Agape

I've been thinking about love. Not sure why. It's just been on my mind lately. The word love is probably one of the most over-used words in the English language. Often I find myself answering "LOVE it" when someone who asks me, "do you like your _____?" or "how do you feel about ____?" Perhaps I over-state?

Love is Action. It's the "do" and "be" in the marriage covenant, "Do you ....take....to be your..." Love is not a feeling. I love my husband. We've been married almost 10 years. While I still get those sharp lightening bolts down my spine every now and then when I look at him, I am pretty damn sure loving him is not that crazy hormonal state I was in when I first met him. That would have been something akin to lust and passion and need. Loving someone takes effort from time to time--hard, gut busting, tear filled, how did I ever marry you, we are never going to get past this, are we still arguing about this issue, work. But using the tools we have been given in love--patience, perseverance, forgiveness, truthfulness, hopefulness, and charity, we can build a love relationship that is almost perfect.

The Greek term agape translates into English as "love", but it means so much more than that. Wikipedia defines agape by referencing well-known author C. S. Lewis. "In his book The Four Loves, lists agape as describing the highest level of love known to humanity—a selfless love, a love that was passionately committed to the well-being of the other." ( Lewis, C. S. (June 5, 2002). The Four Loves. Fount. ISBN 0-00-628089-7. ) Since my husband and I committed to care more about each other than ourselves, our marriage works itself out--most of the time.

Love isn't an easy road. It's fraught with disappointment, loss of trust, selfishness, and human frailty. Sometimes we lose. Sometimes we lose really big. It takes work to build something worthwhile and it takes more work to save something worth keeping. It is hard to love something that doesn't want to be loved. It is harder to forgive someone who doesn't want forgiveness. The amount of time and energy needed to rebuild trust that is lost is almost more than many of us have. It takes effort to extend charity to another person when you don't want to. If love were easy, we wouldn't have to pray "thy kingdom come," the kingdom would already be here. Don't kid yourself, you're going to hit snags. Sometimes your going to fall off the cliff. Sometimes a relationship can't be saved--whether a marriage, a parent-child, or friendship. Those are the most difficult moments.

I think love can also be defined as a natural extension of how you feel about human beings. How do you interact with people in general? Are you a trusting person? Do you have hope for something better out of people? Are you truthful with people? Do you nurture your friendships? Do you forgive easily? Do you give of yourself often? Are we acting out love as Jesus called us to? Do we reach beyond ourselves? Our ability to love is also based on our ability to receive love from others. Our capacity to love is exceeded only by our ability to forgive. Do we seek justice and mercy and honor and forgiveness and charity for others? The greatest commandment was to love one another. But this kind of love takes effort and prayer on your part. A commitment to the well-being of others regardless of yourself is not a mission to take lightly.

I think about love in this way. Love is a cup that is in a constant state of flow. The more love you pour out, the more love fills up your cup. The more love fills your cup, the more you want to pour out your love on others. So even when some acts of love fail, there are other acts of love that refill your cup, so that you will be able to act again. The love of Christ is constantly flowing out to us all the time. All we have to do is stand in the stream of it and let it flow over, around, and through us. We emerge strengthened in agape so that we may in turn practice agape with our spouse, our children, our friends, our community, and our world.

**The cup imagery comes from the "Companions in Christ" series and a beautiful explanation by my sister in Christ B.J. Neal. While I have adopted it as my own, it isn't my original idea. This imagery continues to sustain me and in using it again recently, I was reminded of this post. I felt I should credit the source, although I'm not sure I know which book the cup is in because we've talked about it in every text for four years now!

Story Time

The Tale of the Pepper Trail
by Marla McDaniel

Dedication: To the Two Brothers with Love

Chapter 1
Once upon a time there were two brothers. The older brother was almost 5 and the younger brother was almost 2. The two little boys lived with their mommy and daddy in a red brick house set way back from the road. One day when the mommy wasn't watching, the older little boy said to the younger little boy, "I have a great idea. Let's make mommy insane today, want to?" The little brother, who loved playing with his big brother just clapped his hands and said "yeah." He didn't have many words, but "yeah" was one of his favorites.
So while mommy was elsewhere in the house for a minute (not on facebook, not checking email, not on the phone--probably taking a much needed pee break, or maybe folding laundry, or taking out the diapers)--the boys started in on their idea.
They waited for just the right moment. The mommy turned on a Thomas movie and gave out a snack and ran upstairs to pull together some things for the boys' Vacation Bible School while the movie worked it magic. Meanwhile, the older brother got down from his chair, pulled the step stool out of the pantry, dragged it to the counter and climbed up on the counter. Looking back at the little brother snugly strapped into the high chair, the older brother winked. He opened the corner cabinet above the counter that held all of mommy's baking supplies. Quick as a wink he pulled out the big tub of sugar, the large refill canister of pepper, the baking powder, the cocoa powder, the canister of grits, the canister of bread crumbs, and the can of coconut. Putting all these things on the counter he quickly scooted down and ran back and forth to his room until everything was in place.

Chapter 2
After the movie, the mommy came back downstairs unstrapped the little one from the high chair and asked if the boys wanted to play outside. "Yeah" cried the little boy. "Sure" said the older boy. So the mommy went out to play with the boys completely unaware that a trick was brewing in the older brother's bedroom. After a while, the phone rang. A good friend was calling and the mommy chatted for a long time. She learned her lesson (or so she thought) previously about phone calls and didn't let the boys out of her sight for more than a minute or two at a time.
Once back inside the mommy indulgently sat on the love seat and watched the boys jump, climb, and otherwise destroy her couch in the living room. It was already beyond repair anyway and she didn't have the energy to harp anymore about not jumping on the living room furniture.
A few minutes later the boys laughing ran around to the older boy's bedroom. The mommy sighed with relief. They were safe in there. The boys couldn't really mess it up. She had taken away all the crayons, markers, pens, pencils, chalk, and any other potential writing utensils.
All of a sudden it was just too quiet in the house. The mommy went to investigate.

Chapter 3
Upon entering the room the mommy found the two little boys happily at play. The youngest was driving cars in six inches of black pepper powder poured out on the carpet in the shape of a road. The older child was giggling as he jumped around and splashed his hands in the bread crumbs, cocoa and grits. The beanbag in the corner had a fine layer of cocoa powder on it. Underneath the beanbag was a large pile of grits. And on the wall were newly formed letters drawn in cocoa powder.
The mommy, being known for her screaming ability was utterly speechless. She managed to hold it together long enough to scoop up the toddler and carry him to his crib. A fine whispering sound followed them as pepper poured out of the creases of his shorts, diaper, and shoes. Placing him not so gently in the crib, she scolded him and told him to stay there indefinitely. Turning off the light and slamming the door behind her, she turned her attention to the older brother. He, smartly, was covering his behind and cowering in the corner up to his ankles in a mixed concoction of finely grained particles.
"Go to the closet. Get the vacuum cleaner and come back." she said softly, but terribly. The little boy ran terrified because his mothers eyes were glowing like Buzz Lightyear's red laser beam that shoots from the arm of his space suit. The boy returned dragging the vacuum cleaner behind him and banging into the wall repeatedly. He stood silently as his mother plugged it in. She turned and said, "Fix this mess. Now."
The little boy got to vacuuming. But he was too little to manage the attachment on the vacuum cleaner. So his mother took the attachment off and handed the hose back to him. The boy went back to work. It was odd, but he seemed to delight in the opportunity to be of help to his mother. He chatted about his work and how well he was helping clean up. All of a sudden the vacuum cleaner died.
Upon inspection the mother realized that the bag was full of small tiny granules from the floor. Wordlessly she left the room, got a new vacuum cleaner bag, changed the bag and gave the hose back to the little boy again.
"Finish," was all she said.

Chapter 4
The mother sighed and took the full vacuum cleaner bag to the kitchen. As she pushed the foot pedal to open the trashcan, she saw it. Dropping the bag in the trash, she bent for a closer look. On her brand-newly painted kitchen wall above the trashcan was an autograph "OwenMcD". She rubbed her eyes.
"There must be some mistake," she thought. The child just received the punishment of a lifetime last week for drawing on every wall in the playroom and the bedroom. Had she not spent an afternoon with him scrubbing his very own walls with a Mr. Clean magic eraser? Large black Os had been written across the wall in his bedroom and on the carpet. Shaking her head, the mommy looked for the offending ink pen and found it on the floor under the cabinet.
"How did it get there?" She really thought she had removed every writing utensil in the house.
Slowly she walked to the older son's room. "Come out here."
"Did you write this?" she asked, barely concealing her anger.
"Oh yes." said the older son matter-of-factly.
"Why?" she spit out.
"Because I wanted to." he said defiantly, raising his chin a bit.
"I don't understand. I know that you know that we don't write on the walls." said the mommy breathing heavily to keep a lid on it and her arms locked behind her own back.
"Well, but ..." the little boy began to falter.
"Don't you but mamma me." said the mommy, a little louder this time.
"I just..."the little boy began to squirm and the hands shot to his bottom again.
"What are you doing that for? I'm not going to spank you. What's the point?" the mommy raised her voice again.
"You take this pencil eraser and you make that disappear. If it doesn't come off my brand new kitchen wall, you owe me three thousand dollars. And you better hope I don't tell your daddy. He will end you." the mommy said loudly, but without yelling. Casually she walked away.
The young child got to erasing. Lucky for him it all came off. He would live another day.
"I think you better go to your room and stay there," the mommy said when he finished.
"For how long?" he asked petulantly.
"For as long as it takes. Do not speak. Do not call me. Do not even let me know you are alive in there," said the mommy without moving from her watchful post by the sink.
The little boy ran for his life.

Chapter 5
Meanwhile the younger son had been crying the entire time. The decibel level was reaching epic proportions when the mommy returned.
"Dry it up!" the mommy shouted as she entered the room. Immediately the small boy stopped crying. The occasional whimper escaped while the mother stood there trying to keep it together.
"You may get down, but you will stay in this room," she said in a more controlled tone. The mommy picked up the little boy and set him down. She handed him a book, his truck, and the blanket from the crib.
"Do not come out of this room," said the mommy. She turned and closed the door.
The little boy had been growing and learning and figuring things out of late. He was quite capable of opening the door. In fact he had been practicing on that pantry door for a long time. The mommy however had found him out and placed a call to the daddy for a lock for the pantry door. Undeterred he began working on all the other doors in the house. Over the next hour, the little boy opened his bedroom door and peaked out at the mommy at least 30 times. She was too good. Every single time she seemed to be right there.
"You close that door." she would say and he would close it back. The poor little boy thought he would never get to leave that room. Meanwhile he was wondering what had happened to his older brother. They always played together. This separate room thing was no fun.

Chapter 6
Presently the daddy came home. He and the mommy weren't speaking. He had called on the way home and it had not been a pleasant phone call. Full of remorse for his unkindness and total lack of understanding (after all he has an office full of assistants to help him keep an eye on things), he apologized gracefully to the mommy. She accepted his apology rather un-gracefully and turned back to the stove. Silently, the daddy went to the bedroom to deal with the older son.
The mommy quietly put the toddler back in the high chair and dished up the dinner she had been trying to make for the last two hours. It was a silent meal for the three of them. The older son was wailing in his room because he was being denied dinner with the family and yet another stay in his room. After dinner, the mommy--still not speaking to anyone--quietly cleaned up the kitchen. When she was finished, the mommy opened the refrigerator, took out two Michelob Ultras, grabbed her purse and keys, left a note for the daddy, got in her car and drove to her bookclub.

Epilogue
All's well that ends well. The little boys miraculously recovered after an evening with daddy. The mommy miraculously recovered her ability to speak with the father. After a few beers and a few hours of moral support from her friends, the mommy's eyes and voice returned to their natural state. Everyone slept through the night in the red brick house set far from the road. The next morning the sunshine came, and all was right with the world.

Got to Get Bloggin'

I haven't had the urge to rant in a while. I've been sick, sick, sick. Grrr. However blog forthcoming on the lack of volunteers for Vacation Bible School. Why is it that I always hear, "Um, I like grown up children better," or "Well, I've already been there and done that and put in my time." You never know when you could become a very important person in the eyes of a child. I must run to work, but rest assured I'm working on a thoughtful blog about church volunteerism. Maybe it will worm its way into the pulpit? We'll see.....

The Media Circus

I think I'm going to have to start getting my news directly from the AP wire and the Christian Science Monitor or else read 5 newspapers a day. To be fair, I can count on one hand how many times I've watched CNN unless it's a Christiane Amanpour special since 1999 and I haven't watched MSNBC since 2004. There for a while I got my news from Stephen Colbert and John Stewart, but then their shows ceased to entertain me. I loved watching Meet the Press on Sunday mornings before Tim Russert died. And I used to enjoy watching Chris Matthews mix it up. We're pretty much a Fox News household as my husband is a FNC junkie. I sometimes sneak on other networks just to make sure I'm not missing a more "balanced" approach to news. Not to worry, I'm not.

I pretty much watch Bill O'Reilly, check the Yahoo News headlines, and read the local Sunday paper these days. In an attempt to be even handed in my commentary here, O'Reilly likes to mix it up and is a tad sensational at least once a night. He's got a couple of crusades going on for sure. But I find him entertaining and I find we agree about alot of things. Since it feels like anyone and everyone associated with the press/media in general is out to tear down anyone that has an opinion that is centrist or even remotely right of center, I figure I'm probably getting an even dose of my news with FNC headlines. At least no one is trying to make me feel like an uneducated heel that just crawled out from under some rock in the southern corner of middle America. I do have a master's degree. It's not like I don't know how to evaluate a news article or report for its value and information.

According to "un-conservative" networks all across the airwaves (or fiber optic cables) any agreement I might find with a more conservative outlook has been described as hot-headed righteous indignation, right-wing radical conservatism, a merging of right-wingers and Christian Conservatives into a White Pride movement and most recently (and my personal favorite) racist tea-bagging redneck.

So, what do I do? Protesting was once lauded and applauded (but that was back when we wanted equal rights and moms to get rid of guns and cheap gasoline). Apparently these days protesting government decisions is wrong and immoral behavior. So that's out. And somehow believing that marriage is between a man and a woman makes pretty young women giving nervous 30 second answers to difficult questions on the fly while on national television, gay bashing, holy rolling dumb blondes. So I'm thinking tv journalism, protest rallies, and beauty pageants are not viable options for me. I've missed the age cutoff for beauty pageants, off the cuff remarks consistently get me into trouble, and I don't believe I engage in wrong, or immoral behavior. Bummer.

So what do I do? Well, simply put, I turn off my tv. I live my life. I do my best to avoid gut-reactions without sampling the evidence first and I make no apologies for my personal convictions. Whether or not I choose to make those positions known is my business. I usually try to choose my audience carefully. Today's post might be an exception. I'd be lying if I said the negative comments that will inevitably emerge won't bother me. Generally, I think there is no need to piss people off unnecessarily. I prefer getting along with people.

I truly don't find myself that conservative of a person, but our country's mouthpieces on all points of the spectrum have a way of shoe-horning us into "positions" that aren't quite accurate. How we got to this point is beyond me. I do know I am confused and frustrated and flabbergasted at what makes the news and why. I don't think it's going to get better. The world is one big ball of gray; rarely is it black and white. Using hot-button sound bites and fanning the flames of polarization to prey on the short attention spans of Americans who tune in for a few minutes a night is not the answer. These tactics deprive our citizens of real information. It also says that viewers are neither smart enough, important enough, or worthy enough to engage in solid debate about what our country stands for. I find this sad on multiple levels. I could go on. But enough is enough. Gotta go, reading five different newspapers is going to take a while.

Allergies

You know it's coming. You wake up with itchy eyes and a slightly scratchy throat. You sneeze about 33 times before noon. All afternoon your nose drips--not enough for a blowing, but enough to make you wipe your sleeve casually because you don't have any Kleenex around. You just hope no one sees you do it. By nightfall your left ear is stopped up and your nose is no longer dripping. It's so stopped up your eyeballs fill squished by your cheeks which are rising into your lower eye lids from the swelling and pressure. You know the migraine is coming if you don't pop twice the normal dose of Advil--which will make you constipated later on, but I'll take it any day over a migraine.
You will yourself to sleep only to awaken ninety minutes later gagging on the snot that is flowing down the back of your throat. You have cotton mouth, your lip just cracked open as you attempted to lick it. You spend the rest of the evening propped up by a myriad of pillows of different sizes and thickness trying to get that just right angle--not upright, not horizontal, more than 45 degrees, neck straight instead of bent because then you'll have a crick in it. Allergy season has begun.
I haven't blogged this week because between wiping my own nose, I've been soothing my babies noses and listening to their dry hacking coughs and wheezes. The three of us are under serious attack by some histamine in our body that doesn't like spring. Mercifully for me, the nurse practitioner at the CVS gave me some allegra and flonase and sudafed. Along with lots of water and ginger-lemon tea with honey I'm going to make it. My older son has been on Singulair for almost 3 years now. With round the clock benadryl when the symptoms arise, he is usually okay. He has shadows under his eyes from lack of good sleep and a hack from the post-nasal drip, but otherwise, he's okay. The poor baby has to wait until he's two to start that Singulair, but you better believe I'm going to ask for it this fall. Poor kid. Between the eczema and the runny nose/cough the kid hasn't slept well in two nights.
This morning I woke up with a start at 530. I just knew something was wrong, but nobody was up. Then I heard it. This pitiful weak little cough from the nursery. He was so tired he couldn't even cough well. He sounded like an 80 year old man in there snoring. I rubbed his back and started the music and stood there for a while to make sure he was still breathing. Then I heard the other one, "mmoooommmy" so softly. The older one was half-awake. He was having a cough attack too and his nose was crusted over. I got a wash cloth and washed his face and gave him some water. Then we settled on the couch to snuggle--at a 45 degree angle so we could both sleep. After about 20 minutes we gave up and made breakfast.
Once we get to the end of June we should be okay until the end of September. Spring is one of my favorite seasons. But allergies are wretched. There isn't much I can do for the boys. It's so hard to keep them quiet when they really want to go out and play. Usually I let them go play and we just hose down every night to get the pollen off. I spent ten years of my life cooped up inside and I don't think I was better off for it. But we didn't have the wonder drugs we do today to help me deal with it and my wheezing made my parents walk the floor. I don't know how to keep little boys quiet anyway. We're on 3 1/2 hours of movies already today. We've been through every toy, every game, every puzzle, pretend play, pretend trick o treating, emptying the pantry--even jumping on the bed. The only thing left is art, and unless it's really messy (meaning outside mud pies or chalk) they don't like it.
Welcome Spring, do your thing and bring on Summer. Hurry please.

Religion 101

My oldest son is almost 5. Every Sunday we attempt to reinforce the Sunday School lesson by asking him what it was about. We have been encouraged by the Children's Ministries director to do so. Our church uses Godly Play in the 5 and under crowd. Godly Play roughly follows the church calendar and uses all types of mediums (figurines, colored blocks, sand, art, water, music, drama, pieces of colored felt, and so forth) to talk about the creation story, the parables of Jesus, Noah's ark, Advent, the Nativity, and Easter, etc.

Every single Sunday without fail for the last six months we have asked our almost 5 year old, what was your Sunday school lesson about and every single time without fail he says, "oh it was about guns. Yeah and then we shooted people and I shot so-and-so deader." Lovely.

Today my husband and I helped with Children's Fellowship. So knowing that today they did not learn about guns and armed with both the children's lesson from big church and the movie that coincided with it during fellowship time, I dutifully asked my almost 5 year old, "so what was Sunday school about today?" And he said, just as dutifully, "oh, we had a really short story about guns." I said, "oh really? I thought today's lesson was about trees." And he said, "no that was what we did in the Clubhouse mom, not Sunday school." (Note: the Clubhouse is where the kids are corralled during worship). "Ah, I see. What else did we do in the Clubhouse?" I asked. Here is the following transcript:

Son: "Oh, we watched a movie about trees."
Mom: "Tell me about those trees."
Son: "Well there were three of them."
Mom: "I wonder what they wanted." (Note: Godly play does a lot of wondering. Almost every question starts with, I wonder...)
Son: "Well one wanted to be a treasure chest, but he ended up as a manger for the animals."
Mom: "What about the second one?"
Son: "Oh he was a fishing boat."
Mom: "I see. And the third one?"
Son: "I don't know."
Mom: "Didn't it become a cross?"
Son: "yeah that's it."
Mom: "Well I wonder who went in that manger?"
Son: "Jesus did. But I bet that first tree was disappointed. He really wanted to be a treasure chest."
Mom: "Well, but that manger held the greatest treasure of all. That's where Jesus was born." Son: "Yeah, but he wanted to be a treasure chest, not a manger."
Mom: "True. But don't you think he was something even better? (Moving on) What about the boat?"
Son: "I don't know."
Mom: "Jesus was on that boat calming the storm, remember."
Son: Shrugged his shoulders, not really that interested.
Mom: "And what about that cross? Who was on the cross?"
Son: "God."
Mom: "Well, not God exactly, but his son Jesus. Do you know why he was there?"
Son: "He died."
Mom: "That's true. Do you know why he died?"
Son: "Because he was really really old."
Mom: Trying not to laugh... "Well not exactly. He died for us." Frantically thinking how to put the crucifixion delicately. "He died to take away our sin so we can be closer to God."
Son: "Okay."
Mom: "Do you know what sin is?"
Son: "No."
Mom: "Well when we do things that disappoint God it's called sin. Like when you get in trouble with mom and dad for doing stuff you shouldn't do. What do you think God does about that stuff?"
Son: "Does he hit us?"
Mom: OH CRAP! No more spankings! "No Owen. God doesn't hit. God loves us."
Son: "Does he beat us up and take our stuff?"
Mom: "Are you being silly? No Owen. God asked Jesus to take our sins away so we can be closer to him always and forever."
Son: "Oh."
Mom: "You know what? After Jesus died, three days later he came back to life."
Son: "How did he do that?"
Mom: "God brought him back to life and then took him to heaven."
Son: "So when we get dead, are we going to come back alive?"
Mom: "Well, we will be alive again in heaven after we die. God brings us up to heaven to be alive with him."
Son: "Is that further away than space?"
Mom: "Yes it's so far away we can't even see it."
Son: "Cool. Can I have some more crackers now?"

I wonder who learned more here? Mommy or Child? What will you wonder about this week?

On My Spring Break Vacation

My husband and I went to New York City for a few days over Spring Break. Visiting the Big Apple is always new no matter how many times I go. I must say I can tell I'm getting older. The very things I loved about New York in my late teens and early twenties I absolutely hate now--crowds, over-stimulating lights and signs, traffic, late nights, high heels, everyone wearing black, one in every 100 people speaking English. I find it amusing about myself how much I've changed.

Fashion:
Wearing tennis shoes is of course a dead give away that you're a tourist unless you are wearing work out clothes and carrying an iPod. Since I didn't take work out clothes to New York, I dutifully changed out of my tennis shoes as often as I could stand it. But walking in my sorely out-of-fashion-but-at-least-they-were-black knee high boots with 2 inch stacked heels was a big mistake for my flat footed self. I enjoy a good walk as much as the next person, but I think I gave myself a heel spur and my arches and calf muscles are in agony. Luckily for me, jeans are still in. So every day I put on my one pair of designer jeans. They are comfortable, fit well, and I had them hemmed for flats so they didn't gather too much at the bottom--also uncool.
And why is it that New York, fashion capital of the country, is still so insanely into black? I felt like I was in Europe the whole time. I'm no fashionista. I have neither the time, the money, nor the interest to give two cents to what is "in". I'm woefully trapped in wash-n-wear from LL Bean and Lands End and Old Navy with the occasional Talbot's sweater or dry clean only skirt. So I try to wear a few colors to brighten up my sadly plain weekday wardrobe. Apparently color is not cool either. I don't understand, I watched Sex in the City and they wore colors all the time. Anyway, 24 hours after my arrival I found myself buying a fabulous black belted knee length trench coat in black from Banana Republic that was on sale. I've had my eye on it for a while (it's pretty snazzy for me) but I needed a little push for the purchase. Needless to say I wore it day and night with my black scarf and black gloves and black boots and my jeans. I felt a little better about my attempt to look vaguely like a New Yorker--even though my shoulders are stiff, my neck is still itchy from the scarf, and my ankles may never be the same. In other fashion news, Ugg--LY boots are still very much in. It's like the 80's. Skinny jeans tucked into boots (with no heel now unless you're bravely walking in stilettos), colored tights are back--with black clothes of course, and huge purses continue to dominate the landscape--purses can be different colors. Apparently only accessories are allowed to come in more than one shade.

Other Stuff:
We saw some great shows! Avenue Q, A Night with George W. Bush (Will Ferrell's one man show), and Stomp! All excellent. We also got lottery tickets to a taping of the Dave Letterman show. That was very entertaining.
I broke my Lenten fast from alcohol and caffeine. It seemed more sacreligious to forgo the red wine while eating excellent Italian on vacation with my husband without our children and a serious possibility of sex. Of course, the next day, a diet coke was in order to function. Plus we were in Chinatown having an early lunch of Dim Sum and I had already downed the green tea which was chock full of caffeine, so I figure why not go the whole hog before returning to purgatory?
We went to Ellis Island. The audio tour is very good. We went to the Guggenheim Museum--coulda skipped that. I like art. I appreciate art. Alas, I don't understand modern art very much at all. We rode the subway, walked all over, shopped, slept late, and ate many more marvelous meals. No dishes, no screaming kids, no cooking, no driving, no housecleaning. And we caught a few minutes of the St. Patty's Day parade that went up 5th avenue all day on Tuesday.
Needless to say we had a super super time.

The Return:
So after several airline delays we arrived back in Chattanooga via Delta. I was reminded again why I prefer to fly Frontier out of Nashville and why I never fly out of Chattanooga unless it can be avoided. However, our flights were never cancelled and we did arrive safely and at a reasonable time, so I am grateful for small things even though I moaned like the weary traveller I was.
We arrived home at 3:05. Hugs, kisses, and presents all around. My older son was showing off and the baby had a green nose and a croupy cough. Typical. At 3:20 I discovered what looked like a snot explosion in the baby's right ear. I was back in the car and headed down the mountain by 3:25 and in the doctor's office by 4. Ear infection. So a trip to the pharmacy and the grocery store later with a quick stop at the Pumpkin Patch to play, I was back home washing dishes, making dinner, changing sheets, soothing a sick boy and disciplining my other one. Showers, medicine giving, and teeth brushing commenced shortly thereafter, and everyone was asleep by 8. A little tv, another load of laundry, a check on the boys, finally a quick check of my email and facebook--which I didn't even miss while away--and I collapsed in bed around 1130. I'm back from vacation alright. It's amazing how you step right back into it and it doesn't even phase you. What a vacation. By Saturday I'll need another one, but for now, I'm grateful and happy to be home. It isn't New York, but it's my life and it's always a colorful one, and I'm alright with that.