March 7

This week was crummy. Abby was extra sassy, Isaac was extra whiny, and Brady, oh, Brady. Suffice it to say that my sweet little muffin is heading full steam ahead to the horrible 4s, several months early. I took off on my own as soon as Adam got home tonight. As I drove toward In N Out, I could barely contain the overwhelming urge to cry, over my frustrations with the kids and with Adam and with what happened to Logan. And with my own feelings of complete and utter inadequacy. I "had dinner" with Logan at the cemetery, then came home. But I didn't want to go inside. So I called my mom.

It all came tumbling out when she answered. She listened to all of my rambling, and as she usually does, she tried to help. Because that's what moms do. At least, that's what the good ones do. And I'm blessed to have her in my life.

And I'm trying to store up her words of wisdom so one day, when Abby comes to me for help, I'll be able to make my little girl feel like just maybe the world isn't collapsing around her after all.

(And yes... I'm named after my mom.)

March 6

This package of delicious, chocolate-y goodness is waiting for me to eat it tonight.

Obviously, it would be bad if I ate these every day, but now and again, it's a nice treat to sit in my comfy chair, zone out in front of the TV, and munch on something sweet. It's a simple thing, but it provides a few minutes of much-needed (and very tasty) respite.

And I'm thankful for those stolen, sugary moments.

March 5

This. Today, my winkage came from this.

After school today, I let Isaac and Brady play at the park with some friends for a long while. They had a blast running and laughing and jumping and just being 3 and 5 years old.

When we got home, I put Brady down for his nap, and Isaac conked out on the couch. He stopped napping quite some time ago, so it was a blessing to be able to sit and watch him sleep, and to be reminded of the sweetness of those quiet moments.

March 4

Today sucked. I woke up feeling horrible and was cranky all day long. Still, I deliberately stopped when I saw these at Costco:

I stopped because I was mindful of the importance of stopping to smell the roses whenever the opportunity presents itself.

And those roses reminded me that it's important to be thankful --and to express that thankfulness-- no matter what our circumstances.

So I sniffed those roses. And hopefully tomorrow will be better.

March 3

This kid cracks me up sometimes.

My dad gave the kids that turtle at Christmas time. It features loud music and flashing colored lights. And it spins. So suffice it to say that they all love it and find it greatly amusing.

I found Brady there on the kitchen floor staring at it mid-morning today. I stood back and watched him for a minute, and relished the way the lights danced in his eyes.

Once again, as always, it's the little things.

March 2

This picture has been sitting in my bathroom --just like this, unfinished-- for the past few years.

I don't remember which kid started it and it's really not even an important detail. When I looked over at it this evening, it was as if I saw it with new eyes. Because for the first time, I saw myself in it's absence of completion.

My life, if viewed in words and deeds and actions and accomplishments, looks a lot like this picture. There are lots of beautiful, sparkly elements. But there are also tasks that I still need to complete and friends that I need to make and experiences that I need to have, like the numbers in the picture that haven't yet been covered with their corresponding colorful foam pieces.

Every now and then, it's nice to be reminded that I'm a work in progress. And that being a work in progress is okay.

March 1

After a few days of intermittent rain, today was... intermittently clear, I guess. It was one of those days when the sky looked like this more often than not:

Like I've said a hundred kajillionty times before, this kind of resplendent light makes me think of Heaven. And God. And Logan. And of what he's doing there right now.

And though I miss him more than I can express, if he can't be here with us, I like to think of him tooling around on perfect, purely white clouds, bathed in equally perfect light.