Like moon sand through the hour glass. . .

So I understand that patience is a virtue. I get it. I am given opportunities to practice patience on a daily basis when my son licks the cat and my daughter finds every item of clothing ever made, tries it on, and places it in various and sundry places like the bunk bed, the hallway, and strong across the toilet lid.

And I understand that I do not want my days to fly by - they go fast enough as it is. I'll be sipping my last swig of long-gone-cold coffee and look at my watch thinking I should probably shower and it's suddenly 2:47 and Spongebob will only be on for another 13 minutes.

And nearly everyone who reads this blog knows that we're trying to have another baby. I try not to talk about it too much, but I'm sick of being somber and sad, so I'll probably talk about it more. Look, the only way for me to stop looking back is to stare at my feet or look forward, and since I haven't had a pedicure in over a month, well, trust me, you want me to look forward.

So here I am. And here. I. wait. Normal women have a 28 day cycle, a feat which I've only ever accomplished when I was on artificial hormones. I, apparently, have a cycle that ranges from 31 to 40 days in length. So at my best, I'm what, 3 days behind your average woman. At my worst, an average woman gets 3 tries for my every two and let me tell you something: I DO NOT LIKE TO BE BEHIND.

In all of my life, the only part of me that's been slow (except the jogging part or the sports part or the nuclear physicist part, but I didn't *care* about that) is my ovaries. Little bastards. They're sleeping in right now, groggily thinking about maybe, perhaps, potentially waking up soon. Maybe.

Meanwhile, I have this monitor that wants me to pee on stuff every day. And every day it says "Oh, you thought I was going to say something different? Screw that. Here's another LOW. How's that feel? How's it feel to be the slow girl, eh?"

Sigh.

And for those who don't know, I chose moon sand instead of regular sand because moon sand is of the devil. Seriously. Once, before I'd heard reviews and used it myself, I thought "Ooooh, Moon Sand. Let's give this to someone as a birthday present." So we did. They don't talk to us anymore and honestly, having now experienced the glorious mess that is Moon Sand, I think I know why.

So here's

a list of things I never thought I'd hear myself say, but have said now, courtesy of my children:

• The only things we put in a toilet are our poop and our pee and our toilet paper. We do not put anything else in the toilet. Ever. (Said while answering the telephone)
• Honey, we do not rub our penises on furniture.
• What's with the new Fred with black hair? I knew Fred. Fred was a friend of mine. That man is no Fred.
• We do not eat (insert inedible object here. A few examples: marbles, sand, cat poop, gum wrappers, wooden benches, ponytails attached to our sister).
• The CAT BOX is not a SAND BOX. THAT IS NOT A SCULPTURE.
• Please don't drink out of the toilet. Also, the toilet is not a water sculpture.
• No I will not lick your face.
• I do *not* want to find any more purple beads in your poop.

And here are some things my children have said that just slay me:

• I farted on the cat.
• Time? Time? There is no TIME. There is only TRUTH, LOVE, and NINCOMPOOPS.
• (To the librarian today) I'm a big boy. I slept all night and I didn't pee in my pants and I wore big boy pants and this morning I pulled them down and I peed a lot and then I wagged my penis in a dance.

You see, before I was a parent, a funny night was a few martinis, South Park the movie, and (close your eyes, kiddies who know me as a respectable member of society) a few tokes (Dictionary.com's first definition is something about a tip to a dealer in a gambling situation. Let's just go with that, okay?). These days, nearly every moment of every day is a comedic extravaganza of laughter. For example: 2 children in the back of a mid-sized sedan? HILARIOUS. A boy who insists he's a dog? Really funny until he yaps, bites, and pees in the middle of the floor.

My kids are purveyors of fine entertainment and have been since birth. Heck, maybe even before. Lilly once kicked the cat's ass from in utero. I've never seen a more shocked and disturbed animal. I think he jumped 4 feet in the air - it was a moment of catlike reflexes we've never seen from him again. The crazy guy won't even snuggle up with me anymore.

I've been somber lately and I'm tired of it. We've had a couple of years of big things that hurt. But I'm tired of big things that hurt and I'm tired of hoping that next year will be better. So now, I'm going to do none of that. I'm just going to pop a big bowl of popcorn, set a cake down on the floor, and let the kiddos loose to see what happens.

Rough Draft, work in progress, a moment captured

It has been nearly two years: and grief,

not weaker but shiftier now,
sneaks a seat next to me in the pew
where I ignore her for awhile,
sing There is a balm in Gilead
without a tear,

she is tall, sun-kissed shoulders,
I've seen her often lately
and learned to ignore her, mostly.

When we start a new hymn, one I've never seen
she whispers You will never hear him sing this
and I weep for all the ways I miss him.

My rose bush

Most of my roses have gone dormant here at the end of the summer, but one -- the beautiful rose bush by the house where we planted our last lost little one -- has suddenly bloomed. It's hard to explain, but suddenly last week, two stalks of the rose bush shot up tall - they're over 4 feet - and grew 10 buds - one for each week I was pregnant.

They are blooming now, and I cannot help but feel hopeful, peaceful, and excited for what is to come.

I remember, distinctly, in 2002

the fear in my heart when George W Bush appeared announcing preemptive strikes against Iraq. That feeling combined with the CWA's recent call for "bound conscience" in the vote to allow openly-gay ministers brings me to a place I wasn't sure I'd be in: I think I need to stop fighting about politics.

This is not to say that reasonable arguments will no longer occur -- reasonable arguments and discussions are precisely what the CWA called for in "bound conscience" -- we can respect each other's differing points of view and yet still have rational, emotionally charged discussions on matters of importance.

But my friend Matt took great pains to remind everybody during the CWA vote to consider the other side - those whose values had been voted down -- the feelings in *their* hearts as they underwent this stunning and painful change in the ELCA, and it served to remind me that this is the case especially right now in the United States. Last November in polls across the nation, there was a decided vote for change. Those who did not win are terrified of the direction of this change and that is understandable. I may not agree with their fear, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Part of extending empathy and acknowledging their humanity is to avoid fights with them.

I've learned something from the church this week that shall extend, I think, into all parts of my life. We can come together and discuss issues reasonably and rationally (and sometimes painfully) and get somewhere - or we can fight and get nowhere while hurting each other greatly. I think I need to make some changes in my day-to-day language and engagements and make this coming together and moving forward a priority.