Things are busy at our house. We are getting our house ready to sell. We’re painting and putting down some new carpet and cleaning and boxing things up. It’s an understatement to say we’ve made several trips to the town dump and to Goodwill.
The other day, we were talking about my husband’s going to Wednesday evening church and which children he would take with him while I stayed home and scraped wallpaper in the dining room. Our children didn’t know what we were talking about, but they were all clammoring to be the chosen ones to go with Daddy. Finally, one of the children said, “Where is Daddy even going?” And 6 year old Caleb matter-of-factly says, “Oh, probably the dump.”
Yeah, I guess you know you’ve made a lot of trips to the dump when the kids just assume that’s where you’re going every time you leave the house.
During the past few weeks, we’ve hosted 2 birthday parties. My daughter’s party was a wonderful success. Every little girl she invited came, and it was everything she hoped it would be. Lots of flowers and hearts and pink and purple. A game of musical flowers. Some disco dancing to Bob & Larry Sing the 70’s. Jumping on the trampoline. Perfect gifts and a chocolate cake. What more could you ask for when you’re turning 8?
My son’s party, however, almost required a do-over; and if we weren’t so busy, I probably would have guilted myself into a second party. Let’s just say our summer drought ended the evening of my son’s party. At the park. While another group was having a party under the only shelter. Just after we handed out the pizza and settled down to eat. And let’s just say that slick-soled shoes and wet cement don’t mix well. Just ask the mother of one of the guests. And the helpful nurse who was trying to enjoy her party under the shelter but who ended up helping the mother who slid and banged her head on the cement. And let’s just say that some preschoolers are afraid of thunder and lightening. And other preschoolers are afraid of ambulances with sirens as they come to help the mother with severe neck pain from banging her head on cement. And let’s just say that you don’t feel like Mother-of-the-Year when your 5 year old looks up at you — as the rain pours and thunder crashes, as his friend’s mother lies afraid to move and covered in borrowed beach towels, as his soggy pizza sits on the equally-soggy paper plate, as his friends cry because of the scary lightening or because of the approaching sirens — and says in a sweet voice, “This isn’t a very fun party.”
To my son’s credit, he must have been afraid he hurt my feelings with his simple criticism of my party-planning skills because right away, he came back to me and said, “But I really like the bike.” We had given him a bike earlier in the day. It was the only gift he really wanted, the only thing he asked for for months and months. Well, maybe as he looks back on his fifth birthday, he’ll remember the bike.
So, in the midst of birthday parties and painting and trips to the dump, I haven’t had a lot of time for blogging. I’ll be back as I find time, though. So keep checking in. And our “What is the Gospel” contest ends next week. Be sure to scroll down and answer that for a chance to win something we don’t take to the dump. 🙂