Ants in His Pants

Today my son had ants in his pants. Literally.

I guess that's what I (he) get(s) for having him 'help' me make peanut butter cookies while he sat on the kitchen counter.

Sorry peanut. Your bum will feel better tomorrow. Promise. And I'll be more careful. Promise.

Sillouette

I've been playing around with silhouettes. Actually, I have been trying for MONTHS to get a sharp silhouette photograph of my son. The right angle, the right lighting, and the most important... he needed to STOP MOVING. I know, impossible, right? Why even embark on such an impossible task?!

ANYway, I got it. And do you know what it took? A movie. I should have known. So simple.

Anyway, I finally got the shot and have been playing around in Photoshop. I was on my way to 'classic' silhouette, black on plain white, when I stumbled upon this.




It is just a work-in-progress on my Photoshop desktop, and I love it! I didn't purposefully add any of these elements for the sake of the 'composition', they are all just steps in the making! I think I'll still finish to get the classic look to see what I think, but this unique one might be the one that ends up on the wall.

A Favorite

I've been trying to purge some digital photos. You know... the blurry ones, the lazy eye ones, the not-looking-so-good-AT-ALL ones that I will never miss. So that means I've been looking at a LOT of photos from the past few years.

And I came across this.

And I thought everyone should see it.

Cause it's just so beautiful.



My baby boy is just a day old, and I think he already knows he's found such a special lady in his Grammi... look at that sweet exchange between them! I love it!

Mannaseh

I sit in my roasting kitchen staring at this picture of a dear, precious baby boy. I can't stop looking at his chubby little face. Mannaseh was born 5 months ago to two amazing parents. They have given up so much to serve our Lord Jesus. They have overcome many obstacles in their past. When their son was born, his mother named him "He will make me forget" because it was his new little life that would bring joy to her heart and help her put so much pain behind her. He did just that.

But now, my husband is driving across the city to choose a patch of ground in the cemetery where Manasseh's little coffin will be laid. It's terrible. Devastating. Heart-wrenching. Maddening. Why should this special couple have to suffer MORE? It makes no sense. And I know what all the answers are supposed to be. And I don't care. I just want to see him in his Mama's arms again. I want my boy to have a chance to play with him as he grows up. I want to see his Dad's proud face as he holds him during the prayers. I want to balance him on my knee, get my very white face really close to his deep black face and try my hardest to get him to grin again.

I don't want to see his parents in an hour with empty arms as their firstborn lies in a coffin at the front of the church. I don't want to see them this evening with empty arms as we gather as a team to bear the weight of the grief together. I don't want to see them next week and next year... with empty arms when their son should be crawling, walking, giggling.

It's unbearable to think of the pain that has once again entered the hearts of his parents.

Lord Jesus, come back. There is too much hurt in this place. Please come back.

It's Just Too Bad

It's just too bad when the visitor at your gate thinks she woke you up from a nap when really you've been up for hours.

Ready for Bed

H has a bedtime routine. Dinner, bath, PJs, run around a little, storytime with Dad, and then bed. I think he must like his routine (he is his father's son, after all.)

The other night the evening had slipped away from us and it was nearly an hour past his bedtime. he had his bath, had his PJs on and was in the middle of his run-around time (which is really just when Mike kinda straightens the house and gets a couple last things done before he puts him down). Anyway, Mike wondered where H was and looked in his room to find him standing at the foot of the reading chair. He had already chosen some books from the shelf, put them on the footstool, and was patiently waiting for his Daddy to come in and read to him.

I think the precious little boy must have been tired.