Zooey

The Franklin Park Zoo is not far from our home. Since my little punk is pretty animal-obsessed, I thought it would be nice to mount a trip to the zoo on a nice overcast Thursday when the complex would not be too teaming with other punks and parents.

Well it was a grand day, but Baby Girl could have done without the lions, tigers, and bears. Here, she'll tell you all about it:

Let's talk about the chooochoooooooo! It's fun to watch it go by and cry chooooochooooo!

And not to mention those stairs in the monkey house? Puh! AWESUMMMMM.

Of course there was the rusty truck that I climbed into with all the punks and stared contemplatively at them while pooping in my pants.

And lest we forget about the carousel. Someone started crying when it ended. Hah! Wah? Me? Protest when the amusement ceases? Please.

Okay so I bawled.

Mud

The humorous: We headed home, the Baby Girl and I, a bit earlier from the park as anticipated. I forgot to turn on my common sense button before we left the house. Got there, found the playground awash in wicked hot direct sun (imagine! at 11:30a!). But it was our good fortune that the park sits next to part of a little bay area that empties into Boston Harbor, which, you figure, empties into the ocean.

So Baby Girl...well really I decided we should "cool off" down by the water. Sand was muddy and dense like quicksand. Within a minute, Baby Girl and I were caked in mud to our knees (common sense would have told me to turn around, not pass go, not collect $200 but WE HAD TO get to that water!).

Almost got eaten alive by tiny crabs, so populous were they. Attempting to walk back to sandy patch and Baby Girl cannot traverse mud. I pick her up, she kicks me in the face. Now my face is muddy, including my spectacles which do not come with wiper features. Our clothes are also muddy, and I don't know how this happened really. We were sparkling clean just moments ago.

I look down and see that my shoes, which are part Croc plastic, part fabric are irrevocably muddy. I make a donation of Crocs to the park garbage can. I drive home barefoot with child screaming muddy murder in backseat.

The serious:

When I think about my life in Christ, I think about how often I am rebuked to give up something more to follow Him. How I will say, Jesus, I give you this this AND this BIG BIG thing, oh, but that thing over there? I'm going to take care of that, Jesus. Don't you mind that. That's under control.

He says pick up your mat and follow me. Deny your mother and father and follow me.

Maybe even throw the shoes away that are keeping you from getting to the living water, throw them away and follow me.

I'm shoeless now, Jesus. I think I'm ready. But what about my muddy kid with the tears?

Popcorn

There once was a bowl of fluffy salty popcorn...

It became perilously perched.

Guess what happened next.

Um, Mom?

Popcorn and consumer restored to more stable positioning.

***

On a more serious note, I have felt convicted recently of my poor attitude toward housework, overturned popcorn bowls withstanding.  There is a place to feel defeated and there is a time to admit that it's too much for one person.  But I have recently been such a Whiney Wendy about the whole thing.  I have failed to see the blessing that may come from housework.  God has given me this work to do, and being an able-bodied person with a husband that loves me, I really should not complain.  I really should be humbled by this work and consider it a joy to do it for my family, and in extension for the Lord.

"Work hard and cheerfully at whatever you do,
as though you were working for the Lord
rather than for people."

~Colossians 3:23