Friday, January 29, 2010

The house is ominously quiet. That probably means that someone is getting in trouble.

Thursday, January 28, 2010


I'm in that impossible position of trying to write several things at once, with the end result that none of them are being written, including this blog.

I managed to figure out how to watch the State of the Union last night online but it was So Late (9pm) that I had a very hard time staying awake to hear it all. I've also spent long hours trying to figure out if I can watch bits of the Olympics online. I really love not having a tv except at these exceptional moments.

So, I'm going to go muscle the children in to do some work. That part of our life is going surprisingly well. At great personal difficulty I've added Saturday as a day we do school, and I'm fairly happy with the results--we're not so stressed trying to cram everything in to four days, we have the time we need. But that means actually getting up to do school every day.

Also, we've decided to make a major household change and move ALL the children's clothes into the laundry room. We'll move their dressers and everything and then it will hopefully be a matter of washing clothes and putting them right away and everybody going to one place to get clothes. I believe I saw this on an episode of the Duggars (I know, I know, its just so fascinating)and frankly, it makes loads of sense.

Have a lovely day.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Just Another Monday

There are flood watches all around the city and I've been mopping up water in the basement much of the morning. I'd been hoping to get down there and clean it and all the free water coming through the window/ceiling was sort of cheerfully acceptable to me. But then I put on rubber flip flops and my feet eventually slid out from under me and I landed rather heavily on my tailbone. I felt quite faint and sick so have had a long rest but I'm about to go back into the muck and try to finish up.

So, I want to point you all to Stand Firm. Matt and I have been writing together (Not an easy process let me tell you) a longish account of the last year and Matt has just posted the first installment. Its been really good to work through carefully all that happened before it fades too quickly from mind. Plus, this last Sunday was the first Sunday, to date almost, that we worshiped in our current location. So the series is really an anniversary present to us and to you. I hope you will go over and read it.

Happy Monday! Stay Dry!

Friday, January 22, 2010

7 Really Quick Takes

I think what makes politics in America so exciting and interesting is the lack of imminent threat of death. On the way to school on Wednesday, as I was vaguely listening to the news and eating some very dark chocolate Alouicious piped up from the back and asked "why do they want to kill him?"
"Who?" I asked.
"Scott Brown. Why do they what to kill him?"
I shouted back (they're in the way back of the car and I'm in the way front), "what are talking about?"
I hadn't really been listening to the news but obviously he had, without understanding, and so the next few minutes were confused while I explained that the word "destroyed" had been applied by the newscaster to a policy not a person. BUT, I did come away with a renewed sense of thankfulness that we live in this age and in this country. When Mali had their coup d'etat so many years ago I remember hearing that the Minister of Education had been eaten in the streets of Bamako. What, I always wondered, had he done to make people So Angry with him? A mere few hundred years ago the loosing side of an argument stood to loose it all and this is still the case in other not so remote parts of the world.
On that note I am renewed in my efforts to pray for Haiti. I wish I could go help. Prayer seems so helpless but God is bigger than me and I hope he will use my small prayers to effect his glory and purpose. For you at Good Shepherd don't forget to bring extra money this Sunday.
Discipline has been slipping lately in our household. I keep getting drawn into arguments without realizing it until its too late. Someone recently asked about our policy on spanking. I'm not completely comfortable with posting about it here because of the two people who read me and have it in for me, and also, its the internet, so who knows who may be lurking. That said, we fairly closely follow Doug Wilson's Standing on the Promises which I encourage you all to go read if you have small children. It is absolutely essential, as I am discovering again this week, that children obey the first time you speak. Our motto (ala Wilson) is that 'delayed obedience is disobedience'. If I'm having to scream to get someone to do something than there is a serious problem. So we're ratcheting things up again and hopefully calm will be restored. Honestly, if you all are really curious, I'd be happy to email privately.
I was combing through old files and remembered that Ages ago I said I was going to write a short autobiographical thingumy about how I ended up as an ordained conservative Episcopal priest. Obviously, I sort of reached a dead end and forgot about it but I might dust it off and see if its worth pursuing. For those of you who are interested, I still have all your emails tucked away carefully, should I actually pull it together. Don't actually hold your breath, though, because you might die waiting.
Reading through the Bible is going swimmingly. I Love it. I particularly love that I can flip to the ESV site, punch in the chapters for the day, click 'listen' and then lie back and feed the baby. I've been going ahead farther and farther each day because its so easy. I do also like the guy's voice and how he kind of drawls when he reads whatever Jacob is saying.
I'm making up a longish study about the Ark of the Covenant (intended to lead us to the temple and finally to Jesus) for my Sunday School class. Aside from actually making a to scale ark (which we're seriously considering doing because it would be so cool) I'm also making them make books which means making one myself. Its such a pleasure having curious and interested children in Sunday School. PLUS!!!! we're going to have our Own Sunday School Room. Its actually a large cupboard but it still better than the choir loft.
That's right, the choir will be meeting in the choir loft with the new choir director. Its almost like we're a real church with real music and real Sunday School rooms and real everything.
Go check out Jen!

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

for a tired Wednesday evening

The baby is teething and I'm strung out from obsessively following the Massachusetts senate race (So Amazing!). So I've been listening to a little Salif Keita to bring everything back into reality.

Oh! And because its too good to let it go by, did any of you hear Martha Coakley actually say "Sometimes its more important to travel hopefully than to arrive." No? Well, she did say it in her subdued and appropriate concession speech, and I think its going to be our family motto for the year. We were thinking of "Stop Crying!" But in the great hope of a politically thrilling year I think we'll go for the hope/change tack. Only we fully intend to arrive. Goodnight to you all.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Seriously, its so awesome

We’ve been offline a whole lot lately and so I’m not even sure when I’m going to be able to post this.

I have been spending every spare second of the last week reading about the Brown/Coakley race in Massachusetts. Its so exciting.

I didn’t mention it at the time, but for Christmas I received an extremely fancy and unnecessary phone that is, as my little four year old students would say, So Awesome. I justify this phone by saying things like “I’m so busy and I can keep everything on this phone--email, calendar, Matt’s calendar, texts….” and all that is very true. BUT I can also read politics on the internet and I can twitter and twitter automatically updates facebook and I can do comment moderation on this blog and I can watch youtube clips. Its possible that now I look like a wretched teenager, phone always in hand, thumbs always at the ready.

So, I’ve been reading about the Brown/Coakley race fairly constantly on my phone. “Sing the psalm” I say, phone in hand and then, while the poor children wail “O Lord you have searched me, and you know me, you know when I sit and when I rise, you perceive my thoughts from afar” I guiltily click over to the endless number of blogs on NRO and read the gossip. “Keep singing” I say every now and then.

Anyway, my phone says today that I’m scheduled to write real letters with a pen and some pieces of paper. But it will be ok, I’ll have my phone sitting right here so I can know what’s going on all the time. Its so awesome.

Friday, January 15, 2010

On going to the Dentist: Guest Post

Those of you on facebook will know that I went to the dentist yesterday to have my teeth scaled. The good news is that I am here, a day later, still alive (although I wished very much, as I was reclining in agony, that I had been a terrorist and that I had some kind of interesting information to offer up to make the horror stop. Why, I asked myself, do we waterboard? Why don't we scale teeth? Later I learned that other chosen people get to go through this horror with pain medication, but I, apparently, was outside of God's mercy). The bad news is that she didn't actually scale my teeth because I "couldn't take it" and that she was referring me to a specialist. A helpful friend informs me that a "specialist" is just someone who can't send me away. Being a specialist, they have to scale my teeth, one way or another. Anyway, as part of this ongoing series, I give you the detailed and horrific experiences of my mother. I encourage you, really, to read the whole post, long though it is, because it will not only tell you a lot about her and about dentistry in remote parts of the world (like France) but will give you a brief glimpse into my past. For example, I remember vividly the motorcycle incident, and the summer in France is one about which I could write whole volumes. Enjoy!

June, 2004
Portland, Oregon
From the Dentist’s Office: the News in detail

Bob and I have been delivered over to the dentist and her minions, like sinners for torment and woe, until we resolve to live a new life of flossing and brushing.
If ever a message creeping out of some dark hole in my past has a chance to repeat itself, it gets the chance while I'm gripping the sides of the dentist's chair, mouth open in an unrelenting gag. And unlike the ever-popular message for an age where therapy is practically synonymous with salvation -- (the message saying, “You need to feel good about yourself since God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life,”) -- the message I’m hearing today says, “YOU ARE A BAD PERSON AND GOD IS VERY ANGRY!”
I have failed. I have done those things which I ought not to have done (twist off bottle caps with my teeth). I have not done those things which I ought to have done (floss daily -- at the five times of prayer perhaps?). Oh miserable offender!
Of course no one in this office actually says anything in the way of condemnation. But the hygienist, ferreting around in my mouth like a squirrel, keeps referring to the significant number of “issues” going on among my teeth.
Like the molar tucked away back there, not causing me any trouble at the moment but harboring a rotten core. “Why not just pull it,” I wonder. “Half the population of the world has gaps in their teeth, so why should I not take the cheap, ugly way out and join the throng?” “Oh no,” she says. “The rest of your teeth will shift around and your bite will deteriorate.” “Great,” I think to myself. “If I don’t get a root canal and a crown on this one for the insignificant sum of $700, the world is going to worry that my bite is worse than my bark.”
“Hmmm....” murmurs the dentist, poring over an X-ray. “Was there ever a trauma to these two front teeth?”
An old memory floats to the surface. If I could reply through this numb, dumb, lopsided leer, I could tell her a thing or two about those teeth.
“I fell off a motorcycle,” I whisper.
“I thought so,” she says. “These two teeth are dead and brittle, and could snap off at any time.”
“Wonderful,” I groan, remembering a long stretch of road in southeastern Mali, at the end of a hot day sometime back in the 1980s. Bob, four-year-old Anne and I were precariously flying along, dodging potholes on a moped (the universal Malian family “car” on two wheels). Bob was in front steering. I was dangerously balanced on the back clutching an unexpected gift of three pineapples and a jug of drinking water. Anne was sandwiched in between us in a child’s backpack. We were an accident waiting to happen, when a flock of sheep heading away from the road suddenly turned and made a leisurely crossing in front of us. Bob pulled steadily on the brakes, and we were nearly at a dead stop when the sheep, having safely reached the other side of the road now turned back with the apparent intention of leading us into town. One of them clipped the front wheel and over we went. So there we were, rolling about among smashed pineapples, bounding bleating sheep, and a crowd of sympathetic bystanders all rushing to the rescue.
My face was the first part of me to meet the road. I came up with a mouthful of blood and a new angle to consider. My front teeth were bent back like strange, wobbly fangs, and there was no way to do anything about it until morning. I wasn’t even sure if there was a dentist in the local town.
Next morning however, Bob took me to the hospital in Sikasso, where someone claiming to be a dentist ushered me into his lair. He wore a lab coat that might once have been white. The room itself might once have been properly equipped with dental furniture. There was the chair. Ribbons of black vinyl indicated that once it had been well upholstered. There was even the metal arm-thing that used to hold instruments of dental torture, but they had gone the way of vandals. Flies rose and resettled on little piles of excrement in the corners of the room. This wasn’t just a has-been dentist’s office. It was somebody’s latrine.*
“Bonjour, Madame,” the man in the coat said politely. “What can I do for you?” I pointed to my mouth. “Ah, oui,” he said. “But as you see, although I studied dentistry in Paris, I have no equipment. It has all been spoiled.” I could see that, and was about to beat a retreat and think of a new plan when he inserted me into the chair, gripped the back of my teeth with his thumbs, and snicked them into something like their former place. I staggered around, said thank you, that would be fine, and what did I owe him. “O Madame, rien (nothing) except what occurs to you as a gift.” I searched my pockets, bestowed the contents on him, and fled.
That was a long time ago. True I went around with a jagged grin, but the years passed by, and all was quiet. Until the summer of 1993, when Bob and I were teaching linguistics and anthropology in Lamorlaye, France, just north of Paris.
For three months we lived in what had formerly been the stables of a chateau (now a college), and summer school was proceeding at a stately, untroubled pace when I woke up one morning to a searing headache and a shaft of pain in my mouth. The August sun, fingering its way through a crack in the window, stabbed me in the eyes just exactly at the moment when my two front teeth went into serious decline.
France. August. What could possibly be wrong with this picture? I called the dentist, and got the messagerie which said in essence, “We can’t come to the phone right now. Please call back in September” (meaning: when we get back from our holidays on the Riviera).
Of course. How stupid of me. In the middle of summer school I forgot that all of France goes on holiday during August. Everyone, in every town, except one pharmacist, one baker, and possibly one doctor goes to the sea or the mountains. But by September we were expected back in Africa. I couldn’t stand it!
After a few days the intense pain disappeared to be replaced by no feeling at all, so when September came and we went back to Africa, I figured that dead teeth just stood in place like marble tombstones marking the spot.
This view is not shared by dentists.
“You are going to loose these two front teeth,” my dentist says. “The only question is when. They could snap off at the gum anytime. There are, however, some possible ways to save your smile. One solution would be a bone graft and implants, a procedure which takes a year to complete.”
“And probably $10,000,” I think wretchedly to myself. “There is no way I can sit around in America for another year and spend sums I don’t have.”
“A second approach would be to pull these teeth, do root canals on either side, and cement in a fixed bridge, which could look very nice.”
“It would HAVE to look nice to the tune of $4,000.” I am full of despair and woe.
“Or,” continues the dentist, “we could fit you with a flipper” (a thingamyjig with two fake teeth and some sort of hardware to grab the roof of the mouth). The thought fills me with horror. “Flipper” is such an unfortunate word, suggesting that it regularly flaps and flies out of the mouth when one is in polite company.
In the end I’ve opted to do nothing for now about these two front teeth except PRAY -- and take the path of Gideon with his fleece. If you remember Gideon, he wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard correctly when God told him to go smite down the Midianites. He was a timid man and kept saying, “Could you repeat that, please?” hoping that he’d heard wrong. Eventually, just to be sure, he put a piece of wool on the ground overnight, and told God that if the wool was sopping wet in the morning and the ground was dry, this would help him figure out if God was serious or not. And having come up the next morning with wet wool and dry ground, he begged God not to loose his temper but just once more give him a sign: if after another night in the open air the wool was totally dry and the ground was wet, then he Gideon would know that there was no way to avoid the whole Midianite debacle.
Me – I’ve decided that if my two front teeth start to chip and break up in the next couple of weeks, then clearly something has got to be done at once. But if not, then surely I can trust God to preserve them from all evil -- or at least all breakage -- for another couple of years.
So for now, the dentist has got to be content getting away with thousands of dollars on deep cleaning, fillings, and that root canal way in the back.
The key thought – “surely I can trust God” -- is not unreasonable. Where else can we go but to God when life becomes impossible, or when we tumble into ridiculous and even dangerous situations?
We can trust God because -- well -- because Goodness and Mercy keep following us day after day, and our cups keep on running over with gifts and prayers, love and laughter.

Monday, January 11, 2010

And you thought the season of giving was over

I intended to write a scintillating and something or other post about how we've recently changed our routine and how much better our life is. But I have run into two problems with this plan. One, the word 'scintillating' doesn't go with 'change in routine'. And two, last night was the Night of the Screaming Child and is probably much more interesting.

So about 9pm, after being suckered into watching another dubious Jesus movie on youtube, as they were all going up to bed, Elphine announced loudly, "I'm going to be St. Nicholas tonight. So put your shoes out and see if I put something in them in the morning."

She said it louder and louder probably six or seven times but no one put their shoes out and finally I told her to cheese it and go to bed.

So then (I'm sorry, I realize my transitions are atrocious but I'm too tired to change them) Matt and I stayed up, stupidly, till midnight watching other junk on youtube. This is a regular Sunday night occurrence. We're usually physically tired after Sunday but keyed up and unable to go to sleep. Plus, I've been waiting up to feed the baby one last time in the hopes she'll sleep until 4.

A fleeting two hours later, that puts us at 2am, Matt heard a noise in the kitchen and got up to investigate. Turns out his daughter was up on a stool collecting handfuls of Christmas candy out of the basket on top of the fridge to stuff in shoes. Appalled and transfixed he let her continue uninterrupted.

However, Elphine's getting up catapulted Gladys to her second full night of angst ridden potty training.

I expect you're saying, at this point, that the middle of the night is not a good time to potty train. You're right. Matt mentioned this several times to Gladys. "You have a pullup on," he whispered soothingly, "go back up to bed and go to sleep."
"But you just went potty. Please go back to bed. Please."
"But I have to go Potty" she wailed and wailed and wailed.

Where was I? you ask. Had I abandoned my poor husband? No, I was feeding the baby.
"Matt, let her go potty" was my sound advice.
So we did. After an hour or so of her sitting and singing she was joined by her brother who had awoken for the same reason. The enjoined in fighting and arguing.
"I have to go potty Gladys."
"No, I have to go. You go away."
and so they argued until they both came in here, pulled the blanket off me and curled up together on the floor until the need should strike them again.

So this morning, floor littered with children, I open my eye to find my shoes arranged carefully by my bed and a large snickers bar placed lovingly across them. "Thank you Santa Elphine" I groaned, "that was very lovely of you."

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Friday, January 08, 2010

7 Quick Takes: Really Quick

Matt forgot what time it was this morning and left for morning prayer without bringing me tea. The result was five children, ok 4 children jumping up and down on my head screaming things like
'What comes after If only you would slay the wicked Oh God'
'No I didn't!'
'Yes you did'
'No I didn't!'

Due to my insane self directed school/chore charts, Elphine after shouting Psalm 139 to me in my sleep, undertook to practice the piano while it was still dark out. Really, I don't think children need any kind of musical education. And WHY, in the name of the Almighty, is she a morning person? A self motivated driven morning person? How did this happen to me?

Turns out, texting does not save time in a person's life. It is the supreme and most fabulous way to waste time Ever.

I really like this new baby. I'm pretty sure I said that about all the other ones but I can't remember. There's just something about her that's really lovely.

As I posted on facebook, it turns out that Rye Bread does not make good bread pudding. I don't know what possessed me to think that it would. Anyway, I worked so hard and it looks so beautiful that I have not been a. so mean as to make anyone eat it and yet b. too attached to it to throw it away until it has actually gone bad. So its sitting here looking at me and waiting. I'm hoping Matt will have mercy on me and throw it away.

Gladys is potty training herself. She sits for hours on the potty singing and shouting. I don't take any credit for this. It took 3 years to train the first child, a week to train the second and his whole tiny life to train the third. That the fourth would again be self directed, self motivated and desirous of learning this new skill is beyond my understanding. Given that she doesn't look like me at all, I've entertained the thought that she is not, in fact, my child.

When I finally woke up, this morning, I caught three children riotously sliding down the stairs on my nice living room throw blankets. I was both angry and impressed with their ingenuity.

Go check out Jen.

Thursday, January 07, 2010

I'm not awake enough to title this

For divine reasons unknown to me, we have to leave the house early this morning even though its not our day (Wednesday is the day we leave the house, just to go to CC and then come straight home). Matt has to go somewhere really early (like 8 o'clock) and so
I and the children have to make the exhausting trip next door (its like 20 steps) for Morning Prayer which means
1. Getting dressed.
2. Getting everyone else dressed.
3. Packing up school so we won't waste time.
3. Considering momentarily whether to take food or just eat cookies out of the cupboard in the church (I think you can see the obvious answer).
4. Remembering where Morning Prayer is in the prayer book (just kidding, I remember) and 5. Not freaking out about the cold (too much).

Going on the wisdom of a friend who knows about these things and in a bold attempt to make Elphine and Alouicious slightly more independent in their work, I made up fancy laminated charts with every scrap of work they need to do during the week. I explained carefully that even though they need my help to do just about everything on the chart, they can self direct the process and come to me at the time they would like to do it. The result was Elphine getting in my bed at 5am this morning asking if we could do math, reading and geography.
'Are you kidding me?' I mumbled.
'No,' she said brightly.
'Well, I'm not doing that right now. You'll have to come back later.' And by later I meant like sometime next week. Undeterred she got out of my bed, picked out clothes for her little sister, got dressed herself and is now packing her school bag. She's decided to draw the world this morning and do math.

Now I feel guilty for lying here blogging. So I guess I'll get up and start this monumental work of getting us out the door on time.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

A Lament in Cold Weather, if I was a different sort of person, it would be a poem

I've got a baby, a little boy, a cat and a computer all keeping me warm and making it extremely hard to even consider getting out of bed and into the cold.

Really, I've been so looking forward to global warming and its turning out to be such a huge disappointment, at least here in New York. Instead of warming we're daily experiencing global cooling and dimming. Alright alright, I'm not trying to start a climate change debate. I'm just putting off the inevitable minute I have to get up.

Did I mention that I have to take a Tupperware of Ice to school today?

I don't understand the purpose, what with God being sovereign and all, of cold weather.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Hem it with Quietness, a repost

His thoughts said, What if I have not time to gather my portion?

His Father said, Hast thou only one minute? Hem it with quietness. Do not spend it thinking how little time thou hast. I can give thee much in one minute.

Then the son remembered the Jewish tradition about the manna and the dew. The manna fell on the dew, they said, then more dew fell on the manna so that it was found between two layers of dew. And he thought of the quietness of the dew and of how far it was removed from bustle of any kind. And he understood the word that his Father had spoken to him.

Amy Carmichael
His thoughts said...His Father said...

Monday, January 04, 2010

I have a program for that

My voice is swallowed up in my chest and throat making my resolution to move in slow motion something I cannot avoid. Until about 10am every morning I cannot speak above a whisper and have to gesture to the children to make them do what they ought. Getting ready for church yesterday morning was blissfully quiet if slightly more complicated than usual.

As I was trying to wrestle Gladys into her pink tights it occurred to me that having a largish family is akin, probably, to having a program size church. We are making the transition this very moment from a pastoral size to a program size church and there many changes that we have undergone as a family and in the way that we pastor. If you're interested in reading about the various sizes of churches I'm sure you could google and find out far more than I know (bleh), but very basically, as a church grows, the role of the pastor changes. More programs and institutions are required to keep things functioning peacefully and orderly. It doesn't mean that the pastor stops doing his pastorly job, but that things that might have been informal before because everybody knew about them, have to be formally articulated.

A good example of this is the soup kitchen. Whilst we were a small church, everyone just knew all the inner workings of the soup kitchen. It was just known which boxes of food in the kitchen were for Shepherd's Bowl, even though they were unmarked. You can see the potential for disaster when someone who doesn't know comes in and uses Shepherd's Bowl food for coffee hour or some other such horror. Making a 'program' of the Shepherd's Bowl means doing things like marking the boxes, or explicitly saying who pays for what etc. etc.

Having a large family, I think, is just like that.

Whereas with one child, you don't really have to say anything out loud or formalize anything, its just you and the kid, what could possibly go wrong (heh), but with FIVE children one needs institutions to keep oneself afloat. These institutions further allow one to impress the world.

"How" someone said to me, "do you manage to have your children so beautifully dressed for church week after week?" Well, I have a program for that. Its called Saturday Afternoon and its a very orderly very formalized time. Everyone that needs a haircut gets one. Everyone gets a bath (even this is broken down--Alouicious gets towels for everyone, Elphine gets pjs. Girls go in first, then boys. Hair is washed blah blah etc.) Elphine and Alouicious pick out Sunday clothes for themselves and the little ones. We find all necessary socks, shoes, tights, hairbows, diapers everything and its all laid out on the dining room table. Supper is simple and easily cleaned up. And the house is cleaned. That's one institution.

Another institution is story time in the evening. After the children are all ready for bed, the sit on the floor and they basically have to sit still and Matt reads a long chapter of Genesis and they discuss it.

Less and less of life is sort of haphazardly determined and more and more is said allowed (or laminated onto little cards). What makes a programed life so peaceable and lovely is that it comes on incrementally. Who, of course, is not overwhelmed with a first child? Show me a person with their first child, and I will show you a person who needs a shower and a cup of coffee with a friend. But you gain a capacity to cope and do more work so that as the second, third, forth....children arrive, you can handle more and you have more systems to keep things going.

Probably everybody reading this has already figured this out and is bemusedly amused that I am only just figuring it out. In this realm of life, I've been so busy making programs for myself that I didn't notice what I was doing. But I needed to sit down and sort it out because I've been finding myself frustrated with those blessed suckers who only have one child. They also don't have all the programs that I have with my five. When it was me by myself with Elphine I was ALWAYS late, for everything. I never ever factored in enough time to account for both her and me. Now I am often early because I well know all the little things that could hang us up and factor in time to deal with them. When they don't occur, we arrive early.

And now, the time for our school "program" has arrived and I will not have my whole day thrown off just because I couldn't force myself to stop blogging. See you later.

Friday, January 01, 2010

Links for your new year

I've been meaning for some days to post some other stuff I've been reading, and now is the critical moment because I'm Exhausted from partying all night. By partying I mean putting kids back to bed every few minutes and feeding the baby every few minutes. She appears to be having some insane growth spurt whereby she think she needs to be drinking milk All The Time. Plus she's colicky.

Someone just posted this link on facebook. Not only is the idea of a fiscal haiku completely fabulous, the haiku's themselves are well worth your perusal.

I've been reading about and praying for this baby for a while, meaning all the time to call her to your attention so you could pray to. Spend some time on the whole blog while you pray. Becky is so open about her spiritual life in this crisis and what God is doing. Plus, she grew up in Africa which is a guarantee that her writing is excellent.

Speaking of Africa, this is SO Funny and horrible and offensive and possibly profane and not for children, but so funny, and why we're spending so much time on geography.

And as usual, Jen hits it out of the park.

Happy New Year (again).
Oh, and Matt has made some stunning and ground breaking predictions.
OHHH and go read the update if you're from Good Shepherd.