Sunday, April 28, 2013


My house is a holy terror of a hot mess. This is what happens around here on the weekend: Mayhem erupts. No time to clean. No care to clean.

And now it's 11:41 on Sunday night and I shall start my week with a sink full of dishes and no milk in the fridge. 'Tis the way we roll.

We dined on Saturday's very best and lazed around like only our kind of people would. The sun seemed to sit higher in the sky, it hollered down to us, so we answered by walking downtown for for $1.50 tacos and the avocado salsa that makes me want to quit life and spend the rest of my days all green and garlicky.

It was perfection, wrapped up in a day. I wanted it to stay forever.

It was one of those days where my heart felt goose-bumps over my own personal luckiness. It's God, sure it is, but I have to believe it's a little bit random, I have to believe in luck, because if I dare to think otherwise, I'm tempted to consider that God loves me more than the single mom doing her best to survive the crush of generational poverty while every receptionist, every professional, every white-collar anything looks at her like she's only 2/3 of me, or you. This life is a stroke of luck, of course it's proof of God's goodness and His love for me, but it's confusing to think of how a motherhood scarred with loss feels His grip. If I feel loved by tulips and tacos, things of beauty and a simple life, where does her eye fall?

Let's just put this out there: God is confusing. We've been reading Romans in our small group. Paul is talking about God choosing people and not choosing others and just when it starts to click, the gear slips a little and we're all stuck there scratching our heads. But the next verse reads something like, "God does wonky work! You'll never make sense of it. Don't even bother trying." The ultimate disclaimer. But if it applies to eternity, it doesn't feel out of line to apply it to life right now.

All I really know is, I got a prized hour alone with my oldest littlish boy. He held my hand while we traipsed around in one of my favorite places dodging bumblebees and garter snakes and I felt like the glass slipper has never found a better fit. It was quintessential spring and we lapped it straight up. We found $1 perennials near the road-side and a machine that doled out cold fifty-cent cans of pop and he told me so many funny things.

I came home and watched my favorite girl perfect her cart-wheel and my tiny wiry baby fill his dump truck full of weeds. My man did mannish stuff, setting our the garden boxes and wielding a tape measure.

We spent time with one of our favorite new neighborhood friends and we all ate pasta and asparagus for dinner while inside I chanted stay stay stay stay stay

Stay this way, this way right here. Stay this quiet, this full. Stay just crazy enough. Stay together. Stay warm. Stay, bare toes in grass. Stay right here, friend, exactly here, pumpkins. No, scoot closer, just a little bit closer, so I can sniff your heads and kiss your necks. Just stay.

We closed the day by bringing home the two cutest baby boys on the planet and three loads of baby laundry.

Today there was a 6-hour prison run and dinner with our buddies.

And then I made the most terrifying observation: My right eyelid appears to be slightly paralyzed. Why haven't you told me??? I knew it was a bit more...mysterious than the left. But I went through a bunch of new photos tonight and there's no getting around it. I feel very old and ever-so-slightly traumatized. I planned to post one of the photos, but can't bring myself to do it after the revelation.

Maybe tomorrow.

For now, a recipe for your week. Baked jalapeno poppers. 
I think the recipe says to grill, but  baking them worked just fine. They were muy delicioso.

We've got another busy week brewing and I find myself having many deep thoughts in my think- tank/shower...only time will tell if any of them find their way to this little space.

I want to thank you to the bottom of my size 9s for your kind words about me and what I do here. Thank you for never making me feel like small potatoes and trust me, the feeling is mutual. I think there's something beautiful to be said for the quirky bunch of misfits sitting in the lunch room. I'm honored to be at the table.

Mad love and spicy poppers to all,