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Dear Bonnie,

I see you literally going in circles, overwhelmed by the (not so) little things here and there and everywhere, cluttered counter tops, and the ever-growing mountain of clean laundry awaiting proper stowage, unsure where to start and much preferring to stand here at the computer and write or play the piano or -- heaven forbid -- go to sleep.

Just pick up the nearest thing out of place and put it where it goes.  Continue likewise for as long or as little time you have before the next feeding, diaper change, or fisticuffs between brothers.

Remember that this season of your life is about being present to the little ones in your midst -- obliging when they bring you a book (or three) to read, building, baking, and playing cars with them.  This effort shows its fruit in the spontaneous hugs from your Kindergartner, the cheeky grins from your three-month-old lassie, the notice from your three year old that "you're a keeper," and the commentary  "hug -- kiss -- beep [on the nose]" as your funny girl bestows these things upon you.

The most pressing household needs are met with determination, focus, and perseverance. The rest don't matter so much.  The bambini will eventually be self-sufficient.  God willing, they will remember that you were present to them, even as you tried to "get things done."

Laundry, dishes, diapers, and messes are all signs of the life that dwells within this home, the life of a family abundantly blessed -- and commissioned -- by the love of Christ. 

You may feel like you are so far behind, but when you're mothering your children and caring for your beloved the way you've discerned God calls you to, you're exactly where God wills you to be.  

Peace to you.

love~
me

construction zone

Wooden blocks are out.  "Let's build something," I say.

Elder lad: "You're the mom.  You get to decide."
me (wishing to record those words for posterity and precedent):  "How about a house to fit my family?  Soon my husband and I will have four children."

him: "so you'll need four, five downstairs and one upstairs."
me:  "bedrooms?"
him: "yes."
me: "yes -- a guest room would be nice.  We might not need quite that many bedrooms, though.  We can share."

me to younger lad: "what do you want to do for the house?"
him: "bake muffins."

That's an idea I can get behind, but he soon abandons the oven he's constructing in favor of building a bank with a drive-through lane, then later swiping all the cars and tucking them into the box the blocks came in and covering them with pillows.

Check this out:

Notice the sweet vintage Chevelle station wagon.  That's a gift from my dad, as is the flame-bedecked Nomad.  Those are the family vehicles.  The brother pick up trucks parked one in front of the other are for the lads.   The Citroen, Alfa Romeo, and Charger (below) are Date Night cars.

The back view shows the elder lad's fleet of service vehicles: firetruck, the fire "jeef"'s SUV, his Mack truck ready for dispatch to the grocery store, and the dump truck for trips to Sam's.

mustang sally

Five years ago right about now I was due with our elder lad.  Looking for some diversion and exercise in an attempt to encourage the babe (whose gender we did not yet know; we haven't found out genders in advance of any of our children's births) to come out and meet us, we accepted an invitation from my dad to go to a car auction.  Having never been to anything of the sort, our curiosity was piqued.

It was a world entirely foreign to anything I'd experienced.  Most of the cars would merit a "vintage" label of one kind or another.  Some were souped-up hot rods or trucks. Others were classic cars from the mid-century years.  There were even some antiques -- as in, Model T's and those of that era.  There were a few late model cars, but the main offerings were of the collectible, tinker-around-in-the-garage kind.

The people-watching opportunities were vast and varied, and the auctioneer and his assistants highly entertaining. He'd say such things as "You're buyin' it today," or "here's a great daily driver!" or "this one's in mint condition."  The air in the exhibition hall in which the auction took place was heavy with exhaust in spite of all the doors and big wall vents being fully open.

The lad didn't make his entrance into the world for several more days (time enough to clear all the exhaust I'd breathed in).  His brother and sister have been similarly tardy.  We'll see if Bambino #4 (a.k.a. "Quattro") follows suit.

Last year my dad and my beloved took the lads to the car auction.  They had a great time looking at all the cars.  The noise was a bit much for them, though, and their interest waned after a little while (before Dad's and my beloved's had).

This year was a different story.  The lads remembered the auction from last year and thus had an idea of what to expect.  Dad and my beloved procured kid-sized ear plugs on the way to the car show.  We planned to meet for lunch and me bring the lads home for siesta time in case the adult gearheads wanted to look around some more.  I came home with a worn-out younger lad and the lass, but the elder lad returned to the car show with his dad and grandfather.  It might've been the most walking he's done in his entire life.

With stories of a "blueish-orange" truck, one painted with flames, and lots of interesting classic cars, the lads were happy to tell of their adventure.  When I asked them if there were any Bambini Rides like ours, they said no.  "Most of them," the younger lad told me, "were from the Ancient Sixties."

gearheads

Our family has an interest in classic cars, so it came as no surprise (but was still funny) when the lads opened up a couple of "vintage" shop manuals and told me "Mom!  There's the master cylinder!"

Do I know what a master cylinder is?  Nope.  But I don't need to, seeing as how I live with these gearheads.