Saturday, February 25, 2012

Dear Mother,

I'm sorry. I know you raised me better, but I don't make my kids bathe every night. I don't make them make their beds. I ask them if they brushed their teeth, but I don't actually check.

I know it is a shameful reflection on you, but I don't clean every day. I don't sweep under the fridge or vacuum the coils. I pulled the oven out the other day to get something. Then I put it back without even cleaning the sides.

Mom, I know you put a lot of hard work into teaching me to clean the toilets and tubs just so, but I rarely do it. I know I should, but there is so much else I want to do. I can sew a straight seam, I can make and preserve jam, I can bake fairly well. I just don't want to.

I can hear you in my head sometimes, "Make sure you have on clean panties. You never know when you will be in a wreck." I tell you to be quiet because i am pretty sure that if I were in a wreck, that would be the last thing on the doctor's mind. What kind of doctor does undie inspection anyway?

So, Mom, my kids are in bed at 11 pm. I am not positive that they brushed their teeth, and I am certain that most of them stink. some will take a shower tomorrow before church. Some will not. I am pretty sure Jesus loves them all the same.

Your too-busy-having-fun-to-worry-about-it youngest daughter.

Friday, February 10, 2012


I cleaned the bedroom today.
I had been threatening that I would.
Armed with garbage bags, a broom, and sheer will, I pushed open the door.
I scooped up scraps of paper, broken rubber bands, hair clips, and pencil toppers.
I sorted through the stuffed animals- eventually replacing all but a select few.
And then I opened that box. One of many boxes. I expected to throw it away- until I sifted through the contents.
It was an old heart shaped chocolate box from last year. In it were hearts that she had cut out of paper. The hearts had each of our names on them. "Mom" "Dad" "Jonah"... There was a card from her former Sunday school teacher. And down under it all was a cheap, run of the mill valentine. But, the name on it was important.
I smiled as I put it all back into the box. I slid the box into a bin in her closet for safe keeping.
She is almost 11. Soon, the little box will be all that is left of my baby girl.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Learning To Live

It is messy.
And sometimes, I get weary of it.
Until I remember that it is shorter than I would like.
That in a minute it can be snuffed out.
That it is, indeed, precious.
Precious because of the people you love.
And the ones that love you back.
The ones who live their time not knowing how much they have left.
The ones who live it with Grace.
With Joy.
With Pain.
With the knowledge that when they leave here, they go to the Father.
I want to learn to live my life that way.