I do hope you’re a blog reader. If not, I have the slightest impression that somehow you’ll get this.

Right now my timer is ticking – counting down the minutes until I have to change the laundry. Listening to it, accompanied by the sounds of night falling outside, reminds me of how funny you are. How easily you manipulate time.

My SIL just had a baby – a gorgeous red-headed boy who’s pending arrival announcement still sits on my fridge even though he arrived two months ago. Another SIL is due in a few months. As we countdown to her baby’s arrival we count up the days that the boy has been on this earth. And time moves at such different speeds for each of those women. One counting the days until she meets her little girl – the other counting the days and milestones as her little boy grows. Some days, the same days, fast for one and slow for the other.

It’s strange how you do that. How you manage to allow my time at work to move so slowly, but fast-forward the time with my boys so quickly. The difference between how a morning moves depending on how you move the world Father Time.

It’s Friday. It’s nighttime. Both of my children are in bed. One couldn’t wait to let sleep take him. The other curled up with a book. When did that happen Father Time? When did he learn to read so many words – so much so that he now has a huge world opened to him. One that is currently taking him to Stuart Little’s house but will soon take him to Narnia, Oz, and more…

Quite frankly I want to be mad at you. I want to hate you for moving time so quickly that I’m missing things. But then I remember (and am grateful for) the times you move slowly. College nights with friends I loved. Days by the lake that lasted an eternity. The nights when my fatigue didn’t get me and I rocked my babies into the early morning. The times when I look at Eric and see forever. And the times when you move quickly so as to comfort – so that pain or grief or trial does not last long.

I guess in the end I’m not mad. Just a little sad. Sad that time doesn’t get controlled by me. That I can’t start and stop bits and pieces of my life. Perhaps if I could I’d update my blog more…or perhaps not.

And as if to mark the end of my post my timer has sounded it’s alarm. A new task, a new adventure, a new something must begin. Thank you for doing your job and for letting me have moments like this to value the gifts you give.

Love,
Shelly

PS: For those who do read this, I am sorry I’ve been gone. Eric has done some posting which is great. Life is just moving. Those of you who know me know what life’s details are – and those of you who don’t will probably find out on here over time. For a glimpse you can read what Tasha wrote here and here. What a blessing she has been for me and my kids…

We spent the evening at a little lodge in San Simeon. The boys enjoyed hopping from our room to Papa and KK’s. They really enjoyed watching the Olympics cuddled up with Mom and Dad. Before they went to bed.

Next morning we walked down to the pebble beach to relax, explore, and watch the waves. We had a great time, the trip was exactly what all our little souls needed. I wonder where the next adventure will take us.

Pictures after the break:

Now off to edit the video from the trip…

Gung Hay Fa Choy – Happy Year of the Dragon!

So when Walker started expressing a great interest in all things military I had to reevaluate my feelings.

Parents have the tough role of being battle pickers. Which fights do we engage in? What’s the bigger picture? How do we in fact win the “war” of parenthood to raise healthy, happy individuals?

Well, this is how:

By letting our kids win some of the smaller battles. By putting parental distaste and embarrassment aside and letting our kids walk out into public in clothes we might not fully appreciate.

I bought that shirt (thank you 99-cent store!). I put it in their dresser rather than their dress-up box. And I’ve happily been drafted into the battle of camouflage and I’m letting Walker win this one. In the end, letting him make the decision and have some control means I am winning the parenting war. And that’s a good thing…

PS – on days that I really hate letting my kids dress themselves, I do comfort myself by chanting “it’s only a phase, it’s only a phase, it’s only a phase”….