It may be that I’ve written variations of this statement on this blog before, (yes, of course I have, it’s possibly all I’ve ever written), nevertheless: I don’t think I’ve slept for years. Maybe . . . ever. I can’t remember. It may have been that long. (All of forever.) All I know is that Hansie wakes me up – crying and demanding -- multiple times a night. And Mette too. She wakes regularly – hollering, screeching and falling into a fitful rage should anyone other than her mother try to soothe her. Every night my head is filled with the unreasonableness that can only properly exist when accompanied by repeatedly disturbed sleep. And every morning when my alarm wakes me I think: I can’t. I cannot. I can’t possibly. (And then, magically, I always do.)
I know. Some of you are likely shaking your head and thinking about how you would never tolerate such nonsense. Your babies and toddlers would never have been waking at such advanced ages.
So am I. So. Am. I. (Shaking my head, tut-tutting about anyone not having trained their children better, thinking how my kids always slept through the night long before age one.) I hear you. I agree. I am with you.
Here we are.
Still. The days move along. Likely not very differently than they would if I did sleep every night. (Or even . . . some nights.)
(Although, . . . one might argue that only a sleep-deprived woman would let sick kids play in a little pool with their healthy siblings [previously healthy siblings – sigh]. Ain’t nobody ever heard nothin’ ‘bout contagion around here??? But yes. She wanted so much to play with her siblings. And she was very whiney. And I? I was . . . tired. “Give them what they want. Just stop the crying.” That’s my tired motto.)
But! I shall tell you something about our dear Abe.
He does not like his vegetables. Or even . . . I can hardly type it . . . most FRUIT! (Gasp!) It’s the strangest thing. And one can hardly account at all for such physical and mental fitness in a boy so shy on veggie.
Sometimes dinner will have wound up and Abe will just be sitting there. Looking contemplative. Or sorrowful. Or uncomfortable.
“Is something wrong?” I’ll ask.
”Are you feeling all right?”
”What are you up to?”
And then I will see it. The spoonful of peas or forkful of beans he is gearing up (for minutes on end) to put into his mouth before calling his meal complete.
Still, I suppose there is something (even if a very little something) to be said for his determining to eat them at all.
Speaking of Abe: he generally has a pencil behind his ear. Sometimes I think he forgets one is even there.
Also, he is known around the school as, “Abe the Babe”.
And yet, for all of that, Abe’s confidence is not what one might imagine – attributing most of this nickname business simply to the undeniably rhymey nature of it all. (I, for one, think he is much more of a catch than he supposes – even if I must acquiesce that, were he to have always gone by his full name, he would not likely be called Abraham the Baberaham.)
And, since the introduction to this post established that my mental state is compromised (and no one would expect a mentally compromised person to write a tidy post full of connected dots) I shall press on with several more disconnected thoughts.
1. Did you all know Daisy is missing several permanent teeth? They just never existed. I worried, when she was young, that might mean implants and all kinds of craziness, but her orthodontist so expertly pulled things together, and shaved things just so, that no one would ever be the wiser. (Except for her family – who can’t help but wonder if those sharp canines growing in right next to her front teeth suggest some sort of vampirey or serpenty genes somewhere back in our family line. We will, of course, watch her closely and not allow the orthodontist’s handy work to lure us into a false sense of security about her. One can never be too careful when dealing with pointy teeth. That’s what I always say.)
2. The other day Anders asked me to make him some toast. He then added, “And will you put that stuff on it that makes it ULTRA good?! You know . . . salt . . . ? or . . . flour??”
3. I shall never admit to anyone here what I paid for a watermelon the other day. (Especially when we all know that buying a watermelon at all right now – much like corn on the cob – is only a thing we do because we are excited to see them again and not because we hold any delusions about them actually tasting great this early in the season.) I hadn’t intended to though. There had been a sale days earlier and so, when I saw no sign or price listed anywhere near the watermelons I just assumed (and we all know what we make out of u and me when we assume – heehee) it was still the GOOD price. And then, when they were ringing up my groceries I just couldn’t bring myself to say, “Good heavens! Never mind! Put that exorbitantly priced melon back!” I’ve done such a thing with non-edible items before – at clothing stores, etc. But for some reason I just couldn’t say it with a melon. I should have though. I should have. (I shall have to buy numerous watermelons at the currently fantastic price of 5 lbs/$1 to make up for it. . . . There’s logic.)
4. And, to end on a spiritual note: I’ve become more aware of the scripture in me. Words and verses that I must surely have put there over the years. I’ve wondered, on occasion, why the push to read scripture when current talks, etc. are often spoken in a way that more naturally appeals to me. But I’ve neglected perhaps to recognize how, much like poetry and song, scripture can float into my head.
“I will trust and not be afraid . . .”
“I . . . have put forth my hand to exert the powers of heaven; ye cannot see it now, yet a little while and ye shall see it . . .”
“. . . come boldly unto the throne of grace, . . . obtain . . . help in time of need.”
“Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.”
“For I am the Lord thy God, and will be with thee even unto the end of the world . . .”
“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.”
“. . . let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed.”
And I’m seeing more and more that it is not random floating at all. It’s The Spirit bringing scripture to my mind – and more importantly to my heart. It seems to somehow be a sacred language of The Spirit that, if we simply put it in us, he can call up in a way that opens understanding, soothes fears, and guides decisions. Lately, I take note the minute words of scripture pop into my head. I acknowledge that I am learning how to hear God. And I want more scripture in me – to facilitate hearing Him more frequently.