Set a Watch? Psalm 141:3

. 3 Set a watch, O LORD, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips.

Did they have watches, back then, mother? No son. Not a wristwatch and guard of correction. Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth.What a telling question, that was, dear young son. What a reminder for me to feed you with the pablum of instruction and correction that are my responsibility.

Now You are Eight! Ezra.

I love the eight year old maturity and curiosity that I see in Ezra's eyes. It takes me back to Mrs. Beekman's class. It takes me back to the very first time I laid eyes on the book, Cheaper by the Dozen. Aunt Jackie had recommended it to me in a little talk that we had. She was feeding my voracious appetite for books and I was so glad that she did. It was a book that I could relate to. The realities of the uncomfortability and cultural misplacement of being part of a big family was embraced and expressed, so beautifully for me. I fell in love with the Gilbraith family.
Coincidents of the relationship between reading and reality started to happen. I had no sooner completed the book that in the SRA reading Lab a portion of the book came up as part of my reading log. I had already read it in my head, but now, another voice was reading the book to me on the tape and I followed along with greater intensity, because of the familiarity of the information. I felt like I was a part of their family. I felt that my father was not the only "strange bird" extremist, with controlling ways. I felt that someone else had been where I had been. This was part of my relationship with the world at age 8.

My Moon River!

This morning's meditation was- Why did God make you and all things? {catechism}

We decided, this morning that God must be glorified with love and loving relationships. You were certainly not an afterthought to Him. We are amazed at how our hearts are warmed and delighted with you and your sweetness.
We went back to the day 8 years ago and 2 funerals that led up to your arrival on the scene of our lives. Uncle Mose passed and then Grandpa Bob and it was just after Grandpa Bob's funeral that I went into labor: a month earlier than expected and completely exhausted from grieving. What a delight to know that God had it all planned. What a comfort to know that God is writing the story of our lives and includes surprises in His mercies. You were a surprise party from God and it was interesting to think that you wanted to see yourself come into the room that day 8 years ago to a waiting audience of a family and smile at the comfort of the familiar sounds and senses. "I want to see myself coming into that room; a little 5 lb. baby." You said. Of course, you can't remember, that is why we tell you the story so often.

Midsummer's Day's Dreams

My big Ezra, is running swiftly toward 8 years old. The interesting thought of the 2 boys taking a walk with eachother. 10 minutes and Ezra is back at home and Ethan is still out there. Exposed to the elements. What happened, baby boy? Mother, we got to a cross roads and Ethan wanted to cross a street where I didn't know my way. I decided to go home and not follow him.
I admire a young man, who can think on his own volition. Ethan was worried about Ezra having gotten hit by a car and Ezra was worried about Ethan getting lost. Ethan wouldn't change his course for his concern and neither would Ezra, they both chose to spend the next 20 minutes apart from eachother, seeking their own way. This is the way of the 2 adventurers that I have birthed. Lewis and Clark would have been dismantled, had they decided to separate. I do hope that the 20 minutes of anxiety at the thought of the loss of eachother has sunk deep upon you both.

Happy F-Day

Chopping Looney Toons? Tunes?

Every once in a while, a word crosses your path and you learn to hate it. Maybe, you used to love the word. Then, all of a sudden, it trips you, and you hate it. You pick yourself up. You dust yourself off, and you go on in your spellaventure. My word throughout life was accurate. I learned to hate mispronunciation of words because when the spelling bee lady said, I am sorry. I remember my mindsearch through the files to see where I had misspelled that word. Today it is tune.
My baby, by dear sweet babyface, was in the class spelling bee. I nearly fainted. I nearly celebrated. I had to be there.
As is usually the case in the life of the youngest child, providence never accomodates the hurdle of the mother to the scene. I have to see him. I have to know that he really can spell. One of my own dear children, can actually spell, it didn't skip a generation, as I thought, by experience.

Car broke down, I was running. I was pushing. Oh! I missed the piesta resistance. But my baby is now my favorite second grade speller.