One of my chief challenges in this season of raising small children who depend heavily on their parents to source their education and amusement is the tremendous lot of time that I am homebound with them. Uggggh. Homebound. When you bound toward something, you imply that the object to which you are bounding is attractive, exciting, an icy sweet popsicle on a blazing hot day. But I oftentimes feel as though I am bounding toward Crazytown, when I am headquartered sans vehicle with these kids. Do anyone else's children like to reenact scenes from movies, over and over, such that you have now been cast as the part of Lionheart (when Kim and Jason reject the friendship of the Care Bears in the "Care Bears: The Movie") SO MANY TIMES that you may or may not believe that whole adage about there being no small parts is totally true because even small parts when played too often can be A REALLY BIG FORK UP YOUR NOSE?

The combination of being a person that prefers being out n' about and living on a road that is not connected to a neighborhood per se is driving me a little batty sometimes.

But recently I've been praying a heart transplant for myself. I've been reading the accounts of a friend's family whose son was born with what I understand to be a severe neuromuscular condition. He was in the hospital for a long couple of months post-birth, working with all manner of specialists and running all kinds of tests. The family has four small children and JP is their fifth. They are so ecstatic to have their baby boy home with them now. The mother continues to write about JP's great strides to wiggle his toes and prevent atrophy of facial muscles by smiling away. Seeing pictures of this baby is melting my igloo heart. He is reminding me what a privilege it is to be home with my children, children who can gamely move all of their limbs and communicate their needs. I am so encouraged by JP, his very presence is a gift and a reminder of the sweet breath of life we enjoy each day.

Thanks, JP.

*** It is good to be home because sometimes you look out your window and you see a big sister smotherhug-lifting an unsuspecting little brother.


You also get a free delivery of this guy. Keep the basket even!


You may not get a lot of privacy in the bathroom but you do get this:

Googley eyes

Oh, and sometimes you are privy to moments like this where something is just terribly wrong.


Did you catch that?

Let's remove the obstruction to reveal Bottoms-up Bobby.


Yeah, that'd be sangria, but worry not because the label says "Sin Alcohol," which I assume means "without booze" en espanol, or that it contains the most vile sort of fermented wine known to mankind. But they do sell it at the Bible College mart, so I'm assuming it is the former.