Picture This. . . .
What Is In A Day? When it is too quick to photograph . . . .
Wake Up To William.
It is too early.
Strap in the stroller. Watch the sun rise and the moon sink, but not before it shines gloriously full. “BALL!” William says and then moon and lots of moon and “more moon?”
We walk a lot and drink milk from a sippy cup and visit the neighbor’s goats.
It was not an elliptical at the gym workout with yoga at the end like I always do. It wasn’t what was planned, but he was calm and rested.
The day has started. Amelia ready to rock as always. Reporting to Daddy about her events from yesterday. She collected a shrimp from the water we visited with new friends. Of course she had to report on new friends and shrimp that was still alive in the Venti Starbucks ice water cup salvaged from the car. . . . And we saw the African Children's Choir from Uganda last night. So inspiring.
Then we had to read the next chapter in “Where The Red Fern Grows.” So we do and Billy gets his first coon and we can eat breakfast.
George Wilder wanted pancakes, but it was oatmeal and that wasn’t what he had in mind, but two bowls later, we collected this and that and this and oh we forgot that and headed to soccer down the road.
The breeze blew and William played and the children ran and kicked and learned basics and made points for passing, which was brilliant. William was their “wawa” boy but he wanted the water when they did and that was a great moment to practice sharing.
We come home and it is supposed to be the perfect moment to study. William is tired and won’t stop crying and doesn’t make sense and finally falls asleep but then George Wilder thinks we should read our poem doing jumping jacks, which is fine, but I waited a minute to long to give consent and a down hill spiral and how do we recover? Ugh! We do and we do jumping jacks and we read the poem and we laugh.
They wrote about trampolines and the shrimp. They read about chickens and farm animals and India. We made an Indian flag from felt and Amelia started in on a table clothe and we made George Wilder a Turban and an outfit that a young boy from India might wear and we talk about their population issue and Ghandi’s Salt March and the Ajanta Caves and Henna Tattoos before reviewing verbs and pronouns and words and phrases and “cinnamon synonyms”. And we looked at the word
We drew pictures and reviewed our memory verse about perseverance and wrote it down and remembered what that means.
Math and lunch together.
Then visit the maps and draw the United States because that is what they thought they would do today.
Collect some specimens. Sand. Moss. Acorns.
In the inbetween, George Wilder picks away at the Mandolin. . . . .
Off to Goodwill because they are growing like weeds and need shorts and Amelia won’t stand to buy new because that is not being wise and new is wasteful. George Wilder, on the other hand, wants it perfectly new.
His new Bible, however, is the greatest gift from a Sunday school teacher ever. He hasn’t set it down. He has read 10 stories and asked 30 questions in five days, and wants to know if Jonah was as wise as Solomon?
No son, he was not as wise as Solomon.
Home again with a few shorts and a few books.
They watch a National Geographic video, that came in the mail, of their best from the last 30 years. Incredible footage.
I make pizza and William helps.
Trampoline and Caterpillar.
Shower and laughter.
George Wilder reads another Bible story very slowly while we try not to fall asleep.
Prayers and blessings and bed.
William takes a calculator and flatbed truck to bed.
I sing the songs imbedded in my memory. Such a gift from my mother.
Oh Lord You Are Beautiful
Good Night My Father
And he is asleep.
George isn’t home yet. No tears and no nursing. A first.
It is quiet.
It is beautiful.
It isn't perfect. Laundry left. A potty training potty with pee still in it.
Dishes in the sink.
Dust on the floor. Dust on furniture.
Furniture moved around.