Loose ends

Here is a bunch of unrelated "stuff," some of which I've meant to post for awhile...

The Guy Thing (and it's guy-ness)
While you may not experience the same level of connection with the book Wild at Heart that I seem to be having, I hope you'll indulge me for just a little more discussion on the topic. I know several families who are really in the throes of heck right now. The dynamic seems pretty typical. She wonders what happened to the man she married, he wonders if this is all there is. In the middle are the punkins whose very presence is, for the moment, keeping two adults who are steeped in longing locked in, committed, for better or worse. They crave the better while seeming only to be able to keep their heads above water, fearing the "worse."

"'I'd love to be William Wallace, leading the charge with a big sword in my hand,' sighed a friend. 'But I feel like I'm the guy back there in the fourth row, with a hoe.' That's a lie of the Enemy--that your place is really insignificant, that you aren't really armed for it anyway. In your life you are William Wallace--who else could be? There is no other man who can replace you in your life, in the arena you've been called to. If you leave your place in the line, it will remain empty. No one else can be who you are meant to be. You are the hero in your story. Not a bit player, not an extra, but the main man."

I don't know how a guy would receive the above. To me, it sounds all hopeful and exciting, full of promise and maybe even adventure. But then I'm a girl.

In case there are any guys reading, especially anyone who happens to be struggling with the above, let me just tell you this: your wife loves you. No no--she loves you. Whatever else you have going on between you, she is still the lusty Viking figure on the prow of the ship, she is Eve in the Garden, she is your private dancer. She loves you with the tenacity of Boudica, the temerity of Ruth, the wits of Rahab or Tamar. She loves you with the ferocity of every self-assured, tantalizing maiden who ever walked the face of the earth. She loves you like an earthquake, like a warm, dr-enching, in-sin-u-a-ting rain, like nothing you can imagine (go ahead--try). She will fight for you, beside you and with you. She has rather specific aspirations where you're concerned--to tend you, care for you, kick your hiney if it requires it, then nurse it back to glowing health. Your wife will go with you to the ends of the earth, the universe. She is that woman in the Song of Solomon. Look into her eyes, hold her gaze--she knows you, she wants you, and you are her hero. How can I be so sure? She told me.

Go on, get outta here. Just draw the shades, please.

.............................................................

Hi.

How are you?

Fine, thanks. And you?

I am well, thanks for asking. (tapping fingers) Anything new with you? Is that an echo I hearhearhear? Hello-llo-llo? Huh. Well, since it's just you and me left here, I'll catch you up a little.

The Finger (and it's "ribbon")
The silly thing finally stopped bleeding about four days in. Since the cut still tries to pull apart if left to it's own devices I still need a band-aid, but it's much, much better. Save for a weird combination of numbness and pain, I'm closing in on normal. I've worked hard to baby it (yeah, right) because a mama needs her hands. This is my cautionary tale about knives, I suppose. Always follow your rules for kitchen safety (I wasn't holding the lime properly) and never, ever cut with hands covered in citrus juice. But then we covered that part.

The Gas Tank (and it's diesel)
A few days ago I realized that I never posted a follow-up to this story. (In case you haven't read it yet--spoiler alert.) We hadn't really run out of gas at all--the fuel pump went out. So I was saved from my folly by malfunctioning equipment. The irony in that makes me giggle. Of course, as I've since had pointed out to me by dozens of fantastic folks, it's a lucky thing that it wasn't gas into a diesel engine because that would have been a real mess. This way, the engine just had a little extra lube. Funny that most of the people who share this with me are men--the women seem to have mostly learned this the hard way. Which is of course my personal favorite way to learn things.

The Court (and it's, uh, courtliness?)
We're back in on Thursday (9/20). I'm still praying for cool heads, clear thoughts, and the very best thing for the kids. I cannot imagine having to go to work every day in the family court system. Still, I bet they get to contribute to miracles--sometimes there are kids who need rescuing from things we cannot fathom. I know one such family who could really use your prayers right now. For those defenseless babies, I'm glad that there are dedicated people who show up every day to hear those hard things and then make fearless decisions, while praying that they're the right decisions. And absolutely prostrate, I thank God that my kids are not in that group.

The Q (and his cuteness)
With only two more molars to come in, things are looking up. Throw a party--that horrid bump is gone and in it's place is little ridges of tooth. He had a banner day today in OT--babbled, reached, pushed up with his feet to catch himself when he was slipping forward off the seat. I have a new drink from the pediatrician to try with him--it packs in a whole 1.5 cal per ml. This is huge. I gave him almost half of one of the little juice box-like containers the other night. It was okay, but he seems unimpressed by the French Vanilla flavor. Funny, I can suddenly hear his daddy saying that with a silly nasal accent: Frrraaaanch Vaneeeella. (smiles) The boy went down late last night and got up at 4am. I had two and a half hours of sleep last night. What am I still doing here?

So let your beloved know just how much he or she really is to you. Unless, of course, you were in the group who left earlier. Ahem. In which case, you've pretty well covered that.

Good night.