Snow and Other S-Words

You can fill in the blanks on your own if you want, but snow and I have a hate-hate relationship. An inanimate substance can’t hate me, you say? Allow me to prove you wrong:

  1. Several years ago I wanted to have a cookie exchange party. I invited everyone. I designed my own invitations. I spent hours making earrings as party favors and put them in to hand-decorated bags that I also spent hours on. I made the dough. I laid everything out the night before. Then it snowed – a lot – and I had to reschedule.
  2. So I did. And on the rain date? 10 more inches. And yes, I cried like a disappointed toddler. I begrudgingly handed out the favors in person to everyone who had RSVPed and it took me two years before I finally had one again. Guess how many people came to that party? Eight. And I love them all (in case you are reading this) but guess how many of them actually brought cookie dough? Four.
  3. We have taken Malachi to the Christmas parade two years in a row. It’s one of our favorite Christmas traditions – we walk down the trail from our house, get hot chocolate on the way, and get back in time for bed. This year it snowed and they cancelled it.
  4. I started tutoring from my home this year to bring in a little extra cash. Out of 5 scheduled sessions we’ve had one so far.
  5. Since the start of the year Malachi should have gone to pre-school 12 times. He was sick two of those times. He went three times. Snow (or the threat thereof) cancelled SEVEN OTHER PRESCHOOL DAYS.
  6. Jeremy and I kindly found a babysitter for Thursday night so that we didn’t ask any of our friends to babysit on Valentine’s day. We made a reservation for one of the nicest, most expensive restaurants in town that I have been wanting to try for 5 or 6 YEARS. By Thursday morning we had 10 inches of snow and the restaurant was closed.
  7. Last week we had to reschedule my husband’s 30th birthday party because we all got sick. We rescheduled it to tomorrow. We cancelled today because of the snow.
  8. Our Valentine’s day gift from my MIL still isn’t here (I’m reaching, I know.)

I am the queen of the badittude, I realize, and I know I should be grateful that we have power and that they plowed our road and that we have heat and all that jazz and believe me, I am, but you better believe that I have been OBSESSED with planning our Myrtle Beach vacation all day even though we are something like 7 months out. And I’m a little bit smug that even though Malachi enjoyed making a snowman and playing in the snow for about 15 minutes yesterday, he is tapped out and asking me when we can go “swim watuh beach?” every day. Today he said, “I don’t wike it cold snow yucky” and I almost cheered but I held myself back with the sheer force of my bad mood.

Plus sides of being snowed in:

  1. Jeremy got two days off work.
  2. I keep forgetting it’s only Friday.
  3. I keep rolling over the same lesson plans so I can procrastinate planning ahead for yet another week.
  4. This:

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Anger and compassion may be two sides of the same coin.

It’s so easy to call these people monsters. I’ve done it, I’ve felt it, and I’ve fought it to no avail. Developing compassion for abortive mothers took me a long time, and then I had to do it all over again when I became a mother. But I can understand – I can understand the desperation and the hopelessness and even the ignorance that could lead to that choice. I can’t understand the blatant selfishness, but I want to believe that’s not as common as it probably is. I have no sympathy for the “doctors” who took the vow to do no harm and who murder helpless innocents every day in the name of choice and personal autonomy. Who chooses that job? I mean, even if you believe with all your heart that the death penalty is justifiable, who would volunteer to pull the trigger? All day? Every day? If you believed with all your heart that you needed to bomb a building to end a war, but you knew there were civilians inside, who jumps at that opportunity, necessary though it may be? So even if you ideologically believe that abortion is not only justifiable, but right, who wants that job? Maybe they don’t want it. Maybe they’re stuck. But still, who can do that day in and day out? How can you live with that dichotomy?

If you watched this video, you probably remember the part where the abortionist, who is graphically and untruthfully describing the development of a 24-week old fetus, tells the mother “I don’t want you to torture yourself.” I don’t even know how to process that statement. Don’t torture yourself over your decision to end the life of this child who, yes, has organs and a face. Or, don’t torture yourself with a baby – torture the baby instead. Or maybe, in a very twisted way, this woman actually had compassion for the mother. She really wanted her to live a life free of guilt. She really didn’t want her to suffer. Maybe there is something I can relate to in that. Maybe if I had lived a different life, grown up in different circumstances, maybe I would be in her shoes.

Yes, she is a monster. It takes a monster to kill babies every day. It takes a monster to kill a child while her own child kicks inside of her. It takes a monster to look at a person and say, “You do not have enough value to live.” It takes a monster to look at a person and say, “My life is worth more than yours.” It takes a monster to call someone else a monster from a seat of superiority. It takes a monster to look at someone and say, “I don’t know how God’s grace could possibly cover you.”  

I am a monster. You are a monster. She is a monster. And truthfully, the word monster just means “human.” But Christ died for all of us. He put on flesh to set us free. And His grace is sufficient for all our sin. Praise God that he didn’t leave me in the mud and blood I was wallowing in when He found me. Praise God that he can pull any monster out of any mire and that He loves us enough to reach down and lift our faces towards Him. Praise God that the same Father who rocks the murdered babies of millions of mothers is waiting with open arms for those mothers and their doctors to come home.

You can always come home.

Seriously Gross Post Alert

Last Saturday we started getting sick, cancelled on our friends so we didn’t share the love, and decided to take the kids for a walk instead because it was beautiful. And my wonderful hooz-bond spontaneously suggested we go out to eat to which I said a resounding “yahoooo!” because going out to eat is my true love language and apparently I don’t care about protecting strangers from the germs of my raspberry-blowing, table-licking cherubs, just our friends. It was a great day.

And next came church and fun at the grandparents’ and then a Seahawks win so Sunday was pretty bangin’ as well. Until it banged us into the floor. I went to bed with a slight sore throat that I attributed to tiredness and woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a mucous-truck which then backed back over me and dumped a load of fever on me before running over me again and I promise I’ll just leave that metaphor right there and not return to it.  Sorry.

I used to say that when I was sick and congested it felt like someone sprayed up my nose with spray insulation and it expanded until I just couldn’t take it anymore. This round of winter nasty I seem to have mostly skipped the congestion thing (hooray!) but instead me and the kids are all just oozing, swampy fountains of SNOT. So. much. snot. Snot in the baby food. Snot on my sleeve (not mine). Snot on the pillows. Snot in the pacifier.

Today was the first time the kids and I left the house in six days (unless you count the oh-so-fun 1.5 hour jaunt [with both kids cuz we stupid] to our rental house to mop out the dog-stench with cold water and no electricity) and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malachi so excited to go to the “bibwary” and then to the pound to see the kitties, but not the doggies because “I don’t wike it too woud!” And after some seriously good naps and some seriously good straightening of the cesspool, Naomi was happy from wake-up to bed-time and that hasn’t happened since…..her birth, maybe? We even watched a movie I like and I finished crocheting a hat that might help me bring in some bacon bits so it was actually a good day. I can’t stop hacking my lungs up and Naomi is still covered in a film of green but otherwise things are looking up. Malachi *might* (knockonwoodsayaprayercursethesnow) even get to go back to pre-school this week for the third time out of 9-freaking-days he could have gone (not bitter! maybealittle) so hip hip hooray!

Please come back. I promise never to be that disgusting again.

Also, do you enjoy following annoying moms who only post pictures of their kids on instagram with only the rare artistic failure thrown in?  Hit me up.