I think I'm growing in virtue.

We spent the day poking around the location we're thinking of living longer-term, and checking out a few potential rentals. We were all exhausted; we got up early so we could check out a Church group, and we went to bed late because the kids were on a weird schedule yesterday.

By the time we finished supper, the place--the kitchen in particular--was a mess. A disaster. I don't even know how it was such a disaster. I stared at it in dismay, and then I remembered, hey! Our maid service comes tomorrow! So I left it all for them!

Ha. No. I cleaned the kitchen, exhaustion and all, one piece at a time, while hubby entertained the kids. Our maid service does indeed come tomorrow, and it's probably still messier than they're used to, but it's not disgusting and it's not a disaster. Small wins. Small gains in maturity. Small satisfactions. Small acts of service done in love.

I like my kids.

The older one just threw something at his father's head and promptly proclaimed "I trew dat at you" and because we are trying to encourage talking, he got away with it. And I laughed.

Yes, yes you did throw that at him, you clever little dude.

Homesick

After getting somewhat out of housing-disaster-panic, we're finally slowing down (a little). Cue the epic homesickness.

It's beautiful here. The food is great. The people are incredibly helpful. And I am lonely and I miss my home tremendously.

Perhaps it'll be easier when we're established in longer-term housing and I can actually set down some roots. I pray that we're in our longer term home for Christmas, but my pessimism knows no bounds.

Lady in Blue

Leg one of our trip had me in tears. Somewhere along the line, I became sensible enough to pray a rosary. This is the setup for part two.

Leg two of our trip and a particular lady kept showing up just when we needed her. She had extra snacks from her hotel breakfast when the kiddos were suddenly ravenous. She had a spare bag we could use to collect some trash. She had smiles. After a harrowing final 30 or so minutes (and a generally difficult trip), she told us (the adults) we did well and that we were troopers. When we were struggling at the baggage claim, she helped us to acquire the luggage carts we desperately needed.

I don't think I properly expressed my gratitude--I lacked the words--but I tried. I hope she knows.

I didn't catch her name, but she wore a blue shirt, because of course she was wearing blue--the colour of Our Lady.

Sure, maybe you could dismiss the whole thing as coincidence. But I can't. Experience would make a liar of me.

May God abundantly bless my lady in blue.

And...

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.
Benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus vetris tui, Iesus.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.
Amen.

Lessons in the Entitlement to Exist

One of our movers almost brought me to tears.

He was an older guy--old enough that he talked about his grandbabies. He was just a good guy--a hard worker and a pleasant presence. And he said, off the cuff, about my little guys, "they're awesome kids", or something to that effect. "When kids are that happy, you must be doing something right. Or at least that's what I think."

It was a win, when I needed a win. A free offering for a thirsty soul.

I forget, sometimes, that my kids are awesome. I know that I love them beyond measure, but I forget that there are other people who see it too. I forget sometimes that they have every bit as much right to exist in this world, and particularly in public space, as every perfectly (and imperfectly) behaved adult. Yes, of course, it is my role as a parent to try to form them into civilised members of society, but that doesn't mean that I need to feel apologetic for their very presence, eve if they are less than impeccably mannered at any given moment. Most people are probably glad to see them anyway, not cringing at their every giggle as I somehow imagine must be the case.

I'm too cynical sometimes.

They're awesome kids.

Because why not.

We're in the midst of moving across the continent, to another country. The house is in chaos, with the remnants of life that were left behind after the movers were here--yet all too bare at the same time.

And I've swept the kitchen floor at least four times today (and I think it has been swept about seven times total). All of the sweeping was necessary, and not merely the product of an anxious mind.

On the other hand, cleaning the kitchen this evening (because habits are established by habitual action, as I keep reminding myself) took less than five minutes, and I was reminded yet again that an area can look completely disastrous yet take very little time to restore to some semblance of sanity.

I shall repeat this exercise until my brain finally gets it. And then I shall repeat it some more, basically forever, because that's how things stay clean(ish).

In other news, the elder child forfeited his Chinese food reward for egregious misbehaviour at Mass. Time will tell if this lesson sticks. The younger one enjoyed his Chinese food very much, while the elder wailed about the injustice from his room, after throwing his plate of crackers and rice (and later dined on mushrooms--his choice entirely, rather than the many other options presented and summarily rejected).

Epiphany

I had an epiphany the other day. I had just opened yet another cleaning/organising blog as I attempted to get my life together whilst preparing to move across the continent (and nursing a broken wrist, just for fun), and it occurred to me that instead of reading about how to keep a clean kitchen, perhaps I ought to dedicate that time to cleaning my kitchen. And so I did, while hubby entertained the boys.

It took all of ten minutes, and I read the blog later anyway.

Thank you, Lord, for occasionally knocking some wisdom into my head.