Everyone a Homeschooler

It has little to do with academics. The three β€˜R’s of reading, writing, and β€˜rithmetic may never be discussed. Scheduling is variable, sometimes nonexistent, curriculum often ignored, college degrees are irrelevant, and lesson prep is the furthest thing from your mind. Nevertheless,


You are a homeschooler. Every parent is.


When one discusses a child’s education, questions like the following are asked: … (more…)

Planting the Word

Yay for Spring! I have dirt under my fingernails and I’m not sorry for it. πŸ™‚

I love the thrill of a new shoot peeking upward, announcing its humble, miraculous presence. My daughter and I just planted bush beans last week, and now a few little pale proofs of life have pushed their way to the surface.

I’m pretty sure that each little plant has emerged because we put the seed there last week, and because we watered it. And I’m also thinking it will survive if we keep watering it and making sure it’s got enough light.

On that note…

The Word of God is spoken of as seed in the Gospels. In the lives of my children (cute little plots of earth), I am a sower. It is my crucial task to sow the seed of the Word of God into their hearts with fervor and care.

I try to care for the ‘soil,’ removing rocks and weeds (discipline), shooing away the fowls of the air (praying God’s protection for them, and shielding them as best I can from unGodly influence), and ensuring that the seeds fall on the dirt rather than the sidewalk (well-placed direction and criticism).

But I must remember that without the Seed, my fussing with the ‘soil’ is pointless.

It seems that most parents are very concerned about keeping the ‘soil’ tilled and weeded (keeping ‘bad influences’ out), but are often scant with the sowing (getting the good stuff IN). This is usually not intentional; most people are simply overwhelmed with the prospect of teaching their children the Scripture, especially when none of us are perfect.

For instance, It can feel a bit hypocritical teaching the following verse:

“He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city”(Prov 16:32)

…when I just bit someone’s head off. I say this from experience. Eek.

But let me encourage you (and myself, please): these flaws and faults confronted in Scripture offer perfect opportunities to show humility in the presence of our children. We all pale in comparison to the glorious standards set forth in the Bible; it’s OK to admit this to our children:

“We all need the grace of God, and we all are trying every day to be more like Jesus. This verse tells us how/why…”

So, back to the seed…If I don’t diligently sow, what will I do with an empty garden bed? Is it not effort wasted, weeding and watering nothing but dirt? Thinning the plants comes later (rightly dividing the word of truth), but there will be nothing to thin if I don’t liberally sow now.

How exactly do I do this, you ask?

In my next post, I will be addressing the practical side: How to begin planting the Word in a child’s heart. See you then! πŸ™‚


When the sick do the carrying

bible_old_hands2[22]My grandmother, widowed mother of six boys, commuted to work daily in downtown Chicago until she was in her eighties. Grandpa had died when their youngest, my dad, was five years old.

A tenacious woman, she is remembered for her steel determination and faithfulness to God and His Word. She had no hobbies other than reading and studying the Bible. I remember her often humming old hymns, like “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.”

All six of their boys became preachers of the Apostolic message. But as time passed, two sons found themselves outside the will of God. Whether it was personal offense or tragedy or temptation, I don’t know. But I do remember praying for uncle Lindy and uncle Billy from the moment I knew what it was to pray.

Well into her eighties, when she grew too old and ill to work any longer, it became necessary to sell the house in which she had raised her family. I still remember the screen door at the top of two well-worn concrete steps, the mint growing wild by the door, the vintage linoleum in the eat-in kitchen wherein lingered the wafting remnants of vitamins, nuts, and fried chicken. An old radio was always playing WMBI, Moody Bible Institute radio.

The whole house was scented by the treasured, leather-bound volumes left behind by Grandpa, which held their respected position in the front living room behind the protective glass panels of the old bookcase. Those commentaries and theological treatises were the glue that bound us together when seams were strained and the family fabric threadbare.

It was decided that the best place for Grandma was with Uncle Billy, who lived alone. Uncle Lindy, who never married, would quit his job as a truck driver to take care of her. The two prodigal sons were now entrusted with the care of their rigidly faithful mother, from whose lips a beloved Scripture or loving rebuke came often.

Grandma would never miss a church service. Uncle Lindy drove her to church in Harvey, where Reverend Terry Cox pastored. Lindy, guilty, tenderhearted and miserable, knew that if he spent too much time in the services, he would find himself at the altar. So he kept his distance as long as he could bear it. Uncle Billy would come on occasion with them, and both brothers found an occasional moment of repentance, but the change was never complete.

Then in June of 2004, Grandma died. Lindy, who had devoted his daily life to caring for his mother and now left with a great void, was most directly affected. The day of the funeral came, and for the first time in more than twenty years, all six brothers were in the same room.

Where differences and guilt had divided them, the passing of their mother united them. They talked and reminisced and laughed together. They sang beloved old songs, and ended in prayer, brothers praying for one another. Lindy and Billy were so moved by the presence of the Comforter who visited us that day that they both re-dedicated themselves to the Lord.

It has now been seven years, and Billy and Lindy have been faithful. Those who repeatedly had carried their ailing mother to the Lord had been themselves carried into His presence.

I have wondered about the four who carried their crippled friend to Jesus and let him down through the roof in Mark chapter 2. It is their faith that brought healing to their friend. Would they have been so adamant about seeing Jesus for themselves that day? The crowd was pressing, but the need of their friend overrode their difficulty.

What became of them? They were witness to one of the oft-recounted miracles Jesus performed.

Whatever their story might have been, the fact is that they encountered the Messiah that day because of a sick friend. My uncles both found Jesus again because of their ailing mother.

Many people have heard our story, and prayed for us as Wes endured brain surgery and its various complications. People we have never met–and still may never meet–have lifted us up.

I don’t presume to know the issues of all those who have prayed for us, but I do know God does nothing without purpose. And it isn’t the ‘main character’ alone who is suffering for a reason. The ‘supporting characters,’ the extras…they all matter, and they are all involved for a reason. There’s a reason each person who has heard about us has been exposed to our situation. God has been in it from the beginning, and His plan includes all the cast.

So, for all of you who have carried us to Jesus, I thank God for you. I pray His purpose finds you, and that you are closer today to Him than yesterday.

Whatever it is that brings us to our knees, I hope we are thankful to be found there, pliable in His hands, listening to His voice, and ready for the next step in His Way.

Winning our Children

I have been reminded on more than one occasion lately that my children are my ‘mission field’, and that converting them is my priority.

Proverbs 22:6: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

Deuteronomy 6:7: “And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house; and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.”

1 Tim 3:5: “for if a man does not know how to rule his own house, how will he take care of the church of God?”

With that in mind, I am determined to find ways to win my children…to nurture them in the Truth, ‘teaching them diligently’ the Word of God as instructed, and striving to apply it to every part of their day. I want their lives to be permeated with the things of God.

This is, after all, why we are homeschooling. It is a right we have for the time being, and I do not want to squander this opportunity~

So, without further ado, I will share my first idea:

To teach them scriptures that apply to common tasks, and to instruct them to quote the special verse(s) every time the task is done. For instance, when they wash their hands, they will quote

“Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? Or who shall stand in His holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart, who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.” (Psalm 24:3)

Another option for hand-washing would be

“Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10)

In order to implement this, I think I shall print the verses out on a small piece of paper and hang it in plain view (for those of reading age…I can read it to the little ones and they will pick it up eventually), like next to the mirror in the bathroom.

Next to the light switch in my daughters’ room, I will put:

“The LORD is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear? The LORD is the strength of my life: of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1)

(Ooo! Side note: wouldn’t it be cool to have a night light with a cut-out stencil to project this verse on the wall/ceiling, so that the child could look at it at night and be comforted? Or maybe Isaiah 41:10!)

In the Old Testament, the Law applied to every task, every ritual, every mundane detail of the lives of Israel. He means for us to think and talk about Him ALL the time! This nurtures our continual connection with our God, it is our protection from assimilation into the world, and it is ammunition against the ‘fiery darts’ of the enemy! Jesus quoted Old Testament verses when tempted in the wilderness–that’s good enough for me! πŸ™‚

How about you? What do you think is a helpful tip to help us win our children? Or what verses would you connect to which tasks?Β  I’m all ears! πŸ™‚


On a bulletin board in my closet, there is a card that accompanied these flowers for Valentine’s Day.

I will not cheapen its beautiful message (or elicit awkwardness) by relaying it. πŸ™‚ But it was sweet, and perfect, and I will keep it forever.Β  Because it came from a loving, living, breathing, healthy man who holds my heart.

In numerous recent conversations, we have contemplated with awe the ordeal that now feels like a dream, or a trip to an alternate universe.

It was as if the heavy curtain of normalcy was lifted for a few months, and passage was granted–forced–into a world thickly clogged with hospitals, sickness, uncertainty, struggle, and tears, and where that wrenching hollowness in the pit of your stomach reminds you that your life is but a feeble flicker and could be snuffed out any minute. Funny…about nine months ago, I had thought that curtain was a concrete wall. Not so.

Even as I write this, it occurs to me that in a moment, we could be catapulted back into that world, but by the grace of God.

What is it that compels me to trust the curtain and its predictable pattern more than the everlasting Arms that hung it? My comfortable, expected daily existence may vanish in a moment, but He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Here I must stop and lift my hands to thank Him once again for His grace. Come what may tomorrow, His plan is perfect, He is our hiding place, our place of rest and peace, and there is no dark crevice in the rough terrain of human experience where He cannot be found. “Though I make my bed in hell, thou art there,” David said.

Tonight, in the midst of evening routine and preoccupied thoughts about tomorrow, I glanced at that little card and was struck by the unfathomable mercy of my God. He has kept us, protected us, provided for us, healed our broken hearts, and supplied supernatural hope, strength, peace… I will not forget His benefits!

I am not a widow, but by the grace of God.

My husband is not confined to a wheelchair, or walker, or cane, and possesses all his faculties (aside from hearing loss on his right side), but by the grace of God.

My children have a father to teach them how to catch a football, but by the grace of God.

He bears in his body the scars. Evidence of God’s mercy upon those for whom life is a vapor, a passing shadow.

So now I run back to the Healer and cast at His feet these flowers that, though a bit wilted by now, testify to His unspeakable grace. He has kept us. His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures forever.

Lord, I will not fail to give You the glory for this miraculous story we have lived.

I will repeat it, recall it, remember it. I will not forget Your design, Your plan, Your perfect timing. And whatever tomorrow brings, I will remember that it is You who are First and Last, Author and Finisher, and Your promises do not fail. I rest in you tonight, thankful.

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” (Isaiah 26:3)

Home again

Doesn’t he look wonderful?? Yes, I agree. πŸ™‚
We are still not without bumps and hiccups, but our hope and prayer is that the end of this particular trial is near.

We arrived home (last) Sunday from Vanderbilt. I drove, and it was one of the scariest drives I’ve ever made. It seems everyone who’d been over the river and through the woods at Granny’s house was going home at the last minute, so the interstate was a big NASCAR race, complete with spectacular crashes: we got stuck behind TWO major wrecks, one of which stopped traffic both ways on I-40, and required a rescue helicopter to land on the road. It ended up taking us almost five hours to make a (normally) 2 1/2-hour trip.

All things considered (yes, I’m using that phrase again πŸ˜‰ ), he’s doing pretty well.

This week has been a bit bumpy–his headaches are still nagging and persistent, but not unmanageable. His sleep patterns are much changed due mostly to medication. His energy level is improving, however, and though he’s not at top speed, life seems to be returning to some semblance of ‘normal.’ Hopefully in a month or so, when he’s finally off all the medication, we can leave this chapter behind. Hopefully we will have left it better people.

Until then, we are thankful for every day. Christmas is more meaningful now, family moments are more precious, and the blessing of being home is more tangible. I pray that we recognize the beauty around us rather than pine for what is not. Life is a gift, just as it is, trials included.

I pray the blessings of God on all of you. Merry Christmas! πŸ™‚

Thanksgiving 2009

Hi. Last time we talked, Wes was in the hospital, recovering from meningitis.

Now, Wes is in the hospital, waiting for the spinal fluid leak to heal and the swelling to go down.

“Really? Three weeks later? A month-and-a-half past surgery??” you ask. Yes, and believe me: I am just as incredulous as you.

And now I shall share with you our timeline:

October 30. Wes has staples removed, develops meningitis, spends a week in the hospital with ridiculous pain and super-mega-antibiotics. My mom, who came to help us on October 13, gets ready to leave on the 5th. Dad drives down from Wisconsin to pick her up.

November 6.
We go home with high hopes and a week’s worth of IV meds to kill what’s left of the bug in his brain. Swelling at the incision site seems to be improving.

November 11.
Wes’ good friend, Troy, is killed in a car accident. A groomsman in our wedding, he is a young husband and father, loved by all who know him. This tragedy adds to the difficulty and pain of recovery. A very hard day for Wes (not to mention for Troy’s wife, Amy, and their son Tanner, who was in the car with his dad and suffered horrific injuries. We still pray for Amy and Tanner, for strength, peace, and complete healing in Jesus’ name!).

November 14.
We finish the antibiotics, Wes is feeling pretty good, life seems to be inching toward ‘normal’.

November 15. Sunday. We go to church for the first time since the surgery–it’s wonderful to be back, albeit with a swollen head, slower gait, and PICC line still in his arm.

We go home for the afternoon, he takes it slow, and we head to Troy’s funeral. It is packed, and we see many good friends from far and near who have been praying for us. Such a sad occasion, but so good to see our friends. As we sit in the sanctuary waiting for the funeral to start, Wes feels a trickle down his neck (still wearing the bandage over his incision). We go outside to find out that it is in fact his incision leaking cerebrospinal fluid, which is not supposed to happen, and we head home immediately and call the doctor.

We are advised to keep it dry and clean and to see doc at 7:30 the following morning (no one would perform surgery on Sunday night, anyway, if we went to the ER). Wes is not in extreme pain, so we lay low for the rest of the evening. We are disappointed that we have to miss the funeral.

November 16.
The doctor (Hauge, in Knoxville) determines we need to fix the leak. Wes has to forgo eating and drinking until 5pm, when surgery starts.

A long day of waiting is followed by a short operation (less than half an hour), and a neat little set of sutures now complements his previous incision. During the surgery, the excess fluid that had remained under the incision was released, and our hope was that it would not re-accumulate. A pressure bandage wrapped around his head is added to prevent this. We are excited to see a flat place where the skin had bulged out from the side of his head, and are hopeful that this may be the end of our brain surgery chapter. πŸ™‚

No dice. By the time we arrive home, about two-and-a-half hours past surgery, the swelling has returned in full force.

This is a low point for us. It has now been a month since the tumor was removed, and by now, we had expected life to be a little easier. But recovery seems to drag on and on. It seems like we spent the entire day waiting for an unsuccessful outcome, and things are yet unresolved.

November 17-22. We take meticulous care of the incision, changing the dressing daily, hoping and praying that nothing else goes wrong. The swelling seems to go down a bit here and there (though review of pictures and video during that time now reveals that no change really occurred).

November 22.
We go to church Sunday morning, Wes testifies with his head wrap, glad to be in the service. We are so thankful to be in the presence of God. There’s no better therapy! Visiting evangelist, Jordan Stumbo, preaches “The Power of Perspective.”

At the end of service, Wes notices his bandage feels wet. Uh oh. We go home, inspect the incision. Just a little drop appears at the bottom knot of the sutures. It seems to have stopped. We proceed with our day, he naps, I take the kids to the evening service. After church, we find a more significant leak that continues through the night.

November 23. Monday. A call to the (Vandy) doctor directs us to the ER, but since Wes isn’t in serious pain, we decide to see the local neurosurgeon instead and thereafter head to Nashville as planned (have an appointment with our Vandy ENT surgeon early Tuesday morning). We find a lovely room on Priceline for a steal. Praise God. πŸ™‚

November 24.
Tuesday, at Vanderbilt. The leak is profuse, the doctors consult with one another and decide to admit Wes and install a drain to take pressure off his head and redirect it out of his body through a little tube in his back into a bag at his side. A nifty contraption controlled by gravity, the drain measures how much CSF is coming out over time. He now sports a higher-octane pressure bandage around his head to provide resistance to the CSF that wants to push out through the incision.

November 25. A boring day in the hospital. Drip, drip, drip goes the drain. Click, click goes the IV pump. The soft, muffled whirr of air circulation systems. And that is all.

November 26.
Thanksgiving day! We had the company of dear friends for a few minutes this afternoon, and it was so therapeutic. It’s a bittersweet irony to know NYC is taking place in the same city at the same time; it enables friends to come and see us, like our Knoxville friends, and the Ritcheys, who probably wouldn’t be able to come to Nashville just to see Wes, but who were able to stop by…yet we’d much rather be in the services.

All things considered, things seem to be improving: it’s apparent that under the bandage, the swelling has gone down at least some, if not all (Please, Lord, let it be gone for good!). Tomorrow, we find out if we need further surgery, which will involve a permanent internal drain for excess fluid to leave the brain and the body through the stomach. Hopefully not. Hopefully, we will see that his head is healing, that the fluid has successfully been diverted, and that no more surgery will be needed.

Praying this in Jesus’ name. Thanks to all who are praying with us. Happy Thanksgiving!

Post-Surgery…Part II

Okay, so the last time I posted, we were a week post-surgery and doing great, all things considered.

I guess you could say the same now, though the “things considered” are a bit different.

Allow me to elaborate:

On Friday morning of last week, we went to get Wes’ staples removed. He was doing well, and felt almost normal. πŸ˜‰ After an exam by the neurosurgery Nurse Practictioner, his mom, the nurse, had the pleasure of removing the staples from his incisions: the one behind his ear from surgery, and the one in his abdomen where fat was removed to plug the hole in his skull (neat, huh?).

When removed, the staples left neat little holes in a neat little row along the cut. As the staples came out, from a few of these holes ran a little stream of clear liquid which dripped down his neck. This was a bit startling, though not completely abnormal. The possibilities were either that the tissue was ‘weeping’ while healing, or that it was cerebrospinal fluid leaking from inside the skull. It was not a huge amount–a tablespoon, maybe, and then it stopped. The educated theory was that it was not CSF, and the precaution was given to call if a severe headache occurred. We left to walk a little around the mall, then go home.

While at the mall, the dull (normal) headache Wes had had earlier now increased steadily, though not unbearably.

What we did not know at this point was that bacteria had entered his brain from the outside world through the cerebrospinal fluid that had leaked. In twenty minutes, this bacteria doubles. In two hours, it increases sixty-four fold.

This is the kind of bacteria that can kill a person within hours.

After a few minutes at the mall, feeling a bit more tired and in a bit more pain, Wes took two Tylenol and we headed for home.

Within an hour of arriving home, his pain was more noticeable. He took a half pill of a stronger medication given by the doctor. This made no difference. As time progressed, his pain increased to a screaming ‘9 out of 10’ (he reserves 10 for dismemberment and mortal wounds), and he couldn’t stand light, couldn’t move, couldn’t talk.

I called our local neurosurgeon, who prescribed a migraine medicine. This did not work, and by 3:30, I was on the phone with Vanderbilt. They advised that this was definitely not normal, and that if his pain had not decreased in an hour, to go to the ER.

At 4:40, we were headed to the ER. There, they did a spinal tap (lumbar puncture) to start a culture on spinal fluid (to determine whether it was an infection or a CSF leak) and gave him morphine to manage the pain.
The morphine made no difference.

At this point, the doctors had told us it was either a CSF leak causing pressure and pain, or “infectious meningitis.” I now know the latter term really means “bacterial meningitis,” but doesn’t sound as foreboding.

is the irritation of the meninges, which are the membranes that cover the brain. This can be caused by surgery (chemical meningitis), a virus (viral meningitis), or bacteria (bacterial meningitis). The former two are temporary and need no treatment; the third can kill you quickly.

Wes was admitted to the CCU (Critical Care Unit), where they began administering antibiotics to prevent the progress of infection. His temperature wavered around 102 degrees. He was in tremendous pain, unable to bear noise above a whisper, and very lethargic. The skin behind his ear bulged out where the tissue had swollen.

For the next two days, his mom and I alternated our visits to see him during the strict hours of the CCU. We slept in the waiting room and prayed for some clear answers as to what had happened.

By the second day, his pain was somewhat under control and his fever had decreased a bit, so he was moved to his room on the fourth floor. He has remained there since, and has steadily–though slowly–improved.

His blood tests confirmed infection, though the spinal tap showed nothing conclusive as to the type of bacteria involved.

He continues on a strict regimen of two high-powered “broad spectrum” antobiotics, almost constantly administered by IV. Monday, he received a PICC line, a fancy contraption attached to his upper arm through which he gets his medicine (he now calls it his ‘bionic arm’). This kind of high-powered central line can last a year. It is through this line that he will continue to receive antibiotics at home for another week or two. Through this same line, blood can be drawn also. Good news for Wes, who at this point feels somewhat like a human pincushion. πŸ™‚

It is a slow ascent back to normalcy, but every day he gets a bit better. We are so thankful for God’s hand of protection on us, for easing his pain, and for giving us great doctors, wonderful family, and a supportive church.

That’s all for now…thanks for reading, thanks for caring, and for praying for us. What a story!

Post Surgery Thoughts

(This was written and posted on brookiesblography.blogspot.com, a week after surgery. My apologies for neglecting to post it here.)

Whew. So now, a week post-surgery, I am behooved to address the cosmos (and more importantly, friends) regarding our recent and continuing trial (though Praise God, the worst is over!)…

* We survived the steamroller! πŸ™‚ To God be the glory.

What an experience, what a testimony, what a mighty God! He never leaves us, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death.. I will tell you that though I knew we would come through this (by God’s grace alone), I distinctly felt that ‘shadow’ on the day of surgery…knowing that God’s ways are above ours, and that if His justice were satisfied, we’d long ago have been consumed.

He does not have to appeal to my reasoning and understanding to do what He sees fit. My own parents–both of them–lost their fathers at an early age. My mom was almost two when her dad died, and my dad was five. Knowing that the Lord has preserved them all this time, even without the presence of their precious fathers, I knew the Lord would keep me and my own children, no matter what. So with that knowledge, knowing that EVERYthing God does IS right, I faced the day.

This is not to disregard the peace I felt from the day we heard about the tumor. I knew Wes would make it through. But even if I was mistaken, I also knew God is faithful.

* Moms rock.

My parents arrived in Tennessee from Wisconsin (looonnnnng, 14-hour drive) on Monday night. From that moment on, they have been such a support throughout this experience. Mom has taken over the care of our older three while I tend to Wes and the Beebs (our little 5-month-old), and her help has been invaluable. She is truly the greatest Oma on the planet (I’m sure that statement could bring many other Dutch grandchildren to blows). She has taken over homeschooling, reading to them, bathing, feeding, and playing with them, and she even took them to pick pumpkins (one appropriately-sized pumpkin for each child–so cute!) yesterday. Thank you, Mom. You’re the best. Many thanks to Dad, too, who had to turn around and drive back to WI on Saturday to care for his wonderful church (to you who read this and attend Lighthouse Pentecostal Church, you rock! Thank you all for adopting us).

Wes’ mom has been no less supportive and helpful. She (as you may have read) is a nurse for a neurosurgeon here in Knoxville, and her knowledge and experience has been such a blessing. I can call her instead of bugging our doctor’s office every time I have a question. She stayed the first night after surgery with Wes in ICU while I went to get some rest at the hotel with the baby. I’m SO thankful for this…we were all sleep-deprived by this point, and the sacrifice she made that night to ensure Wes wouldn’t be alone was so appreciated (though she would tell you it was no sacrifice at all). She also brought me a certain container of cookies on the day of surgery–so thoughtful! I’m sure I’ll be paying for that indulgence ;), but I appreciate her thoughtfulness so much.

Many other important words of thanks can be found here. Words are not enough.

* We now have one more reason to appreciate fall.

We were married in September and are mega-fans of turtlenecks, so we already have reason to count fall our favorite season. Add “evicted brain tumor” to that list, and even one’s birthday becomes a distant second. πŸ˜‰

So there’s a few of my thoughts.. Thanks to all of you who continue to pray for us! He is the God who hears.

(Dear friends, please excuse the inevitable errors in my posts throughout the next few weeks…I am snatching a few moments here and there to write, and do not have quite the time I prefer to self-edit. Thanks for your forgiveness!)


DD (dear daughter, age 5), at breakfast:
“Mommy, can I have second dessert?”

Me: “Do we really have second desserts?”

DD: “I’m just kidding. Can I have a donut?”

I asked the same DD the other day what the Ten Commandments were. Her response:

“Um, hear O Israel,
you shall not steal,
You shall not murder,
You shall not rip people apart… umm,…
You shall milk the cows, or the pigs, or whatever state you’re in.”

By this point, I was laughing too hard to hear the rest. πŸ™‚