"Bohemoth Bug" :: AKA:: Sign #36885

Sign #36885 that something has broken inside my head... It's 8:30 in the morning (for those in other time zones), and the largest cicada in the state of Kentucky is trapped between my (torn - you can thank a stray cat for that one) window screen and my window. Toddler and I have been up since a little before seven, which isn't terribly early, but for some reason, the girls and husband are still asleep. (3yo redhead has been in our bed since about 2am, so maybe I can blame this whole thought process on sleep deprivation? Whatever. Anyway...) The boys have already gone to school, so they've saved themselves. All I can think about is capturing this behemoth bug, creeping into my 4yo daughter's room, shouting "RUN!!!! IT'S GUNNA EAT YOU!!!!" while holding it 6 inches from her face, and laughing hysterically at the outcome. Of course, then I'd have to calm her down, let her take a scientific look at the bug (so I could later claim it was a learning experience when questioned by social services), and take it into our bedroom to awaken my husband and the red-headed-bed-snatcher in the same way.

Yup. Mommy's snapped. 

 I'm not going to do it... but I feel like I should be rewarded brownie points for the incredible amount of restraint I'm showing. LOL

Have we lost our music?

Little kids adore dancing, love to sing, and hear orchestras in the banging of pots and pans and train whistles. Seriously, I've met a lot of children, and have never met one that doesn't. They're born absolutely in love with music. Even in the womb, babies react to it. Music that keeps in time with their mother's heartbeat will sooth them, even after they're born. (Apparently, my heart beats to the rhythm of Stevie Ray Vaughan guitar solos. My little ones loved them before and after their births. lol) Watching my children wiggle around the room to their favorite songs brings me so much joy. I imagine our Father in Heaven feels the same way watching His children. (I also believe God loves all styles of music, but that's another rant entirely.) Objects in motion tend to stay in motion, right? So as an adult, if you don't love to dance... if you don't sing on the top of your lungs when given the opportunity... then something made you stop. Such an honest tragedy. So take back your music, people. Love it. God gave it to you.

Dear Whoever You Are,

I wish I had inspiring words for you.
I wish I could offer you the morsel of wisdom that pulls just tight enough on the frayed strands in your life to tie them in a pretty bundle.

But I don't. I can't. I won't.

I will give you the truth.

We are all flawed.  We are all beautiful.  We are all ugly.  We are all exactly who we are: molded by decisions, by dreams, by fears, and by every day ordinary moments. There are a few milestones in every life that will completely change it's course, but more often than not, it's the baby steps that lead us to what we become.  Somewhere along the road to who-you-want-to-be from who-you-used-to-be, you find yourself staring at the reflection of who-you-thought-you-were, and that's when you fall back into the puddle of who-you-are-now.  It's a glorious disaster. It's waking up one morning, and seeing your mother in the mirror.   It's singing every word to a song that you didn't realize you had heard before.  It's finding yourself in the middle of an illness you didn't know you were fighting.  It's making the decisions that are right for you, with or without support. It's life, and life is hard.  No matter what choices you make. No matter what your social or economic status.  No matter what your religion. No matter what lifestyle you choose. No matter what.  Life is hard, and you're going to come out of it different than when you came into it.  It will rub you down like sandpaper, and press you from every side, but you get to choose if you become sawdust or a diamond.  The hard sneaks up on you, but so does the good. The trick is to not focus so intently on the clouds that you trip over the sunshine.

Still, clouds are beautiful...