Wasting Time

So I'm pretty sure God doesn't like facebook, my blog or even the internet in general.

Okay. I really don't believe that.

But it might be true that God is not okay with the amount of time I waste on facebook in comparison to the amount of time I spend studying Him. And I kind of doubt He appreciates the number of times I check my blog as compared to the number of times I seek His face. Or the amount of time I spend sitting at the computer compared to the number of times I get away from the computer and actually do the good deeds I am supposed to be doing.

Because if He was in favor of my computer time, why would it be that every time my bum meets the blue straight-back-most-uncomfortable-for-typing-chair
it is suddenly dinner time or
the phone rings or
Riley suddenly needs the internet for school research or
Magnus pees in the kids' bedroom or
Fox poops some colossal amount of excrement that seeps through his cutest onesie or
Piper draws on her legs with black pen or
Mosely falls off the swing outside?


Those things really do happen. (Sometimes all in one afternoon. Like this afternoon.)


The truth is, my theology really does not include the view that God hates technology

but

I do think that I waste a lot of time that could be better spent elsewhere.

I justify it by feeding Fox while I use the computer. But even if I kept my online time to exclusively during nursing times only (which I don't) that would still be pretty excessive.

So I am going to start this instead.

I put some books in places all over the house where I could feed my son much more comfortably to encourage me to spend my forced sitting time more wisely.

My favorite Henri Nouwen book on the shelf beside the chair in Wilder's bedroom - mid-morning nursing.

Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning (I'll be posting about this soon) on the barrel beside the chair in our bedroom - afternoon nursing.

And by the side of our bed for early morning and later evening nursings - an old favorite, My Utmost For His Highest by Oswald Chambers and the original . . . the Bible itself.


Now I don't nurse Otto in the bathroom, but I do occasionally get to use the facilities - albeit briefly - so in there I even stuck A Year With C.S. Lewis: Daily Devotional Readings.

I'm not saying this will completely cure my condition.

But it sure couldn't hurt.

Grace

I didn't write this. I don't know who did. I just found it. And typed it here.

There are no longer good days and bad days.

There are only days of grace.

There will be days where you will be given the grace to endure what's going on around you.

And there will be days where you will be given the grace to enjoy what's going on around you.

But from here on out,

there are only days of grace.

What Does This Mean?

Perhaps I have allowed our children's television viewing to get out of hand lately.

Bergen asked Mosely a question.

She responded . . . "For more information just log on to p - b - s - dot - org."

Life Is Wonderful

We took a little hike around the lake today.

I heard Bergen singing this ... "life is wonderful".

It is.


Kevin is back in America. Fall seems to be loafing nearby. We're all healthy. There is food in our refrigerator. Our kids are laughing. And walking on trails holding hands without being prompted. Ice cube trays and reusable ice cubes are written on my weekly grocery list. Wilder has learned how to chuckle and to grin in response to your grin. We enjoyed a delicious Mexican meal last night at a new-to-us restaurant.

Life is wonderful.

And I think it is probably all the more wonderful because it hasn't always been wonderful.

Do you know what I mean?

It is only because we know the dark that we so appreciate the light. When we have experienced the bad, we just love the good. When you've been without, you are so grateful to be with. If it has been raining for days, you better believe you will smile when you see the sun.

Being in the dark has reminded me of how good the light is. And I am confident that the God of these good times has been my God of the dark times too.

So while we are here, I think I will sing with Berg - life is wonderful.

Almost There

We miss this guy.

(I miss this man.)

He's about to get on a jet plane and head our way.

Soon.

Official Keigley CuddleFest 2K9, here we come!

From a Song to Art

Inspired by Ben Harper's song on the Curious George soundtrack, the kids and I made a little art last week.

(Yes, the Curious George soundtrack. Get it. It isn't just for kids.)

We had so much fun painting and cutting and pasting. Even Little Wilder left his mark - a mostly smeared orange hand print.

The art was fun. But the song is even better. I think it's a great anthem for our family and all of our little hands.

I can change the world
with my own two hands.
I can make it a better place.
I can make it a kinder place.
I could make peace on earth
with my own two hands.
I can reach out to you.
I can clean up the earth
with my own two hands.
I'm gonna make it a brighter place.
I'm gonna make it safer place.
I can help the human race
with my own two hands.
I can hold you.
I can comfort you
with my own two hands.
You can make peace on earth,
but you've got to use
your own two hands.

What I Want To Do

What is now proved, was once only imagined. - William Blake

There are some things that I long to feed my children every day.

And it isn't food for their stomachs.

I want to offer them a sense of mystery. The incredible blessing of a vivid imagination. The gift of simple joy. The beauty of anticipation. The knowledge of a powerful and loving God. The appreciation of nature. The ability to be still.

Food for their brains. Their hearts. Their souls.

I know I fail miserably every day with these lofty ideals.

And I always fail more dramatically on days when I forget to pursue these things myself. When I never step outdoors and just breathe. When I rush us all from task to task. On days when I don't laugh at Mosely's jokes. When, instead of actually listening to London practice her counting skills, I make a grocery list.

What I want, what I really want, is to wake up every morning and pursue these kids. Pursue their education. Pursue their affections. Pursue their interests. To be alive with them. To stop and stare at the never-before-seen green caterpillar with the two brown spikes poking off its back. To marvel at the fact that Berg correctly copied an entire sentence from London's paper. To encourage Riley as she studies for her Spanish quiz. To slow down. To practice being still.

I know I cannot teach what I don't have. I know I cannot expect my children to pursue God if I am not.

How can they learn to be still if I am always rushing past them?

I want my children to think and ponder and to dream and imagine. And to work through all the mysteries and pains and joys of life. With an artist's eye for details. With a poet's heart for passion. An actor's flair for the dramatic. A writer's bent for the ironic. And with a believer's desire to find God in the middle of it all.

And, yeah, I know something else too.

They can't follow where I haven't lead.

So every morning, I want to wake up and remind myself that I am living an opportunity to impact this world in the form of six very different and very capable little arrows - my children. My legacy. My job. My mission.

Growing Up

We live at a camp, you know.

It's really cool.

And a little surreal.

Kevin and I brought his first youth group, Chalybeate Springs Baptist Church, to Look Up Lodge about twelve years ago. I think we brought two boys. Seriously. And, you know, as I recall, it was in planning that very first summer camp adventure that Kevin and I had our first major marital spat. Oh, I should really call it a fight, because that is what it was.

But that's not my point.

Back in the day, when we were new campers at Look Up we fell in love with a little feature of the camp called the zipline. It was big stuff then. Sure, this was before paintball, before the giant swing and before the climbing wall. Early days, my friends.

Back then, the zipline was the Thing To Do. Jumping off the deck perched high in the trees, careening across first woods and then the lake. Wild stuff.

Then, we were two ridiculously young youth leaders with barely any life experience under our thinner belts. (Well, my thinner belt - I should only speak for myself here.)

Fast forward a handful of years.

Now we live here. (That's the surreal part.)

And to our small children (that's another surreal part) the zipline is a Really Big Deal.

So after lunch yesterday when Dan lightly suggested that today would be a fun day for the kids to try out the zipline, a mild ruckus followed.

After chit chat back and forth all afternoon I think I finally gave in. Or something like that. I told London and Mosely and Bergen that we would go over to the zipline and we would look at it and then we would decide.

Call me silly, but I genuinely believed that standing up so high above the trees and wearing a small belt around their hips would cause all of these children, wild man Hawkeye included, to tremble a bit in fear and to ask to go back to the car.

We climbed the steps. We watched a few campers make the leap. And then I turned to three little upturned faces and I knew right away.

I was wrong.

These kids were ready to face The Zipline.

So now I was a little freaked out. (Maybe more than a little.)

Each at their turn appeared a bit cautious, but more than anxious for me to push them right off the edge. And that is what I really had to do to let them ride. Push them right off the edge.

I could not believe that I was watching my four year old soar across the lake attached to a cable strung from two poles. What in the world? Bergen thought he was a superhero. He declared, "I flew right over the deepness."

They rode it twice. London even managed to sneak in a third ride.

I think we may have created little Zipline Monsters. (Thanks Dan.)

If the zipline at Look Up doesn't say growing up, then I don't know what does.

(Sadly, there are no pictures of this milestone. The camera is somewhere near the Dead Sea.)

Is He?

He is.

In case you were wondering.

His shirt even declares it.

Genuine baby.

The real deal.

Divine

We all have long days and lonely moments and scary dreams and busy lives and self-absorbed episodes and exhausting schedules, right?

And we sometimes feel as if we give and give and give and these people (in my case, very short people) to whom we are giving and giving and giving just never seem to notice anything except their desire to take more.

But then sometimes we get to experience these little moments where we are lifted from our circumstances. We are pulled up, supported, loved in some unexpected, extraordinary in its simplicity kind of moment.

God uses people to meet these unspoken needs so often. And I just love that people say "yes" to His every day ideas. I just love the people that He uses.

Being the sole everything at this house while Kevin is in Israel is hard. It is. Not impossible - but not my favorite either.

Oh, I am learning plenty. About waiting on God. About being still. About not being afraid. About God and the manner in which He is choosing to craft my story. About relying on one God for my comfort and not one Man.

But the days have grown long. I know my voice has grown sharp and my responses have grown snappy. I stay up too late at night rearranging the living room furniture into eight varying options and pushing all together too heavy bookshelves across our bedroom.

So when our friend Nate called me one day and told me to clear my schedule (ha!) for the next night, I was certainly intrigued. He instructed me not to plan anything, not even to prepare a meal for the kids. At this point, I didn't care what the plans were - no meal planning or preparation is a gift all in itself.

The next day Jane and Walter and Nate appeared at the house with a meal in hand for the kids. Babysitting had been arranged with sweet Riley and I was whisked away in Walter's black chariot.

The evening was lovely. And totally unexpected. And completely taken care of. In every way. Jane did all the thinking so I didn't have to. The dinner was delicious. After the meal we walked around downtown Greenville and searched for the hidden mice on Main Street. (I found a few without help, okay.) Then we had dessert at Coffee Underground. Adult conversation abounded. (I might have been out of my element after so much alone time with the kids, but I think my sentences mostly made sense.)

I am pretty sure that those three Saints in Civilian Clothing had no idea how important, and actually divine, that evening was for me. And I don't mean "divine" as in how you describe a piece of your grandma's pecan pie. I mean "divine" as in ordained by God. If that sounds too heavy for a Tuesday night out then you haven't been where I have been this week.

Honestly, it was so humbling to think that my friends chose to think about me, to plan an evening for me when they could have been doing anything else in their lives. That's amazing.

God is so good to provide laughter when nothing seems funny and joy when we want to mourn and friends when we feel alone. I think the problem is we forget to look for these things in the people around us. We forget to trust that God knows our hearts. And He loves us. More and better than anyone else.

Ice, Ice . . . (I can't bring myself to finish this song lyric)

Maybe you can judge the state of my emotional health and well-being by the status of my ice box.

I like ice.

When we moved to our new home we purchased a lovely Samsung refrigeration unit that featured an ice maker.

Because I like ice.

But alas. Our home did not come equipped with a water connection to said ice maker.

I was sad.

Because I like ice.

I do not like ice cube trays. I don't like how they appear stackable but are in fact only stackable if the water is already frozen inside of them.

That doesn't make any sense.

I was forced to reach a compromise, however.

Because I like ice.

I bought one ice tray. Yes. Just one.

And one ice tray is really enough to keep an ice box full.

On days when I remember. On days when the house is tidy and the kids put away their toys after every play time. On days when the laundry is caught up and the meals are planned ahead of time. On days when no one spills milk or applesauce or juice or cheerios. On days when I don't have sixteen errands to run in two different states. On days when the dog doesn't pee on the floor and Piper doesn't empty the full box of baby wipes all over her bedroom.

On days where none of those things happen I have a system. I empty and refill the ice tray every time I fill my glass of water. Every time I walk to the sink. Before every meal. Before I go to bed at night. As soon as I wake up.

So if my ice box is overflowing with cubes, that is a pretty good sign that things are running smoothly at this house. Peace is nearly attainable. Calm is the norm. The situation is well at hand.

All that to say . . .

You should see my ice box right now.

The ice supply is rapidly depleting. (Laundry is piling up. Toys are scattered. Meals are haphazard.)

And it looks as if it will only get worse before it gets better.

Today I sat that one ice cube tray on the red hot eye of the stove.

(Only the smelly white remnants remain.)

Uh-oh.

At Our House

This morning I opened the refrigerator.

I found these.

Perfectly logical - right?

The Town of Mo

The rumor around our house is that Mosely is an alien.

(Hey, it's just a rumor guys.)

London even asked her, "Mosely, are you from this planet anyway?"

I'm not saying I believe the rumor.

But could this be evidence?

In MoselySpeak, words sound a little different.

A "driver" is what you and I would call a steering wheel.

Mosely frequently wishes for a backseat driver and a pedal so she can go wherever she wants to go.

When most people see a Volkswagon Beetle, they say "Punch bug!" Not Mosely. She says, "bizzy bizzy bizzy bizzy bizzy back".

If nighttime approaches and Mosely's special blanket, the one she has had since she was four months old, is MIA then she dejectedly asks, "What I can suck on now?"

For her birthday, which is three months away, Mosely is already scheming. "Can I have an animal that I hit out of the air with a stick while I am blindfaced?" (Translate that one on your own.)

She bites her own tongue a lot accidentally for some reason and declares many items that cross her path "ah-scus-ting".

When her brother Bergen crawls into bed with her she announces that she can no longer sleep because "Bergen's feet smell like cheeseburgers". (It might be true. I'm not checking.)

And this morning, while prancing out of the bathroom to get dressed for church, she screamed and said, "Ouch! I just stepped on my own skin!"

Just Right

Dinner tonight.

Piper Finn asks, "Pray?"

Of course I let her.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly.

She puts her two inch hands over her four inch face.

She speaks.

"God. Magnus. Feel better. Daddy. Safe. AMEN!"

I couldn't have said it better myself.

He Does

"Jesus screws everything up."

I just read that statement on a blog I recently discovered.

It wasn't an anti-Jesus blog. Not at all. It was actually an amazing story about love and restoration and hope.

And a man who allowed himself to be a part of God's plan for redemption when he really wanted to take another path.

But Jesus screwed that up.

Because He does that.

You want revenge? Oh, I don't think you can have that AND exhibit God's love. (You know, the very love that saved you.)

Want to wallow in your own self-pity? Shoot. Foiled again.

What about this? I just want to serve me. I want to be happy now. I want to be satisfied now. Basically, I want what I want when I want it.

Sooo. I guess Jesus screws that up too.

When I want to lash out in anger, God says be still. When I want to cry myself to sleep, God provides comfort. When I want to control my own destiny, God shows me a better plan.

When my soul is set on destruction, God provides a Saviour.

Yeah. Jesus really screws up everything.

Make My Dreams Come True

I want one.

No, not a new husband.

Certainly not another baby.

The mini silver miracle known as a Mac laptop.

I want one.

Who wants to help me?

The High Cost of Education

This is a warning. A disclaimer, if you must.

This is a post about homeschooling.

It's not the best educational choice for every family. It may not be for yours. That's not what I am saying.

But it is a choice that our family has made for the past four years for our oldest daughter Riley. And it has not been an easy one. Not at all. (Few important choices are really easy - right?)

This year is different.

On so many levels.

In light of, because of, not even having to do with some of those differences, we made a different choice for Riley this year.

Riley is attending a local Christian school.

And it's going just fine.

But here's the thing.

It's not the same.

And of course we didn't expect it to be.

Another disclaimer, if I may.

We like her school. We like the teachers. We like the administration.

Okay. Enough already.

It just comes down to this . . . . the dinner table conversations.

During the homeschool years, Riley's dinner table conversations were varied and interesting to the entire family.

She would discuss Abraham Lincoln's final days, regale us with stories about Thomas Jefferson's innovations or wonder aloud about Jem and Scout Finch's unusual relationship with their father. We would wonder what else could possibly go wrong for Anne of Green Gables and Kevin would answer the science questions we couldn't solve during the day.

Now at the evening meal, things sound a bit different. We are frequently greeted with a litany of "and he was like ...", "and then I was like ...", and finally, "we were all like ...". We know all about the locker drama and the skinny jeans some girls wear so why can't she and what she shared at lunch with her friends and how the cross country meet went and how many days until school picture day.

And I can't help but wonder exactly what this education is costing us. (And I am not talking about the tuition rates.)

It just seems that, in our attempt to make Riley's world a little bigger, we have, in fact, made it a little smaller.

Bang Up Job

Guess who cut her own hair?

And did a remarkably decent job.

(With only a few minor adjustments by our in-house hair stylist Kevin.)

This is the same five year old who recently approached her nickname-loving father and respectfully inquired, "Daddy, I don't care for being called Mo-Town any longer. Will you please only call me Mosely?"

Dining Out

We don't eat out all that often.

You can imagine why.

(It isn't the behavior of our children, actually, thank you very much.)

It's the cost, you know.

There's really no way around the truth. There is almost nothing, not even the cheapest of fast food meals, that can be purchased at a restaurant that is actually cheaper than something you can make at home.

Not to mention healthier. (Don't get me started. Don't even get me started.)

Part of the beauty of vacation, however, is not preparing meals. So on our recent Tybee Island vacation, we ate out. A lot.

You name it - we probably tried it.

The Crab Shack? Yep. We loved the big tables with holes in the middle and a trash can placed under the hole. So convenient we are thinking about cutting a hole in our kitchen table at home. Lighthouse Pizza? Liked it so much we ate there twice. Or maybe three times. I can't remember. They delivered.
Moon River Brewing Company? It was Kevin's one vacation destination request. Saw it on some ghostly adventures TV program. Maybe the most haunted place in Savannah or something? Who knows? But the smoked Gouda scalloped potatoes? Phenomenal. In fact, I have already made them myself once and am serving them up for dinner again tomorrow night. Stop on by.
The Sugar Shack? Yeah - a greasy spoon that looked like a dive and pretty much was a dive. Huey's? Sure thing. Delicious New Orleans-style cuisine. French toast that rocked the house and a great view of the Savannah riverfront. And the place where a couple seated beside us actually asked to hold Wilder. And we let them.
The Pirate House? Why, yes. And we were encouraged to visit this establishment by a pirate on the street offering coupons. Which we accepted. And received a delicious meal and a fun experience - complete with pirate booty for the deck hands. Piper still says repeatedly, as she says all things, "Pirate House. Fun. Pirate. Girl. Fun." (Although the "girl" pirate Piper is referring to was actually a boy pirate with long hair.)

But as I said, we don't normally dine out. (Our vacation was far from normal, of course.)

And yet another reason for dining in is the actual number of people currently in our family. Eight. There are eight of us now, in case you had lost count somewhere along the way.

Did you know that at most restaurants there is a certain number of guests that is considered to be a group?

Do you know what that number is?

It's eight.

And did you realize that when you reach that certain number, your "group" is automatically assigned a gratuity of 18%? Did you know this?

Never mind that at least two members of our "group" do not consume an entire meal? That one group member does not actually consume anything?

And after charging us a group 18% gratuity the server hands us the bill to sign with a space below the 18% that asks "additional tip?".

I think not.

Right Now & Forever

So I have had these thoughts mulling around in my brain for a while now.

Thoughts about the past. Which cause thoughts about the future.

I like to dwell on yesterday. And the yesterdays before that yesterday. Oh so many yesterdays. I just let my mind sit still in last week, last month, last year.

And then I think about tomorrow. And the next tomorrow. And the tomorrow that will follow that tomorrow. And all of the next weeks and months and years. Decades even. I just think on and on about the tomorrows I know nothing about.

But what's wrong with all that thinking?

I'm pretty sure Paul said something about forgetting the past. And I think the gospel of Matthew assures me that worrying about the future won't add anything to that future.

What does that leave me with?

I have been wondering that a lot lately. Where does that leave me?

And then I read a little C.S. Lewis. (A Year With C.S. Lewis - Daily Readings From His Classic Works - get it.) I think God made that guy a genius.

"I believe [God] wants [people] to attend chiefly to two things, to eternity itself, and to that point of time which they call the Present. For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity."

Because the past is where it is - the past. It cannot be altered. It has already been. It was.

And no amount of thinking about it, pining for it, weeping over it, holding to it, denying it will ever change it. It was. It is no more. The past. It cannot be again.

And the future? Well, it is where it is. The future. Unknown. Unpredictable. Tomorrow. And the next day. Out of our hands. (Ultimately.) No matter how we try. Uncontrollable.

And no amount of planning for it, predicting it, talking about it, worrying about it, dreaming about it, fearing it will ever change it. It will be. And we don't know how. Or when. Or in what form. We cannot control it.

But wait, where does that leave us?

In the Present.

Right now. Where I am. Sitting. Standing. Sleeping. Eating. Playing Legos with my kids. Making dinner. Listening to the music on my iPod. Praying. Reading. Running. Surviving. Lying. Celebrating. Helping. Hurting. Breaking down. Building up. Right now.

And my time is in God's hands. And I am only guaranteed this moment. Right now.

Well, actually, I have one other guarantee.

Eternity.

The forever part of me. Eternal. Never ending. Always. Unfathomable, but nonetheless true.
Where every knee bows. Every tongue confesses.

And I think Lewis was right. Whatever part of my brain gets bogged down with anything other than the Present and Eternity is pretty much a waste of my time, my heart and my energy.

Thinking about the past leaves me empty. Worrying about the future leaves me fearful.

Only when I focus on right now am I able to enjoy God's gifts of grace and mercy and peace that passes all understanding. Only when my eyes rest upon the image of eternity am I able to find comfort, security and peace that passes all understanding.

The Present. Eternity.

That's really enough to think about anyway, isn't it?

A Question

Asked in complete seriousness.

"Mom, when I grow up can I be a boy singer and still be a superhero too?"

Do It Yourself

Look at these cute bags.

We made them ourselves.

We took the idea from our favorite magazine - FamilyFun - so I cannot claim original creativity here.

It was so easy. (And it has to be for an amateur at the sewing machine such as myself.)

The kids all picked a favorite too-little t-shirt. I cut the bottom off and turned it inside out before stitching it together. (With purple thread because I have no idea how to change the bobbin thread. I need help with that. Soon. Yes, this is me begging. Don't teach me. Just do it for me.) I also trimmed down the neck and the sleeves for a more bag-like look and even stitched those for reinforcement, although you wouldn't have to actually do that step.

That's it.

From a t-shirt to a bag in under ten minutes.

Very cool.

And Bergen has one too - with a print covered in trucks and bulldozers. But he wasn't exactly feeling photogenic when this photo shoot was arranged so we let him step away from the scene.

While You Were Sleeping

I was feeding Wilder in his bedroom.

I finished.

I walked to the kitchen and was greeted by a wild scene.

Two small children, one two, the other four, stood before me. Looking sheepish. And guilty. And white. Looking very white.

"What?" I started to say.

I quickly realized that the white that had settled on their entire beings, from toes to roots of hair to cheeks to the two stuffed animals carried in their arms, was from powder. I could see it everywhere. I could smell it.

Wait a minute.

While I was feeding Wilder weren't these two playing in our bedroom? With their father?

Or so I thought.

"Kevin!" I shout.

A noise that I assume is his response comes from the bedroom.

The bedroom that is covered in a cloud of white. A choking cloud of white powder. I see a floor covered in white. Thickly covered in white powder.

Oh, there's Kevin.

Lying on the bed.

Asleep.

Covered in white powder.

The Truth

Who wants to be real today?

Really real.

You know, my favorite posts are the ones that offer some insight, some truth, however small it is.

This isn't one of those posts.

I also sort of like the ones that are just plain funny. Where you see how hilarious kids can be when they just open their mouths.

You won't find that here today.

Today is just a regular day. With a regular message.

Or no message really.

All of these things that I write? These little bits of insight here and there? The God-inspired ones? They only feel true sometimes. Even if they are true all the time.

So here it goes - as if you didn't already know this . . .

I don't always practice what I preach. I yell at my children. I cry myself to sleep some nights. My marriage isn't perfect. My parenting skills are weak. I have no solutions. I take God's blessings for granted. Every day.

Like right now. I am struggling with jealousy. Ugly old jealousy. About a lot of things. Toward a lot of people. Most of them probably have no idea that I am jealous of them.

For example:

My husband - He leaves for a 15 day once-in-a-lifetime adventure to Israel next week. I want to go. I don't want to stay here. With six children. And a sick dog. Who is on medication. Who needs regular surveillance. And needs walks on a leash to avoid strenuous exercise.

My 15 year old daughter - Her social life is more active than mine currently. And she regularly indulges in a one and half hour long morning preparation routine.

Anyone Whose Children Are All Out of Diapers/ In School All Day/ Consistently Obedient and Kind/ Neat and Tidy

Anyone Whose Bank Account is Overflowing/ Who Doesn't Need to Use Coupons/ Whose Savings Accounts are Full

And that's just to name a few.

Don't try to reason with me. I know the truth, even when I don't feel it. I know that no one's life is perfect. I know that these days pass so quickly. I am glad Kevin gets to go to Israel. I wouldn't want Riley's life to burdened with financial concerns and childcare issues at fifteen. I know my kids are just kids and they do alright in the grand scheme of things. I know. I know. I know.