I’m behind. We were out of town in Texas last week, and I have lots of ideas about what to tell you: stories of bluebonnet-covered hills, children playing by the pond with sticks, making tissue paper flowers for my grandpa who’s in a nursing home down there, cuddles and hugs with cousins. However, I don’t have time to write a decent post. I don’t even have time to find a picture for this lame post.

I’ve got a messy kitchen (again) lots of laundry that needs to be put away (again), and the thought that I should perhaps purchase some food for the upcoming week and figure out what to do with it. Just a thought.

I read this thing the other day about Facebook for authors and how we’re supposed to post every day. Right. That is so not going to happen. I’m shooting for once a week blog posts and Facebook updates, and even that is ambitious. And the thought of that even seems crazy. Who wants daily updates? Who cares? Aren’t people busy?

And why do we put so much pressure on ourselves to be out there making noise? I’m supposed to be on Twitter, and Goodreads, and Facebook, and blog three times a week. I’m sorry, but no. And if everyone is being told to do all this, who is reading it? And who is living our lives that are sucked up by all this writing and reading of insignificant information?

All of it makes me want to go live in a shack by a pond. Too bad we’re so far away from Walden.

Anyway, all that ranting to say, I’ll try to post next week, and I’m going to go clean my kitchen now. I’m sure you understand.

Side note: I see why people hire publicists now. There’s a stinkin’ lot of work to be done publicizing a book: press releases, marketing plans, giveaways, mailing out prizes. But, Debbie Wilson reminded me, they never did any of that. They just put their books out there and saw what happened. And what happened was that people bought them because they got to the truths of what moms needed to hear. So. We may think we need to do all these crazy shenanignans (where’s spell check when I need it?), but we don’t.

God’s in control and He was in control before Twitter. He was in control when Daniel and his friends said, “That’s nice that everyone says we have to eat a certain diet, but we’ll take vegetables, thanks.” God was in control when the Israelites made fools of themselves (in others’ eyes) marching circles around a big city. But, in both cases, God took care of things.

So I don’t want to get too caught up in what all the blogs say authors have to do. I’ll do what I can, but when I need to, I have to make myself stop and take care of my first priorities.

God’s the one who will take care of things anyway. He’s the one who brings down the walls.

Does it seem like when you’re in a hurry to get out the door, your kids suddenly become deaf? And forgetful? I’ll be barking out
commands, trying to shove my children through their Morning Chores as fast as possible, and I’ll go in to a bedroom and find someone staring into space, “What?
Oh, sorry, Mom!”  Argh.

I realize I only have three children, but trying to keep them each going at their own, individual tasks, like brushing teeth, seems an exercise in futility. Does it take everyone else twenty-seven hours to brush teeth? We have to find the correct toothbrush, then one needs help opening the lid, (another kid is outside trying to find their shoes that they forgot out there the day before), then the toddler refuses to open his mouth or stop talking so I can brush his teeth, so I have to put him crying in the crib, then I have to
make my six-year-old stop talking so I can do the second pass on hers, and two years later we are finally done. It’s ridiculous. And, it’s not as if I can just ignore the teethbrushing  and just let them take a swipe at it themselves because one of my children had  FOUR CAVITIES the last time we went to the dentist! (Thank you, I’ll put that Terrible Mother medal around my neck now.)

So finally I’ll change the toddler’s diaper, everyone will manage to get clean clothes on and locate two matching (usually) shoes, and we are off to run some errand (or go get a cavity filled). It’s kinda been my fault lately, all these extra errands. Most of them have to do with the book, like mailing out review copies, or going by the post office, or some other errand I should have done on Friday afternoons but didn’t because I was working on trying to figure out Facebook.  So, despite the fact that Mom’s the crazy one dragging everyone all around town, I’m the one that gets all bent out of shape.

I’m yapping at them to hurry, and every glazed-over look and bickering with each other seems to add one more straw to my already aching back. I know the final straw is coming. (I realize I’m the camel in this scenario, but that’s how it is.) March is a bad month for me with my husband’s accounting busy season, and I start feeling behind, and overwhelmed and like a terrible mother (see cavity count for proof) and then, I seem to just be constantly snippy and impatient with my poor kids. Yesterday I told my husband that the kids and I had to get back to our usual routine, so the kids knew what to expect and hopefully would be a little more efficient with those basic things that tend to drive me nuts, and I really wanted to try to be more gentle with them.

And God usually helps me out with that by giving me laryngitis.  At least once a year, sometimes twice, I have a sore throat and can barely  talk. Last night my throat started feeling scratchy. And today, it hurt to talk.

Forced niceness. Forced lack of yelling. It’s a good thing. Today I had to whisper to the kids, or say something one time, then wait for them to obey. I’d softly say, “Lie on your back, so I can change your diaper,” then wait. It hurt too much to repeat it. Of course, my two-year-old would say, “NO!” or “I clean!” and run away, so I’d scoop him up and put him in the pack n’play. No telling him eighteen times, then angrily putting him in.
Just gently and kindly, I said, “You didn’t obey Mommy.”

When I had to correct my eight-year-old about something, I had to listen to him tell me about it. I couldn’t lecture him. And you know what, he didn’t need it. Turns out, he could tell me exactly what he did wrong, why it was wrong, and what to do differently next time. Who knew?

Later, I sat on the couch and listened to my six-year-old daughter telling me about squid because I couldn’t interrupt her.

My two-year-old came over when I was making a smoothie for lunch and asked what it was, and I had to kneel right down, look into his sweet eyes and whisper, “smoothie.” “Smoothie?” he whispered back, his brown eyes sparkling, as if we were sharing some deep secret. How many times do I stop, kneel down and look into his face during the day? Not a lot.

There was still a little bickering today. But not nearly as much as usual. I have to wonder if I snap black clouds at my kids in the morning, then they answer back with grumbling thunder, and before we know it, we’re flashing lightning at each other and the whole family gets caught in a downpour.

So, today, I was so very thankful for the reminder to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. I want to do that; I want to be a gentle, kind mom, I really do. I just get so much in a hurry with my plans and ideas that I forget to slow down and listen. I forget to stop, look into my children’s faces, and speak softly to them.

Today, we all yelled a lot less. Maybe I’ll try tape over my mouth every now and then.

Prayer for this week:

Proverbs 31:26 She opens her mouth with wisdom, and on her tongue is the law of kindness.

hail coloring page(sort of) > http://scijinks.nasa.gov/_media/en/site/rain/hail-formation-large.jpg

“Hail! Hail!” I screamed, and we all made a mad dash. Not indoors, no, but to the garage to get boots, umbrellas and (my kids’ brilliant idea) protective headgear. Because how often does it hail? Maybe once a year, if we’re lucky. It’s quite the event.

And what do you need for hail gathering but a snorkel mask, bike helmet, and a really big bowl.

My sweet little ducky baby. He was very serious. He needed a spoon.

“What are you going to do with all that hail?” I asked my seven-year-old.

“Show it to Daddy when he gets home of course!”

Of course!

I thought this would be a great science lesson, but I can’t find hail in any of our science books! Here’s a pretty good diagram though. http://scijinks.nasa.gov/_media/en/site/rain/hail-formation-large.jpg I’m hoping to have them color it at rest time, and I’ll explain it at dinner. We’ll see if that gets done.

Have a lovely day friends! Hope you’re enjoying the weather wherever you are, hailstorms or not!

Daffodils. I mean, really. What have I ever done on  this earth to deserve daffodils? Nothing, that’s what. Don’t you just want to die when you see them, popping out in starry bursts of gold in the morning? Like exuberant children out for the day with their sunny party hats on. Like teacups
of light and glory.

They are dancing happily all over our neighborhood this morning, and then when I’m in line at the McDonald’s drive through (ahem),
geese fly honking overhead. It’s all too much. Spring just kills me. The Bradford pears would have been enough for the rest of my life, but every day there is something else.

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork.
(Ps 19:1)

Someday I’d like millions of daffodils in the yard, like when I studied in England and the bus would go down the street and outside was just a sea of yellow, rippling in the wind, and inside I sat in bliss.

So I gathered some up this morning and brought them inside and they look lovely in the finally-cleaned kitchen.

Next up: laundry.

(I remember, this was one of my fourth-grade memory poems.)
I just looked it up and Wordsworth lived in England (I probably should have known that)so of course he had to write about daffodils. How could you not?

Happy Saturday!