Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Past Blast Part 2

Remember the epic story of my past corporate life?  Here's part two for you. Christa mentioned that she was appreciative that she was able to mail me the cartoons thereby reducing her junk piles. 

Well, here's my response to that. Forever on the internet. 

So I did actually draw this one. Don't be jealous of my sweet skills. 

Scribbles and Scrambles - Missed Their People

We were gone a few hours. And missed.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Stuff and Stuff

  What I want to know is how this stuff accumulated in my house. I mean I have lived here 20 years, bringing things in, one bag, one box at a time. But when I compile the "outta heres" and haul the bags and boxes to the car and into the local thrift shop that supports a great ministry I just can't stop the amazement of the sheer poundage of the stuff we don't use. And there's more stuff. Lots more. I'm filling another bag with clothes that are becoming meh. And purging some old financial documents one bag at a time at a secure bin at work. And a few pieces of furniture need to go. The mate of the "bounced couch" days are numbered. 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Cooking Challenges

It is a fact commonly known to humankind that a man who loses a knee watches a lot of television. Some of those television shows are binged season after season via Hulu and Netflix and lots of them are food preparation in nature. 

When my one-kneed man said he felt like cooking I stationed the dogs to catch small errors and myself to catch him if necessary. 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Almost Perfect Storm

I think our children have our number. 

Middle child roasts coffee for a local roaster. She brings us bags every once in awhile to make sure we aren't purchasing Folgers. (Not going to happen, but I'm not going to tell her that.) Our youngest daughter works at Starbucks. She throws a bag our way when we babysit. (Like we need the incentive. Seriously, we'd pay her but again aren't going to spill that secret either.) 

We just finished our local hand roasted Guatemala and had to break into the Pike's Place. Our son went to New Orleans for a service trip. They planted Cypress trees and helped in the continuing rebuilding post Katrina. He brought us a can of coffee. 

Wait. Maybe that says something else. Like don't talk to Mom unless she hyped up on Joe?!? 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ For the Reals.

Apparently, dying hair gray is a thing. I'm a trend setter. Here's what I won't be doing to my hair anytime soon ever. 

http://www.boredpanda.com/cat-hairstyle-shaved-back-head-katichka

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."