Sad…

One of my earliest memories is of a night spent in the basement of our house in Kansas, sitting out a tornado warning. I was five. My mom was very pregnant, my baby brother ready to arrive any day.

I played with my older brother. We talked about baby names as a family. My dad listened to a radio. I remember being scared because I had seen the Wizard of Oz, and I knew that creepy witches rode their brooms in tornadoes and your house ended up in another place. We ended up being fine.

This morning while I watch the coverage of what happened in Moore, Oklahoma yesterday I feel so sad. Schools gone. Homes gone. People gone. They are not fine.

I’m just praying. Praying they find more people alive. Praying for comfort. Praying for recovery.

Numbers …

Six.

The number of years I have come here to write my life and feelings.

One thousand three hundred thirty.

The number of days I have had something to say and have come here to say it.

Nine thousand seventeen.

The incredible amount of times you’ve chosen to comment on my ramblings. Bless you for making this a two-way conversation.

Eighty-two.

The number of people who have chosen to be called “followers” of this little blog. That sounds cultish. But what it really means is that eighty-two of you have decided I’m worth reading every day. Thank you.

Twenty-eight.

The number of times I’ve thought about quitting this altogether. Then I think about the number eighty-two. And I think about how much I love this little space of mine and what it means to me and my family so keep at it.

Five.

The number of people in my house who give me the support and love I need to make this happen. Oh, and they also give me dirt to write about.

Three.

The number of people who have commented on almost every single post I’ve ever written. To my mom, my sister and my friend in Spain . . . I love you! I really, really do.

One.

The only number that counts. One glorious Father in Heaven who gave me the desire and ability to write, who leads my family and my life, who inspires my days and gives me hope. In the end it’s the only number that matters. One is all I need.

The rest of the numbers are a bonus that when added up equal one grateful Dragonfly.

Can We Talk About This?

On Sunday the Hubby took a few Mother’s Day pictures of me with my kids. This was my favorite.

Why?

Clearly it’s not because it is a flattering picture of me! It’s because I think it captures how mothering often feels to me . . . like a big, fat CRAZYTRAIN!

But I love it. My job is hard work. I don’t feel appreciated very often. There is no employee of the month here, and usually my bonuses are paid in the smallest of increments – an “I love you” here or a “Thanks, Mom” there. I don’t clock out at the end of the day. My job is 24-7. The idea that mothering stops once the kids are in bed is false – else why would I be filling out their school paper work at 10:30 and getting up with the midnight crier?

When I feel tired or frustrated by mothering, I simply have to remind myself that mine is THE MOST IMPORTANT JOB OF ALL.

I just read this yesterday and it pretty much sums it up for me: “What other career could claim as its end product the elevation of a human soul?”

That’s what I do. I work every day to elevate four souls.

When The Number One Breaks …

Our trampoline, a gift given to us seven years ago by the Hubby’s parents for Christmas, is dead.

In the past seven years it has been used at least once a day by the kids. In the Winter, as long as there isn’t snow, they’re on the trampoline in their coats, hats and mittens.  In the Summer, they’re on it in their swimsuits with a sprinkler on underneath. In the Spring, they’re sweeping the pollen off before jumping. In the Fall they’re raking of leaves. It doesn’t matter what season it is, the trampoline is the number one favorite toy of the Lee kids.

This past year it has become Owlie’s go to bonding time with his siblings. As soon as they walk in the door from school the first words out of the wee boy’s mouth are “Wanna jump with me?” How can they say no?

He can even get his Daddy out there with him. They laugh and jump until it gets dark. Unfortunately, this momma can’t jump or she’ll pee her pants. But I love to watch people jump and take pictures of people jumping.

The springs on this “jumpoline” have finally called it quits. We have another trampoline coming in the mail. The kids are going crazy without it.

I’m curious (because I know this is a polarizing topic) how you feel about trampolines. Did you have one growing up? Do you have one now?

Make A Wish …

We spent time at the part last week blowing the ghostly remains of dandelions and sending our heartfelt wishes into the sky. It’s so fun to teach a child how to make a wish.

Wanna know what I wished for? Here are a few things:

• That Big C’s last tooth affected by the baseball accident will not die (the other two are dead).
• That RedDog will have the energy and brain power to do his best on all of his standardized testing this week.
• That Hannie B will have good, anxiety free nights through the end of school.
• That Owlie will be nice to Lucy.
• That the Hubby will not feel frustrated by a certain disrespectful teenager at our church.
• That my momma will get home safely from her trip out West.
• That I can serve my friend Ronalin in these last weeks before she has her baby.
• That my friend Ronalin’s baby will get her safely.
• That I can be happy every day.
• That I can be patient with my kids.
• That we can all survive the last three weeks of school without killing eachother.
• That our Summer will be a memorable one.
• That my toilets and showers would somehow magically clean themselves.

What would you wish for today?

Home …

This is home.

We have lived in this house longer than I have EVER lived anywhere in my life. Ten years may not seem like a long time to some of you, but to this Army brat who moved every three years growing up, it is an eternity.  It is the entire life of two of my children. It is more than half of my marriage.

After so many years here, we are very comfortable in our home. We have worked hard on every room. We have painted every wall and ceiling. We (I) have decorated, undecorated and redecorated every space. On a good night, when the kitchen is clean, I feel like my home is a blanket that wraps me in its warm arms.

Lately, things around us are slowly becoming different. Best friends are moving far away. Other local friends are transitioning to better neighborhoods. Across the street there is a for sale sign in the yard. Our siblings are uprooting and taking their families to new places, new homes.The winds of change are blowing, yet leaving us and our home untouched.

I’m not sure I know how to feel about all of it. For some reason, I am finding it especially hard and myself especially sad.

When I feel this way, I try to remember that ten and a half years ago, my Hubby drove into this neighborhood and had a feeling. He knew, because God whispered it to his Spirit, that this was where we were meant to be.

So many amazing things have happened to our family since we moved here ten years ago. Our family has stretched and grown. We have lived and loved here. Difficult things have also occurred here. We have ached and cried here, but we are stronger because of it.

I’m so grateful for this home. It is a refuge from the storm of life for my little family.

At the end of every day, when each child is tucked in and sleeping, I rest my head on my own pillow, in my own room and thank God that this is home.