Thursday, November 17, 2011

Thursday in a Nut-Shell, only Bigger

Our morning started off in its usual way, except I decided on a lark to spray on some perfume, and we had a meeting with LaCasa, the organization we'll be working with when we move to Goshen next Spring. I packed paper and crayons for the two Wilds and sprung surprise pieces of gum on them at the very last second. It mostly worked.

This move we're making feels complicated because it is complicated. It's also really simple. But here's the main thing you should know: We want to do this. We are excited. I am fighting daily with impatience, because if this was up to me, we'd go tomorrow. (You might recall how (not) good I am at waiting...) I've gotten several emails and comments lately asking me why we're doing this since it's obvious that I "don't want to". I feel bad if I've given that impression.

It's important to me to be honest in all of the upside-down and sideways feelings that I have about the whole thing. It changes by the hour. It is scary sometimes and it feels too far away. Other times, it's too close for comfort. It's almost impossible to wrap my brain around what it will be like to be there, because it's so, so different from here. In the end, we like this ride we're on. We like knowing that we don't hold the keys. We're amazed by the way Jesus has held our sweaty palms every step of the way. Pretty soon, I'll tell you the whole story. (It's kinda long.)

I used to believe that fear = doubt and doubt = don't. I don't believe that any more. I think we risk dying a slow, insulated death of mediocrity and foolishness if we run from everything we fear. I've no reason to stalk God when life is lived tucked into my comfort zone.

Of course not everyone is called to do what we are doing, but I know everyone's called to something. And my gut tells me that God often calls us to risky places; not necessarily risky in terms of imminent danger, but risky in that it's outside our norm. Risky as in the very thought gives us butterflies and births within us the deep desire to go hide under our beds like we did when we were six.

Okay, that was more than I really intended to say tonight. But now it's in print, so it must be true: I want to move. I might tell you eighty more times over the next seven months that I am scared or nervous or uncertain. Maybe whenever I say those things, I'll link back to this post, to remind us all of the simple facts. :)

After our meeting, the rest of the day was pretty regular.

(Have I mentioned how much I'm in love with Regular?)

We got a cart-load of groceries. Blackberries were fifty cents a box. $0.50 Have mercy. I bought six boxes, yes I did. The next time you see us, we may be a little blue-tinged.

Lunch was all circles, all the time, man.

(I had buffalo turkey on wheat with left-over tomato basil soup.)

I took my boots off but then my feet got cold, so I added white sport shortie-socks over my striped knee-socks. I also had leg warmers over my jeans. And I kept my down vest on and zipped. I was fa-fa-fa-freezing. And extra-fetching, I'm sure.

Siley crashed at nap-time.

I read the book that keeps on slaying me (well, one of them, there are several right now) and then I dozed for 30 minutes on the couch.

Calvin raced in after school and we had spritz cookies for snack, then we got busy with a craft. Sometimes my life just needs a crafty hour. It doesn't happen super often, but everyone's happy when it does. It helps us work the bugs out, I'm convinced.

Plus, Silas was still sleeping, so it was a win-win. Silas + Paint = Something Tragic.

(He had already drawn a rogue tramp stamp on Ruby's lower back prior to lunch. In an odd turn of events, she didn't even realize it had happened.)

(He also "scratched" her in the eye with a marker.)

(He also scribbled on the dining room wall with a marker while I was making dinner.)

(All in one day.)

(But who's keeping score?)

So, the paint.

I saw the idea on Pinterest, of course.

Mix sweetened condensed milk with food coloring.

The end.

The paint is beautiful. It's thick and shiny. Translucent.

I successfully dodged Calvin's question, "What does it taste like?" when he saw me dumping the milk into the ice cube trays. You know that child would have been licking his paint brush if he'd had the slightest clue...

And now, a memory from kindergarten: We finger painted with green pudding. Then we scraped it off the paper and ate it for snack. I would not make this stuff up, people. I remember it clear as day. It struck me as heinous, even then. But that didn't stop me from partaking. The end.

We painted until we were blue in the face and pink and orange in the hands, shirts, and, in some cases, hair.

I woke Silas up and let him join the fun, since The Fun was almost over.

Homeboy loved him some sugar-milk paint.

He dropped it in huge globs all over his paper. "I'm makin' pancakes!"

Sure you are.

It kept him occupied for a good twenty minutes and he could have gone longer. I felt bad for doubting him.

Then came dinner.

I love to cook. I love trying new recipes. But there's something about cooking in this kitchen that makes me decide over and over again to boycott complicated meals. And by complicated, I mean any meal requiring more than one bowl and one spoon.

It never lasts long, that feeling. I can't quit. I cain't.

Voila, here's dinner.

Please pardon the wonky photo. I was hungry.

Martha's version looked way prettier, dang her.
(Can't find her recipe online, but I did find it here.)

Calvin started crying when I made him eat half a tzatziki cucumber. Swear.

And for dessert?

Blackberries, of course.

What was the best Regular thing about your day?