At ballet again,
today’s observation day:
watch this sweet girl dance.
Following God's lead across countries and across the street
20 May 2013 Leave a Comment
19 May 2013 1 Comment
Standing at the train,
watch Mother and the sisters,
walk home from ballet.
Check out last year’s This is Summer series!
30 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment
I remember eight. Seven, not so much. Eight: yes. I’m not sure why; maybe because eight is the year that little child turns slowly into preadolescent, older child, little lady. But I remember being eight.
I hope you do, too. I hope when you’re twenty, twenty-one, older even, I hope you look back and say, “I remember eight. Eight was good.” That’s my birthday wish for you.
That eight truly is great.
That you begin to push open the door of all the learning that’s ahead of you.
That you dive deeper into developing the talents that you have.
That you try things you’re a little scared of.
And that you have fun trying them.
That you fall down well, gracefully.
And that you pick yourself up, let yourself be picked up, and try again.
That you let yourself be taught, be trained, be shaped.
That you smile, which you already do so well.
That you fall in love with the God who made you and who adores you.
Happy Birthday, Glendy! Welcome to eight.
08 Apr 2013 1 Comment
30 Mar 2013 1 Comment
• I’m home for the weekend; arrived yesterday afternoon, and I’ll return to school tomorrow evening. I could probably tally up several past posts which I have begun with the exact phrase seen above. I’m rather repetitive sometimes.
• Actually, I’ve been told that before. I wrote a paper last year, and exercised much the same writing techniques that appear in my blog posts, and someone read that paper and told me that I was repetitive. I think about that quite frequently, actually. Think about it frequently, and do almost nothing to alter my writing style.
• So I’m still repetitive.
• I took the two young sisters to the movie theater this evening. We saw The Croods. We’ve built a kind of tradition wherein I take it upon myself to accompany them to the theater once a year. The first time we did this, Larissa was three and Glendy was five, and we saw Despicable Me with Jo and her boys. The fire alarm in the theater went off partway through and I very nearly gave up the whole adventure, but they turned it off midway through our required evacuation and we were permitted back to our seats. Since the girls weren’t too deeply scarred by the whole experience, we did it again the next year.
• My father and I took the girls to see Winnie the Pooh two summers ago. I’ve already told you multiples times before how much I love that movie, and I’ll say it again because I have high standards friends, and that film is witty, creative, humorous, gentle, and quite endearing. So really, I encourage all to obtain and enjoy that great film.
• So The Croods. Having taken it upon my shoulders to bring the small ones to the theater, I of course feel responsible for the type of entertainment I was exposing them to. This explains why I actually read a review for The Croods, something I generally avoid doing. The review (from a Christian website, nonetheless) was surprisingly positive, and I approached this afternoon’s entertainment with eager curiosity. But oh, man, the movie was phenomenal. Deeply interesting from the opening credits, The Croods maintained my rapt attention throughout the film, and even made me cry in the emotional climax in the middle. I cried in a movie theater, friends.
• My father informed the kitchen today that I am becoming more emotive. What this means is that I had the emotional variety of a koala bear as a teenager, and have now grown such that not only do I allow tears to come out of my eyes, but I permit such eye leakage to occur in a movie theater.
• The Roommate is at school right now, while I am at home, and I’m experiencing the phenomenon wherein I feel very removed from what is happening in the realm of school because we work cooperatively to keep each other informed.
• So we Facebook chatted, which is a big deal because I haven’t been “online” on Facebook chat since the first week of January, due to the fact that when you are online, people talk to you, which I generally try to avoid in all areas of my life.
• But The Roommate. I found an image online featuring a zombie drawn in black and white, smiling creepily, captioned, “Running back to your room from the bathroom? I love a good race.” I posted said image on The Roommate’s Facebook wall because I am constantly being teased for the fact that I run so fast from the bathroom, back to our room, that the toilet is still flushing when I burst into the room. I posted the image on her wall and reminded her that this is real life: I must run, and I must run very quickly.
• But I’m home now, of course, and there are no zombies in these hallways. This is probably because there are 2.7 feet between the bathroom and my bedroom door, and that just isn’t enough space for a zombie.
• In closing, I’ve taken to calling the small sisters food items, as a term of endearment. I kissed them an hour ago, after having read them two chapters of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and said goodnight to Taco Sauce and Cheesecake. With that in mind, good night dear French Fries, and we’ll probably talk again rather soon.
27 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment
I’ve written, told you about our wonderful day at Magic Kingdom, but I thought it was time to show you some photos of our Disney Day, too.
Early morning with cousin Catherine and Cinderella’s castle!
13 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment
The littlest sister
waving small, slender fingers in my face,
if those colored nails
She was concerned
that they look just perfect
because she’s hoping to show them
to a mermaid named Ariel tomorrow
at Disney World.
I told her they looked lovely
and I think Ariel will, too.
I guess we’ll find out
at Disney World tomorrow!
12 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment
11 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment
08 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment
Maybe it was me, maybe it was the brother, but one of the two was always requesting happy thoughts. We traded bunks, top and bottom, back and forth we switched, and always, someone wanted happy thoughts.
So the parent, whichever was there to talk, to tuck in, to return back to sleep, they gave happy thoughts. Ideas, memories, anticipations. They talked about things already done and things not yet accomplished and things sitting on the toy shelf in the front. Friends, family, fun. They gave us happy thoughts.
And sometime, maybe after the list ended, maybe even as we lay listening to this growing list of blessings and joys, we fell asleep. Those happy thoughts worked.
And tonight I called her Little Taco and she likes tucking into the space between wall and bed, likes the cold wall, she says. But taco or not, she’s not sleeping, she’s not ready, and suddenly, I remember happy thoughts. So I start. First it’s things we have to look forward to: next week, tomorrow, two weeks. And then memories, and then right now: friends, family, ideas, joys. She’s still not convinced, and then we’re talking about the Monterey Bay Aquarium and now I’ve got her.
First the jellyfish. She’s interested now, thinking. And that’s what I want: you’ve got to think to have happy thoughts. And I used to know how jelly fish ate, but I don’t anymore, so I say we’ll look it up tomorrow. Happy thought. And there are penguins, too. Did you know that she sleeps with two penguins? That line of stuffed animals along the pillow, two of them are penguins. How big are penguins? She asks. And the babies? We discuss and she waves the largest of the two plush animals in the dark air for comparison. This big? Happy thought.
She was little then, but she remembers that little pool, where delicate dark fingers stroked a pink starfish. She liked that, and the otters, too. She likes otters, she adds sleepily. Happy thought. And we talk about other things, too. There in that bottom bunk sister bed, while the littlest lies asleep, hands tucked folded under little chin. And there’s a whole bunch of happy thoughts more that I don’t have to mention; she’s starting to get the hang of this now. She doesn’t say the words: I do that. But she’s involved now, inventing, remembering, wondering.
And then finally, I tell her it’s time to close her eyes, because mine are already falling closed anyway, but she has a couple more things to say before then. And then Well, Goodnight! the Little Taco snuggles deeper into her wall-mattress-pillow pocket and it’s quiet.
Because we’re all thinking our happy thoughts.