We are on spring break this week at my house and while we’ve been pretty busy experiencing things, one thing we’ve haven’t experienced much of are sun breaks during this very wet and cold vacation. Because Mister Soandso has limited vacation opportunities right now and this is a nutty-nutty time at work for me as well, we are spring breaking at home. Picture three children, none of whom agrees on how they want to spend their time combined with buckets of rain, hail, and more rain… and, well, please send this mama cocktails.
As you might imagine, we took the kids to see a movie one night. The movie was fine, although it would have been a lot “finer” at say $3 a person. It may have been “great” if it had been free. Anyhoo, there in the theater, waiting for the movie to start, I noticed how many things are a constant at movie theaters: worn seats, the sticky floor, and for my children, surround sound.
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Tomorrow is garbage and recycling day around these parts which means I’ve been scurrying about, collecting all the recycling that arrives via the USPS and trips to varied shopping places. Every two weeks I trundle my big blue box on wheels out to my alley and hope. I hope that all those numbers encircled with an arrowed triangle get “reduced, reused, and recycled”. But I know that it is an inexact science, this hope of mine. It is better today than it once was, but it is still not perfect.
Because reducing, reusing and recycling is not enough to break chains.
As I scrubbed out the old peanut butter tub and thought about if I had another need for it in my house (buttons? maybe the Borax?) I automatically checked the bottom for the code. Of course it is a 1, after all, it is a “necked bottle”. Which led me to wonder why the heck isn’t everything made out of the magical stuff that 1s and 2s are? My guess is it comes down to money.
Recycling ain’t cheap folks.
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Blood
A whole life story is held in a single drop.
Genetic codes and rh factors. Paternity cases and diseases.
Hope and a miracle. A life’s story, indeed all the lives and stories
Depend upon drops of blood.
The scraped knees from first rides without training wheels.
The altercations on play fields and behind bleachers.
The emotions brought by a first period’s arrival.
The cracked lips of a Minnesota winter.
The spreading wetness following the crack of a gunshot.
The slowly filling bag at the donation center.
Blood.
It’s always with us.
And only when we see it in places we shouldn’t
Do we remember to be thankful.
Thankful for the blood that tells of a whole life in a single drop.
On Monday we found out Littlest is sick. Really sick.
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On Tuesday I was inspired by all things romantic and Valentine’s Day to write a super sweet post for today. I was so inspired that I even started it. But then something happened, namely Wednesday and Thursday. So you’ll have to come back on Monday if you want to read the softer side of me. Because right now I’m pissed off. Royally pissed off, full Mama-bear mode with a side of oh-so-tired of this bull crap.
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If you read this blog much, you might be wondering just what the heck is up with all these dang-blame “time” posts. You might be worried I’ve got myself caught up in some timey-whimey-wibbly-wobbly time-space continum of doom and cannot for the life of myself un-time-stick myself.
You’d be right.
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