Oxen

This Sunday was a bit hectic, even though we prudently planned (and shopped for) dinner the night before, and my singing time was all finished by bedtime Saturday. The problems occurred when we realized that we were out of white flour because I have been trying to use up our food storage in anticipation of a summer move. (assuming the Force ever gets around to telling us where we're going, BAH!) Luckily we have a wheat grinder and loads of wheat, but as I was loading up the grinder I found myself wondering if grinding wheat is really a 'Sabbath' sort of activity.

As children Sundays were a bit of a drag since we weren't allowed to run around outside or do anything rowdy (which excluded all fun in our minds). I remember one Sunday driving home from church with Mom wondering aloud if we were going to make it home on the fumes left in the gas tank. She could have easily justified buying gas to make sure we didn't get stranded somewhere, but her reply to this suggestion was a statement which has been often repeated in the Slade household: "The ox isn't in the mire if you pushed it in there!" It's sort of loosely based on the Savior's response to those accusing him of breaking the Sabbath day. Luke 14:5: "And answered them, saying, Which of you shall have an ass or an ox fallen into a pit, and will not straightway pull him out on the sabbath day?" (I'm assuming Mom didn't want to cause hilarity by referring to not pushing our ass into a pit. . . )

So, how often does my failure to plan constitute pushing the ox into the mire? By Orthodox standards I fail every Sunday, but we try to keep Sunday a more-or-less mellow family day in the hopes that we can focus on really important relationships. Let's hope that's what the kids remember, rather than the times I failed to plan and had to figure out substitutions for our dinner!

Wandering as I wonder

Spending a week at my parents house is always wonderfully weird. I no longer know which drawer the spoons are in, even though I know exactly where they used to be before the remodel. Being a guest in the place which was my home puts me in a place to reminisce, and also to re-evaluate. All the goals I had for myself as a 'kid' seem so much more present when I am in that 'kid's' home. And so far? I'm pretty sure that the teenaged me would be horrified at the boring, responsible mom I've become. She'd also be horrified at the wrinkles and stretch marks, but as I am trying to overcome my vanity as a useless cause, let's move on. It reminds me of something my grandfather wrote about my mom--that as a teenager she thought her parents were hopelessly old fashioned and out of date, but then she grew up to be an old fashioned kind of mom--which Grandpa thought was the best kind of mom to be.

So, as I move past my horror of becoming my mother I am more able to see the gifts of following in her footsteps. It's a gift of perspective.

We wandered about a fair amount last week, visiting places I love and love to re-visit. Hopefully as my kids grow up and have these same places treasured in their hearts it will bring us closer as they fondly remember. Maybe someday they'll even forgive me for being such a fuddy-duddy and understand.

Although, I doubt they will ever understand the impulse which makes me want to bring home as much fresh citrus as I can pack the van with. ;-)

The rising generation

Be afraid, be very afraid!

punch 'em

No on his second birthday, enjoying the punch 'em balloon from Grandma!

This post was brought to you by the letter 'Z'

For Zithromax.  Seriously, sinus infections are horrible and am I ever grateful to have relief.  The pic was taken by Em while we were waiting at the doctor's office.  She asked me to put it on the blob.  

Just imminent duty, and in the middle of it--ME!

I spent the (awesomely fun) weekend volunteering for Operation: COPE up in Eden, UT.   It's a program for military members designed to help them and military families prepare for deployment.  I helped out with childcare and activities for 15 little 3-5 year olds.  It was absolutely exhausting, but so much fun!  Saturday we had the gym full of inflatable slides, mazes and the gladiator contest thing where you stand on a pedestal and try to knock the other person off with a big foam battering ram.  I'm awfully glad that our kids were too young to do that one, because I had enough fun going into the maze to protect our little kids from the bigger ones (what do you call rug burns from an inflatable bounce house?  Vinyl burns?)  McGruff the crime dog visited (and scared the heck out of one of our little girls) and we watched the working military dogs.  The kids thought it was absolutely HILARIOUS to watch the dog take down the 'perp'.   (can you imagine the job description for that one?  Wanted:  person to run away from police dogs and get bitten many times per day while wearing a heavy protective suit) 

I feel guilty now because I had such a great time.  Isn't service supposed to be hard?  

C'est la vie

In the face of a double ear infection, bronchitis, endless visits to the doctor's office and the pharmacist at Walgreens knowing me by name, it is good to remind myself to: 'Cowboy up!'