My Mom's Here

I have been reminded in this season that our horizontal relationships need to be cleaned exceptionally more frequently than our vertical ones.  Unless someone pulls a crayon attack on your walls, I doubt you are scrubbing away, the way you clean your table after a meal or your desk at the end of the work day.  A failure to clean, will allow buildup of clutter and/or dust and crumbs on the horizontal spaces, but it rarely builds on the walls without a conscious deliberate work of defilement.  We had three strategically placed tiny green x's right by our kitchen door to the garage.  One on the light switch, one on the wall, and one on the molding.  It took someone rather intentional, to have a green crayon in hand, and look around at the clean beige walls, and letting a desire of making their mark become a reality, officially make his or her mark. My response is,  "Grrr.  Who did this!?" And there's the powder room.  I realize we are fortunate to have a powder r

My days have been filled with an extra pumps of Chai.  Have you experienced a Chai Latte at Starbucks? Usually, the spices bite the back of your mouth, and about where your molars meet your tongue the sensation lingers beyond each sip.  Last week I had a Chai Latte, and it was mild, like a cup of warm milk with a subtle taste of the exotic spices.  Today, while explaining what I was looking for in the Chai Latte to Jack Fritz, the kind and well articulated barista at Starbucks this morning, he recommended an extra pump of Chai.  It was fantastic.   Have you done this to your days lately?  As my limits of what can be accomplished in a day or a week are stretched, with all the complexities of spice found in my latte, it also brings an awareness of the necessity for a quiet soul and a content-with-to-do list posture.   We bought a house!  We are not in it yet, so it seems a bit surreal.  Then again, weekly as we go in to assess and plan the spaces, my excitement builds.  At

While sorting through fresh pile laundry, I noticed a little midnight blue splotch here and there.  As I pull up more and more clothes to fold, there is not just a little splotch here and there, but streaks, huge splotches, whole white toddler collars turned to a tie-died blue-fest.  My C Wonder shirt that I wear weekly no longer has crisp thin navy lines over white, but blue and white meddled together as if to portray an overcast day's sky.  Now, rather than pulling for clothes to fold, I'm digging for the culprit while I intermittently spew out questions.  "Was there anything in your pocket from school this week? Did you happen to stick a crayon in your pocket?  Or one of those gel writers? Do you remember putting anything in your pocket? What could this be?"  The response is a stream of "no. no. no." Then, as if clarity hit, "Mommy, maybe a long, long time ago someone had something in their pocket and you forgot to check the pocket and then you wa