Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Bright Fingerprints

My lil grand bean turned 5 last week. She's been with us for almost 2 years. I can't believe it. She was just barely 3 when she moved in with my daughter. And what a difference 2 years has made. This little "marching to the beat of a different drummer" kid is just so, so delightful. It tears my heart every time I think about what could have happened had she not ended up in my daughter's life. Not to single her out. I feel that way about all of them. But since it's her birthday and I'm bearing the marks of her love on my fingernails I thought I'd just share. Bean had a little girl birthday party on Saturday and she asked to paint my fingernails and toenails. And I let her. Yesterday she came over for dinner and said. "You still have your fingernails painted." with a big grin. I melted. I do that a lot since these kids entered my life. Yes, even though I discover things like the little turkeys can't be trusted with scissors and markers, I just love the heck out of them. 

 Several months ago. About ten in fact I wrote this. It was written with tears and prayers. Approximately one year later I am thrilled that the ink on the adoption papers will be dry soon and they will be ours forever. So those tears I shed, that deep, longing hope I poured out to God was answered in His yes that they could remain in the safety of our family. Thank you, God. 

"My four year old grand-baby is snuggled up against me snoring and drooling against my left breast. She smells like sunshine and soap. Heat is radiating because she's fighting one of those childhood viruses that are inevitable. She was feeling just fine an hour ago until the pain reliever wore off and her eyes got droopy and she climbed into my lap after her latest dose and fell fast asleep.

This is such a normal situation. But it is made poignant by a few things. One of those things is the innocent trust she has gifted me. At just two months beyond four, a mere 1,500 or so days, this baby has experienced life full of abandonment and selfish adults. Tomorrow a judge looks at black and white documentation and decides if it is time for the biological parents to lose their rights or whether to give them another three months to heap more emotionally painful interaction upon their innocent children. 

My heart is heavy with a mixed bag of emotion. Is it wrong for me to hope the parents will lose their rights when it feels like that is the only chance these little ones have in life? How can I, as a foster grandma, want a better life for these children than the woman who felt the movement of life nestled under her heart and who heard the first cry and saw the helplessness of her child? This child who sought my arms as a safe nest to rest in has captured my whole heart. How did she lose her mother's? 

The gift of this trust hurts. Because the price of loving and imprinting and believing is so very great. If a man or woman determines the parents deserve another chance she and her siblings will go back into a life that is nominal. Where nurturing is a fairy tale and self-suffiency is a matter of life or death."

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Scrambled Wisdom on Purging

I'm not sure what underlying drive fuels my desire to purge stuff. Psychologically it would probably be about trying to control what I can while Rob is going through his health dealio. Maybe. Or maybe I'm feeling guilty about starving children. Or am trying to recreate who I have become.  

If you walked into my house your first thoughts would not be "Man, this chick/hen is a minimalist!" Not at all. I'm not even close. I don't even know if that is my goal. I listen to podcasts occasionally by these guys. (While I'm cooking, usually, nice to have friendly voices in the kitchen with me. And I usually get caught up on two or three episodes. Beats bingeing on Netflix...

:  ) )The one I listened to the other day contained comments regarding feedback they get on their name, The Minimalists, and how some people are critical of that label. Like they aren't minimalist enough. They mentioned one guy they follow on social media and how he's got 55 possessions. The point they made was that he was living this extremely spartan life because his heart's desire is to pick up and move internationally every four months or so and 55 items works well for him. 

Another minimal mindset guy I follow is Becoming Minimalist. He had a really simple, thought provoking article the other day. 

Tying these two thoughts together I think I'm just done with being encumbered with stuff. I've gone on about the joy of some drawers being empty and all the rest opening and closing with ease. I spent a few hours this week purging my book shelves again. And every time I do it I think I can't possibly find more books to get rid of and every time I do it I find dozens. This time I was motivated by my grands. I had a sick one the day before yesterday and I suggested she read some books. She found a few, but honestly the kids books were a mess, laid on their sides, picture books mixed in with chapter books, and not really at eye level for them. Cleaning it up seriously took about five hours.  Making piles, sorting, bagging up ones no one wanted, dusting the shelves and putting everything back in a kid friendly, organized space. That thrills me. Because I honestly don't want a bunch of books sitting around that my kiddos won't read because it's too complicated to find them. I want my stuff to be used, not stored.  And I'm loving wide open spaces between objects. 

I haven't been keeping count this year since I whomped my 1000 things last year goal in three short months. I don't want it to be about getting rid of a set number. More like allowing my possessions go that are not adding value to my life because chances are someone out there needs what is gathering dust on my shelves. 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Today

That morning when you literally have 10 minutes to blog.

And the dogs haven't gone out to potty yet.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Past Blast

My friend X-ta is one I picked up in a former life. No, not Shirley MacLaine style, as in a long, long time ago when I was much younger, naive and impressionable. 

I used to run a non-profit for child care providers. She ran a volunteer program for senior citizens. They should never have put us in the same private office. But they did. 

Within the first week of X-ta dropping into my life she had convinced me she was 15 years older than she actually was and introduced me to what a bachelors in theater looks like in the non-profit world. Ha. 

We did several collaborative projects. One an afghan representing the landmarks in our town wherein we got to do field trips and take photos of said landmarks. My favorite was the cigarette butt between the fingers angel statue. This photo was, of course, not included on the afghan. Her newsletter also featured my editing, suggestions and occasional art. This 20 something year old cartoon is not my art but I'm pretty sure it consumed much of my day anyways. 

X-ta has gone on to produce award winning publications in her current position. And she is a creative force behind Out of the Frying Pan. I believe we brainstormed the idea of two older strong-personality women who solved crime. One of which had to have the name Zula. Stay tuned for more. 

Scribbles and Scrambles - Don't Go Into The Basement!!!

Gladys feels my shame. See, I went into the basement....now if you're like me you are chanting "No, don't go down into the basement!" While the stupid heroine does just that. But instead of finding a crazed serial killer I found something worse....tucked back in a corner is a bookshelf filled with boxes. In those boxes? Paper!

20 year old paper. Medical statements, utility bills, canceled checks...stuff dating back to 1994. Ten boxes worth. Tomorrow I will begin hauling handfuls a day and tucking them into our secure recycling bin at work. Sigh! Happy. Happy.

Scribbles and Scrambles

Lazy Tuesday. A winter storm is coming so we are enjoying the overcast afternoon full of scents and sounds to sniff and bark at. Well, they are. I'm actively avoiding sweeping, dishwasher duty and laundry.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Morning After Part 2

My long tale is nearly finished. And I may have almost recovered from four kiddos for 16 hours. 

Pathetically, as my mother pointed out, this was a mere sliver of my daughter's life. Wheweeee. This is why I did not start my family at age 40. 

No, that is not true. I did not start my family at age 40 because I was basically young and in love and we do crazy things like have and raise a family when we know nothing about birthin (or raisin) no babies. Right? Right. 

So bless you daughters who are carrying that torch of whelping and raising kids when its a rough, filthy and thankless task so very often. The dividends are great. But the nights (and days are long). 

Here is the rest of my story. We arrive at church. Halfway adhering to the daylight savings time loss. This is pretty impressive. 

We had all the gear packed (except the shark slippers, the jacket needed for school on Monday and, of course, the toothbrush). Two poopy sacks (one a diaper part 1, the other the oops underwear issue. For the record this collection grew). 

Unbeknownst to me and discovered later by my daughter, someone also left behind some hair. 

Seriously. My daughter left them with me (don't leave, no, don't leave) as they were finishing their movie. Bedtime was a noisy affair with a pen war (clearly) but the doors were open. There is no pile of hair on the floor or in the bed. Alone time was bathroom time. Every other second (at my house) was under adult supervision. I do have scissors in my bathroom drawer. I mean, he's seven. That shouldn't be an issue. Right? 

Well, I'm guessing he decided to cut a chunk of hair off to prove the laws of nature still work. Yep. I have no idea where the hair went. Maybe he ate it. I'll ask him. There's another scientific test there. I think I'll ask him if the extra fiber was what he was going for. 

Worship contained a new singer. The baby is going through a phase where new or even very familiar people freak her out randomly and about 79% of the time. Rob wasn't a good risk, what with squirmy strong super baby and kneelessness....that paints an accurate accident waiting to happen. So she joined me on stage. Entertainment for her and an amazing upper body workout for me. 

At church we had a good old fashioned time-out. Two of the four anyway. While in time-out the boy snatched the necklace of the four-year-old and broke it. Because when you are in trouble it's always best to do something else naughty...another law of nature being tested...cause and effect. Maybe he's going to be a scientist or a lawyer when he grows up. The four-year-old was very offended and sad and looked until she found the missing jump ring and I fixed it and put it on her neck. During this 45 second ordeal I put the 14 month-old down to toddle. I looked away to clasp the necklace...3 seconds...if that... she disappeared. Not really, but she was headed north, apparently saw I was otherwise engaged and veered west and hid behind a person. Thank heavens she was dressed in bright colors. 

A few more days and all my tics should be in remission. 

I love my daughter for so many things. Coming back for her children is right up there.