clean, post-dinner kitchen had been overtaken by small people and too many ingredients.

sugar cookies.  does anyone have a really good recipe?  because i don't.  i would pay money for a good one.  well, maybe not money, but i'd really, really like a good, fail-proof, simple, yet yummy recipe.  do share! we mixed up the ingredients pretty quickly.  my daughter did her Real World Math, her doubling and halving thing, and then it was time to roll out the dough --everyone's favorite part.  for my kids, this is where all those years of working with playdough come in handy.  they believe themselves to be experts because, for years, they have been doing this with multi-colored, manufactured, chemically altered playdough.  playdough always works.  real dough doesn't.  real dough tastes a whole lot better, but it is difficult to manuever.  there is a fine balance between adding more water or adding more flour.  the dough can be too sticky or the dough can be too dry--it just depends.  playdough is always playdough and it is perfect until some careless kids mixes the colors, leaves the lid off or smears it into the living room rug.

but good recipe or not, rolling out the dough isn't easy.  at least in my kitchen it isn't easy.  plus, i had to give everyone a chance to try.  even bella insisted.  there was no way she was missing out on this pre-bedtime fun.  five minutes into the endeavor i was certain all of us would need to be bathed tonight.  there was flour everywhere.  even the dog, who had strategically positioned himself below us, was wearing a fine coat of white.  i saw bedtime creeping further away from my weary-woman clutches.  i don't know about you, but i need my children in bed at a reasonable hour, especially in a busy season like christmas.  i had plans for tonight;  christmas cards to address, teacher gifts to prepare, a few presents to wrap, (modern family to watch). but instead i was standing in my kitchen covered in baking flour and trying to keep three children from eating raw cookie dough.

with our lousy dough finally rolled out on the counter, it was time for the cookie cutters.  it's not that i bake cookies all the time, but you'd think by the size of my cookie cutter collection, i ran a small business out of my kitchen.  at the top of my pantry are two huge bins filled with cookie cutters.   we have the entire alphabet, all the numbers possible, enough stars to light the nightitme sky and hearts of every size.  we have leaves and trees and flowers and at least a couple dozen animals, including a kangaroo.  a kangaroo?  yes, a kangaroo.   "i want to make christmas trees, mama."  sarah declared, her head barely looking up from the too thin dough she was rolling.  "please find me a christmas tree."  i was right there with her.  let's make this simple, let's just do one thing and do it well.  we didn't need to use all 400 cookie cutters. oh no, we just needed to get in a groove, repeat a pattern, come up with a system--bake the cookies, and bed the children. bam! that was my plan---until i came across my grandma's christmas tree cookie cutter.

it was mixed in with the rest of the 400,  like nothing special. except that it is. special. clearly old fashioned, there was nothing plastic or easy grip about this cutter.  i pulled it out and held it in my flour-coated hand.  and as i sat there on my dirty kitchen floor,  i remembered, as a child, eating cookies exactly this shape.  i remembered the simple green sugar grandma used to cover these trees.  nothing extravagant, but beautiful to the eyes of a small girl. and delicious.  i don't know if it is true, but my grandmother seemed to do a lot of baking, at least in comparison to me.   growing up, for the first part of my childhood, we lived in a duplex with my grandparents. grandma's kitchen was just downstairs and it was quiet and clean and her dough was always perfect.  every year we spent christmas eve downstairs at my grandma's.  cousins came and christmas happened exactly the same way. we'd eat dinner and nibble on the christmas cookies, open presents and then head off to candlelight service at the exotic hour of eleven.  i am sure i took all of it for granted. there was nothing particularly special about this gathering repeated year after year at grandma's house. except, it was. 

we don't have that with our own children.  sure we have two wonderful grandma's houses to visit, but they aren't just down the stairs or just down the street.  they are 6 hours and 12 hours away,  and so it is different.  a couple of miles don't separate the kids from their cousins, but thousands of miles.  we have cousins in ohio, new york, oregon and utah.  too far to go for christmas cookies or candlelight church.  and oh, can i tell you, this grieves me.   probably one of my main regrets in life is all this distance between family.  i know my siblings feel it too. and i am sure the grandparents feel it even worse.  i grew up with grandparents involved in the tiniest intricacies of my life, with cousins who came to every birthday celebration, with summer cookouts, sunday afternoon visits and holiday meals.  we never had to think about what we were doing or where we were doing it, at least from my young-girl perspective, it all seemed simple.  there's not one sibling or cousin of mine that doesn't think of their birthday and not remember grandma's graham cracker cake with cream cheese frosting.  she baked one for everyone's birthday each year -- young and old.  i grew up on graham cracker cake.  i think of it every single time i turn another year older.

and sitting on my kitchen floor with this christmas tree cookie cutter in hand, i thought again of grandma.  i thought again of all those holidays with my extended family. it seemed almost too much for me at this late hour, with all these children, in all this baking mess, with all this bedtime still out ahead.  there are times when even we mother's long to return to things simple and similar.  times when we'd like to waltz down the stairs to christmas dinner and beautifully wrapped presents at grandmother's house.   but we are the dinner cookers and present wrappers and cookie bakers and magic makers.  we are the ones carefully creating special moments and lasting memories.   and, oh, let me just say, this delights me to be so.  i love this deeply.  i love my role, my job, my calling, my mothering.  as a little girl, i wanted nothing more then to grow up and have a home of my own and fill it with little ones and laughter and beauty.  but sometimes we bake cookies late at night, with wild children, and dirty floors and sticky dough.  and sometimes the magic feels a little dull and a little disappointing. because this is real life and real life is a little messier than our  girl-dreams imagined.  but then we find a treasure like grandma's christmas tree cookie cutter, and we remember.  and though it takes a lot of work to bake the cookies and make the merry, it is worth it. every sticky, flour-covered piece of it.

and tired, but encouraged, i take the christmas tree cookie cutter from the box of 400 and tell my youngest three, "this belonged to my grandma, let me tell you about her."



author's note:  something new i learned this christmas -- age 43:
if you allow a 3 year old girl to play with too much flour, she will, undoubtedly, spill most of it on the floor.  and the large golden retriever waiting patiently below will, undoubtedly, do his very best to lick it all up.  except that his mad tongue licking will only accomplish dampening the flour on the floor.  and when just the right amount of moisture is added to flour,  it eventually turns into a rather substantial paste.  a paste so substantial, it will require nothing short of multiple scalding hot water rinses and a razor blade to remove -- the next day.  

labor days

"unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain."  ~ psalm 127:1

labor. i know this word. i know it as a woman who labored long and hard in four sweaty, slow births. i know it as an adoptive mother who labored, even longer and harder, through a year of paperwork and pleading. i have worked for my children - each and every one of them -- toiled hard, in fact.  but, i can tell you, the bringing of them was nothing in comparison to the keeping of them.


i understand labor as a mother of five who gets up early and stays up late and still feels her work here is never done.  

there is always one more load of laundry to throw in or one more load of dishes to take out. there are beds to make and floors to wash and children to feed every day -- nope, no holidays in this home. there is toothpaste spittle in the sink, grime growing in my garden tub and unmentionables found hiding in old containers from the fridge or underneath beds. labor day or leisure day, you can count on it!

and some days this toiling mother is just plain old worn out and overwhelmed. some days this weary woman wants to sit down in the middle of it all and cry. i love my life and i even love my mess (for the most part), but every now and then i feel the urge to stand up on my sticky countertop and shout "calgon, take me away!" except there's the issue of that grimy garden tub...


the wood floors of our house are covered with scratches. dog feet and children's feet and roller skates (i never once gave them permission).  there's a large dent in the family room floor from the great end table and lamp crash of 2009.  on the front stairs you'll find the perfect shade of candy apple red nail polish, compliments of little-miss-help-myself-girl. and if you look closely you'll notice the back stairs host a residual throw up stain, compliments of the cat. there are splotches and smears and cracks and creases all over this house. it is a home.  and it comes with all the markings and makings and utter mayhem of a family.

we love it and we labor in it every single day. oh, how we have labored over our home - almost not a square inch of it left untouched. much of the work we've taken on ourselves. sometimes it has ended well and sometimes it has ended with a desperate call to a professional. thankfully, it has never ended with a trip to the emergency room--but we've come pretty darn close.  

boy in tree

man in tree

cooper, bella and me --- supervising (praying).

last weekend my husband and sons began taking down a top-heavy tree in our front yard - a bradford pear with some issues. i came outside to find man in tree with chainsaw and our children running around hither and thither below. judiciously, i decided the scene was in need of at least one more adult person, so i stayed. bella and i sat in the grass and watched the arbor drama unfold.  

and i wondered to myself what would we do without a home and a yard and a whole bunch of children?  i can't tell you how many times in our marriage rick has said to me,  "what in the world did we do before kids?" it is such a funny thought to us both. we really can't quite remember.

the year after we bought this house so much went wrong:  hot water tank replacing, electrical system failing, phone line malfunctioning, deck rotting, sinks leaking, showers leaking, roof leaking, air conditioning not cooling, sprinkler system exploding...it was quite a year. (so much for that thorough home inspection)!  when we were first considering whether or not to purchase this place on buttercup, i did my very best to convince rick the house needed "only a little TLC... only some cosmetic updating."  only a little carpeting and paint was needed to make it our dream home. 

he would tell you today to beware of a woman who claims a house needs only a little cosmetic updating.

and so we dug in and moved in and then, guess what? the roof caved in. do you remember the 1986 movie "the money pit" with shelley long and tom hanks?  that was us. though rick and i were only in our junior year of high school and hadn't even yet met, i'm pretty sure (somehow) they based that movie on the mcnatt family. you think i'm kidding? go ahead and ask my husband. on second thought, please don't -- that subject matter puts him in a terribly ugly mood.

one morning, i was so distraught over the various grievances in our home, i got up early and sat on the couch pleading with God. i cried out and asked Him to intervene. in the middle of my pleading (and whining), i decided what i needed to do was to pray over every item in our house -- every surface --  every thing i could think of.  i prayed blessing and protection over the roof, the walls, the floors, the plumbing, the electrical, the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the garage, the driveway, the yard...all of it. literally, i walked around from room to room praying fervently. praying passionately. i prayed like a woman on the edge ... like a woman insane. i was a woman insane.


i had no sooner finished my fervent praying when, walking back into the kitchen, i felt something wet hit the top of my head. i stopped and looked up at the beam separating the family room from the kitchen and noticed a nice bead of water dripping from its painted lip. at that same moment my sock covered feet connected with the puddle below. it was a perfectly sunny day and my roof was leaking.  i knew right then we were in some serious trouble.  i looked up that beam and looked up at the Lord and cried, "okay, that's it God, i give up!"


i am still not completely sure what He was telling me - teaching me. if i had to guess it would have something to do with my need to surrender. yes, that's been such the theme of this blog -- from cancer to kids to chaos. i am being taught to unclench my fists and unfurl my fingers. i am (slowly) learning to release the white wrapped knuckles of my lists and my laboring. i am finding that unless God builds it, unless God is in it, i will labor in vain. whether it is updating my home or training up my children -- if He is not in it, i am chasing the wind. and all my toil and talents will return empty. void. in vain.  


i don't pretend  to know the mind of God. but i do know that the next year, He prepared our hearts to go to thailand and to prayerfully consider mission work.  i know the year after that He opened our eyes to the possibility of adoption. and the year after that he brought bella home. and well, this year, cancer came calling. i am not trying to wrap up all of these messy things in a tidy little package, but i do know each year God has brought us something which has required us to surrender and submit. whether it be our kids or our homes or our health ... God desires us to release them to Him, to His hands. 


our homes and families take so much of our time and energy. and what blessing can be found in both! i believe, very much, i am supposed to be right where i am working, laboring, loving. there are always projects to be completed and there is always building and work to be done. but, as a mother with a long "to do" list, i need to remember what kind of building really counts. i am pretty sure God isn't all that concerned about the color of my walls or the cleanliness of my carpet.  this summer i came across this verse in haggai,  

"'what you brought home, I blew away. why?' declares the Lord Almighty, 'because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with his own house.'" ~ haggai 1:9 

God chastises the israelites for being too focused on their own homes and not working on the building of His home - the temple.  

i don't know about you, but that makes me pause in my tracks and ponder a bit: what am i building? where am i laboring? what is taking up my time, my energy, my focus?

something to think about on this labor day ... something to consider for those of us with our long "to do" lists and our many hours of labor. 

definitely something for me to think about.

"Labor Day, the first Monday in September, is a creation of the labor movement and is dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers. It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country."

work isn't a bad thing. God created us to work ... to even take pride in our work. paying tribute to the contributions of those who have labored hard for our country is a great thing. we have much to celebrate. but we can't forget, whether in our country or in our homes, who we are working for and what we are working toward.

"whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ." ~ colossians 3:23-24

"why spend your money on what is not bread, and your labor on

 what does not satisfy? listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,

 and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. "  ~ isaiah 55:2

mudding

i had every intention of doing something grand with it -- at the very least something pleasant or pretty.  we have this side section of yard which has been left unattended since we moved in almost 5 years ago.  it is on the far side of the house, so it wasn't hard to ignore.  not to mention there have been plenty of other things to keep us busy in our home needing everything. but all along i've had plans. i've thought about a shade garden or stepping stones or an ivy planted path.  i've, at the very least, considered fresh pinestraw and a few shrubs.  something better than the unkept portion of yard that it is hidden from our view.  every so often i would walk over to it and kind of stand and stare.  wondering when there'd be time and money to address its pitiful state. wondering if the neighbors minded our neglect.


but my boys got to it first.  last night, while out watering, i turned the corner and found remnants of ramps and mud and a whole lot of mess.  i didn't have to wonder who had done this.  my boys abandon pieces and parts of themselves wherever they happen to wander. they leave evidence. they had clearly been in this side yard and they had built themselves a "mudding place."  surprisingly, i don't happen to know a whole lot about mudding places, but i guess this is where you (if you are 8 or 13 or male) clear the ground of debris, soak it with the hose, and then ride your bike or ATV through it a thousand times until the spot looks like chocolate pudding.  it did. the secondary goal is kicking up as much mud as is humanly possible. but the main goal, the primary goal, the ultimate goal is covering your boy body with this mud. much mud. so much mud.


i am proud to tell you my boys were tremendously successful in their mudding.  i saw evidence of it on their bikes and shoes and laundry the day before and had wondered about the tire tracks in the garage. i wondered about the pile of clothes dropped before the washing machine.  now i knew.  my side yard was a mud pit with a couple of ramps and not sprig of ivy anywhere to be found. no ivy, nothing green. just brown.


as parents we give up some things, don't we? i learned years ago i'd be required to give up pristine and picturesque.  i mean i could kill myself trying, but it wouldn't be worth it.  i want my kids to value where we live and how we live.  i want them to have a sense of pride, a sense of doing things well - doing them right.  i want them to be civil and clean cut and tidy enough -- picking up after themselves and leaving things better than they found them.  i want that. i'm even fairly certain this kind of training is in my job description. but i know it's a process.  and in the process we have to live and breathe and be muddy. sometimes really muddy.


and we might have to give up continuously clean floors or uninterrupted sleep or showcase garages.  but we get a whole lot more than we give up. since entering into motherhood 15 years ago, i have had to let a few things go.  i've had to uncurl my fingers from some stuff.  stuff i was holding too tightly anyway.  it is good for us to let go every now and then.  i have found, it can lighten the load. 


someday i will have a delightful side yard full with stepping stones and ivy and maybe even a stone bench.  it is not time, however, for that stone bench.  if i was to place it in the yard today it would only become part of a ramping system.  my boys and their friends would be jumping their various vehicles off of it's quaint stone seat in a heartbeat -- because that's what they do. they do this with bunk beds and bean bags and couches.  we, just this summer, replaced tyler's futon because of jumping teenage boys. i stood in the line of ikea and wondered, "why in the world are we replacing this?"  it could very well be broken again by next summer.  next week. mother sigh. 


we bought a trampoline years ago (best purchase ever, by the way) thinking that would help.  it does -- a little.  but it is not nearly enough.  jumping is who they are and how they relate. they jump and they get muddy. and with this comes breaking things and tracking in things. and i love it.  not all of it.   not everyday.  but, for the most part, i love being the mother of two boys, jumping and muddy and all.


and this neat-freak mother will stand at her kitchen window or walk down to her side yard and she will watch.  she may not necessarily want to join in, but she will watch her boys.  she will watch them in their glory and in their guts and even in their gross.  and she will think this is now.  and it is good.  because someday they will be clean and gone and there will be ivy and a stone bench in their place. but this is now. beautiful and muddy and now.

getting messy

i'll admit, i like things neat.  i'm not over the top about it -- at least i don't think i am.  don't ask my children - they'll only be tempted to lie.  but i like order and organization. i have a thing for clean and tidy. i like a place for everything and everything in its place.  the truth is, i just like to be able to find things.  


in my house growing up, we were always searching for tape and scissors.  it seemed we spent much of the 70's hunting for these two basic, desk drawer items. i am not sure our family ever wrapped a birthday gift which didn't first require a half-crazed goose chase for supplies. my mother always used a sharp steak knife to cut her wrapping paper.  not that many years ago, she told me it was because she preferred this method.  all along i had just assumed it was because she couldn't find the scissors.  i suppose this is a chicken or egg kind of thing.


it won't surprise you to know that i have a ridiculous amount of tape and scissors stashed in my own home today. you'll find them scattered generously throughout each room.  i have never counted, but am pretty sure i could easily tally up at least 25 pair of scissors and 10 rolls of tape on any given day. disturbing, i know.  and what's more, i have to squash the urge to buy an additional roll or pair every time i pass the office product aisle at the grocery store or target.  i even have scissors marked for special things.  one pair has a tag declaring "material only."  does that seem too direct?  too inflexible?  i am hoping so.  anyone who works with fabric or ribbon knows once scissors are subjected to paper or wood or skin (yes, skin), they'll never cut well again.  


i can't say anyone else in my house, though, is especially sensitive to this sharp issue.  just this morning i found my "material only" scissors on the garage workbench with a telltale piece of black, duct tape stuck to the pristine pointed blade -- without a doubt, the work of my oldest son. total disregard for his mother's one simple request.  apparently he couldn't find the "duct tape only" scissors. 


so i've always kind of had these issues with neatness.  and then God gave us five children.  funny, huh? with the addition of each child i have watched my idol of order and cleanliness crumble. i mean it, crumble. crash.  shatter. implode.  i realized after about the third child, i would need to relinquish some of this control or i'd pretty much end up a lunatic hoarding scissors and tape and chasing behind children with paper towels and cleaning agents.  out of necessity, and for the sake of sanity, i decided to bend a little. 

Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing up is 

like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing. ~ phyllis diller

but there are times though when i want to corral all five of them in a room for a bit, just so i can clear off the counters. just so i can stare dreamily at those clean counters for five, lovely, uninterrupted minutes and not see cups and saucers and glue sticks and weaponry begin its multiplication process.   it is not uncommon for me to finish the dishes, hang the towel over empty sink,  put noodles away in the pantry and come back to the sink only to find 17 dirty items have appeared.  the dirt in my house is like rabbits. dishes too -- like rabbits.


but what's the big deal about making a mess? life is messy.  if it isn't, i'd have to imagine it kind of boring.  it is in the times i have chosen to get my hands really dirty that i have felt the pulse of real living.  a few years ago my daughter, emily, and i went to st. louis on a missions trip.  we spent a week working with children in the inner city -- setting up programs and playing games and pushing them on swings.  our time was hot and loud and sticky.  many of these kids were starved for smiles and arms and affection.  they curled up on our laps and clung to our necks without reservation.  


one night we brought out bubbles and balloons and face paint. all of it was enjoyed, but the face paint, well, it just took the cake!  little girl after little girl wanted us to draw butterflies and rainbows across her arm or cheek or leg.  we painted balloons and smiley faces and kitty cats of every color.  suddenly though, one percocious child decided to turn the game around and draw on us.  she thought it would be fun to color our faces and arms.  it only took one spunky girl, named elizabeth, to start this circus rolling, and before we knew it, we were green.  i mean it, green.

and that night as we climbed into our church vans and drove back across town, the face paint began to dry and crack.  we all began to itch and sweat under its smear.   but we laughed looking at each other's faces.  our painted facials glowing in the dashboard light. the whites of our eyes were brilliant and our lips looked like something from a saturday morning cartoon.  we were all so altered.  and that is it --  we were altered.  driving home that night, after the laughter ended and the quiet began, i felt the tears slowly roll down my green cheeks.  tear after tear came, thinking about the precious children we had left behind. those children who also became teary-eyed every evening when it was time for us to pull away. some of them so small. some of them returning to problems so big. my own tears streaming color down my cheeks softened the cracked surface of paint on my face -- green tears softening the cracked surface of my heart.   

sometimes you have to get messy to make something beautiful.

"an immaculate house is a sign of a wasted life." 

(well, sort of).

things they leave

i wasn't gone long, maybe and hour or so at most. but it doesn't take much these days. when i walked back into my summertime home i was astounded by the crime scene playing out in my kitchen.  speechless at the plates and bowls and cereal and syrup and silverware scattered across every kitchen surface;  like it had been the goal.  like it had been a competition in chaos - and we won.  i felt the burn begin to rise. from pit of stomach to forehead it seared upward - hot and heavy.  i flung my bag on desk chair and swept into the mess, sweating out my dangerous mother-thoughts.  words already spewing from that bleak place of parental-indignation.  that ugly gut feeling of fed-up.  who do these children think they are?  what do these children think i am?  all the while looking for someone, anyone, even the dog, to unfurl my coil of displeasure upon.  for, be assured,  i had plans to unfurl.  words quickly formed, poised and ready. it took nothing but this ghastly entrance after only an hour's absence.

i bet you might recognize this scene.   possibly it has happened even in your own home.  maybe it happens daily. or maybe it belongs to my household alone. (sigh). but summertime children leave trails.  lots of trails.  and sometimes these trails can erupt into paths of mass destruction.  nothing spared.  nothing left unscathed by their july-day dalliances.  breakfast begins with my morning coffee at six and seems to continue through the noon hour.  children come from different corners of our home with mussed hair and peeling noses and squinty eyes. they come stumbling in, one by one, looking for pancakes or muffins or the day's plan.  these same children who left popcorn bowls from last night's movie piled high in the sink.  these same children who leave flipflops and footprints from front door to back.  these summer-full children who live out loud under the hot roof of our home.  they come.

and throughout the day they blaze little trails.  bread crumb paths strewn with their summer stuff. the littlest girl leaves evidence of baby dolls and trinkets and teacups. she tracks in sand and trails fruit snacks from room to room.  her brothers bring boy things.  car parts and wrenches and batteries and mud.  much of what i find them leaving makes me wonder.  especially the oldest, he is the boy who always has something strange in his hands or pockets.  i have learned to check his clothing carefully before adding any of it to the family laundry load.  there is a plastic container on my laundry room sink for his items alone.  fishing lures and string and skipping stones and pocket knives.  i keep telling myself to photograph it for someday, this plastic container holding clues to my son, will be gone.  he will have traded them all in for grown up things like receipts, keys and dollar bills.


then there are these two older girls sharing our cluttered space.  actually sharing everything under the sun -  at least everything in their mother's bathroom drawers and closet.  these two young ladies have become pros at sharing my things with themselves.  in they come, leaving their telltale-trails, and out they go taking hair products and jewelry and clothing.  just last week i went looking for tweezers.  i was smack in the middle of an eyebrow emergency - no one had bothered to inform me i was so overdue.  it took the light of day and a glance in my rearview mirror to make me horrifically aware.  and so i found myself desperately scrounging around in my bathroom drawer - frantic woman with frightening eyebrows and tweezers nowhere to be found.  gone. i headed straight for the 15 year old's room.  mad mother on a mission.  of course the tweezers were sitting on her sink along with my new bottle of nail polish and a favorite ring.


these girls, like their brothers, are also quite gifted in their leavings.  leaving bits and pieces of themselves in each room:  beads and yarn and earrings and lipgloss.  they deposit paint brushes and purses and ipods in strange places. ballet flats under tables and fashion magazines on the sofa.  i sometimes gather these items in my arms and consider hiding the whole mess - the whole kit and kaboodle, hiding it all.  slowly removing the things i find scattered, one by one, until our home is nothing more than brick and mortar.  not saying one more word about the mess, just quietly removing the pieces and parts of our lives which are delinquently left.  though the thought is tempting, and even entertaining, i have come to realize i would need to purchase costly (and large) storage space for this teaching moment to take place.  and so instead, i call them to the items and point and show and explain (again) the importance of caring for our things. and i bite my sharp tongue and attempt not to over-lecture something so small.


because these girls, like their brothers, will someday be gone.  they will leave.  my tweezers will remain in my bathroom drawer and the kitchen counters will be eternally and impossibly clean.  footprints and fingerprints will be missing from my hardwood floors and glass deck doors and my washing machine will only offer up an occasional coin or two.   things will be calm.  the driveway will be empty and order will be restored. and i know, even now, i will miss these things which they leave - evidence of them.

"there is a time for everything, and a season for 

every activity under heaven..."  ~ ecclesiastes 3:1