A blog post about something.

Last week I had a couple neat moments with the boys. 

That day I was focussed on keeping them in line for the big things, like making sure we got to camp on time with all tasks completed and items in tow.

Two weeks prior (a Wednesday) we had probably our worst morning to date. My anger smouldered throughout the whole day, partly because once they were signed in to camp, my hands were tied.

It was a breaking-point; something was going to give. That morning I had contemplated resigning because the brick wall I was meeting wouldn't respond to gentle nudges. I thought that if I hadn't figured out how to control and to lead in this situation by now, I may never get it and someone who WILL get it should be here instead.

In discussing the situation (including my thoughts of resignation) with my boss, I got my butt handed to me on a plate. I was called out to do better. I did not want to hear it but ...neither did I feel like my quiver was empty yet so I resolved to dig deeper and give it a final shot.

Thursday I wasn't there but Friday I was a drill sergeant. They didn't love it but they understood. I was clear about what could and could not happen and they eventually understood I was serious.

Then a week off and then a holiday Monday and then the Tuesday with the couple of neat things. I was focussed on getting the main things done.

When we were leaving the house, B doubled back and turned out the lights in his bedroom without my prompting. That has never happened before. I usually make myself the last one out so I can cut the lights behind the boys. Inevitably someone forgets something and turns on every light they pass (even the light for a room they aren't entering) and so I call from the bottom of the stairs for them to re-extinguish.

Then I stopped bothering as much because one more order on top of the normal we-need-to-get-to-school/camp orders makes them more distracted and more able to de-prioritise everything I'm saying. (I really didn't like conceding that one.) On top of this, hydro is included in the rent so I can't play the "we don't want to waste your dad's money" card.

But B did it and as he passed me on the stairs, he said happily, "Good thing I remembered to turn off the lights, right?"

I thought I was going to be the first person in history to die from a smiling overdose.

I had to turn away from him and keep my "yep" as calm as possible. I love that he picked up a good habit from me.

Really love it. It means so much.

The other neat moment came on our walk to camp when I stopped dead, backtracked a few paces and peered closely at the greens beside the sidewalk.

"What're you lookin' at, Jesskah?" (I'm typing this like you can hear the light, earnest tone that's bursting at the seams with inquisitiveness.. but I guess I probably can't translate it.)

"I thought I saw a four-leaf clover but I was wrong." [silence long enough to indicate this is an unfamiliar topic; I can practically hear them thinking/processing] "It only had three leaves."

B: "Why did you [hope it was a four-leaf clover]?"

Me: (Suddenly realising I don't want to communicate that I am superstitious) "Because they're really rare... and some people think they're good luck." 

B: "Oh."

J tells me just how rare they are, that in one person's lawn you'd probably find one four-leaf clover...

I think it's ridiculous that he'll speak like an expert when he is actually completely in the dark BUT I still think it's super cute and fun that they both would take a few moments to explore a topic of mild interest to me. 

Most of our time is usually about them (as it should be) and the lion's share of the talking is always done by them. So in those few moments they're interested in talking about me, something I'm interested in, something I'm doing, something I'm well versed in, I rather enjoy it. It makes me feel like they see me as a particular person, not just an adult who's around. 

I like being a particular person, especially to them.

Sometimes I think I am secretly a New Yorker at heart.

(I realise that can't be true.)

I went to J's games tonight and it was a lot of fun.  He asked me at least three time this week if I could come and I told him I probably could but needed to check with his dad.  Instead of saying that it was fine with him or that it was up to me like he usually does, Dad said yes and sounded not unhappy about it.

It's the playoffs and because Wednesday's game was canned on account of thunderstorms, tonight was a double-header.  It was exciting.  There were other games going on at the same time in neighbouring diamonds so the general excitement of playoff season was even bigger.

When we first pulled in, my brain started throwing a tantrum.  It refused to go.  It insisted that it would fold its arms, pull a pouty face and plop down right in the middle of the grocery store because it didn't want to take one more step.  From 6.30 in the AM I was around people; I was working and by the time 5.50pm showed its haggard face, I was zombified.

I literally sat in the passenger seat and stared a thousand yards into the distance, seatbelt still on, ignoring the bustle around me to get cleats and gloves and bags...

My friend asked if I was coming in a way that didn't sound sarcastic-ish...I think he truly wondered whether I'd completely changed my mind.  I sputtered that I would be over there shortly.  He says, "Okaaay.." in a strange way so I sputter even worse that I "just need to not be around people for a bit".

Fantastic moment of [big exhale] that I could just declare a need like that and have it understood.  They carried on and left me in the parking lot.  I sat on the grass with my head in my hands and eyes screwed shut.  Not exactly sure what that was about but it was what my id was screaming for.

Those little five minutes where no one was around, no one was talking to me, no one needed me, they went a decent distance.

Then on the bleachers my head was still in my hands on and off between batters or pitches and I contemplated throwing some earbuds in to have music block the talking around me and to help me feel like I could control my environment.

This is not what I meant to write about at all.  I meant to say that it was a rough start and I almost tapped out but I am so glad and so grateful that I was able to stay for the long haul, all the way to 22.30.


I made some new friends: the siblings of one player, his mom and then another player's mom.  It felt unprecedented.  I had taken an hour's excursion to go meet a friend that needed urgent help and that twenty-minute walk back into town, brief chat where I was all listen, opportunity to bless with an Iced Capp well received, a fifteen-minute wait in an airconditioned Tim Hortons, triumphant return of the friend (who had borrowed my keys) and another twenty-minute walk back into the park, all of that did very well for filling my tank. 

I had planned to stay on the bleachers for every inning of both games but I'm deeply grateful that a need pulled me away for so long.  It helped.


I was friendly and outgoing; enjoying the kids - especially the littlebert who laughed when I told him my name was Fred but called me by it for the rest of the evening - enjoying the other adults including me sporadically in their chatter and enjoying that all of this people time felt natural enough and not intensely draining.


Near the end of the second game, the other two moms and I would do the Wave for each player that reached base.  Mom the Middle would yell the player's name and Mom at the Far End would start the Wave.  We all participated; the recipient baserunner would grin, laugh, blush or all three; and we would then laugh. 

I don't even care.  Still in my camp shirt, combatting insects and gross clammyness of dew and low temperatures, combatting fatigue and brainlessness I was having a great Friday night.  I was into the game and into the evening and I didn't even bother taking the back of my brain elsewhere to occupy it.


The team was doing well so we didn't even have to be creative with our encouragement.  The three of us were getting sillier and louder but I think our sincerity was evident and the team's morale tracked upward with us. After the second or third Wave the 3B coach (who also happened to be my friend/the kids' dad) turned and explained how he thought the team had had quiet spectators all season UNTIL NOW and said as genuine a "thank you" as I've ever heard him say.  He does have a soft heart toward children and instinctively looks out for them. He seemed a little moved as a coach (and presumably as a dad) to be hearing the support and seeing how it was affecting his players. That coachly nod was kind encouragement.



My friend and I were overall fine which was a huge relief because, to put it simply, we can be pretty up-and-down.  We were both relaxed and interacted like reasonably good friends, exchanging snippets here and there like an inside joke or jabs or conversation blips (maybe like text-messages if you know the person well, where a comment or question can be thrown out at any time with no need of a preamble or follow-up?), but mostly talked to other people because we know we get to see one another all the time. I was happy to not be obligated in that way but also to have a glad-you're-here/happy-to-be-here connection. Zero tension.


Taking my cue from my friend's joke-not-joke to B that they would bring blow-horns to tomorrow's game, I said I would bring pompoms and I am not joking.  He said they'd pick me up.  Wherever it's right, I'm happy, grateful and humbled (among other things) to be a part of this family.  For a day where I had more than a few moments of feeling overwhelmed by how much I love these boys - wanting to just blurt it out - this was a perfect ending.

Well, that's another Wednesday in the books.

Just finished a conversation with an unlikely friend. To be fair, I don't think we're properly friends or ever will be. I think we'll continue getting along just fine as our paths cross but I don't know if long-term friendship will pan out. We're quite different.

Where we're different, it's stark but where we see eye-to-eye, it's glorious.

It's really nice to chat with someone - possibly the only someone of this ilk that I know - who can (and does) talk and think about music more than I do.

I realise he has many peers in this but for me right now he's acting as a sort of outlet and I'm grateful. He won't let me talk theory but that's OK. We think deeply about music and we both have ideas for shape, feel, flow, color and so we can talk at a level that most people (in my experience) roll their eyes at (even though most of them enjoy the finished product!).

He seems never to run out of interesting things to show me.

When tonight's rehearsal was officially adjourned, I said as quiet-loudly* as I could, "Now play something fun."

*this means I wanted to tune one person's frequency and no one else's.

A kind of "Oh-ho!"-chortle came out and he picked around briefly while I began shutting and covering the piano. Then he launched into what I hear as a IV65/I - V65/I - I. 

I threw my fists up into the air (à la Steve Holt, perhaps) and yelled, "Yes! Beautiful Things! Gungör!"

He plays on, barely looks up at me because he is focussed, a pick in his mouth and he nods assent in time with the music.

The piano cover is almost embarrassingly not one-third of the way messily on before I have decided I need to play along. I leap up to the electric keyboard because this song wants strings. (It begs for cello.)

He played and I joined. I added fat strings and sang a close harmony. 

I...loved it. It may have lasted two minutes but to sing into a song like that with someone else who is singing into it, with someone else who also sees the whole song, also knows the nuances, also knows the original recording well (and ALSO LOVES JESUS-- that is the cherry of all cherries on top of anything positive I'm here writing) ... I'm grateful for that mini-moment.

From that song and until we parted ways downtown an hour later, we chatted about music, ministry, God's goodness, charity work, music again, musicianship, worship, vision and so forth. We talked very briefly about our upcoming coworkership. I settled for a high-five where I would have wanted a handshake and we overlapped our "I'm excited"s that we each pretended was a self-directed musing but was actually very intentionally meant to be heard by the other person.

He played for me a couple songs with highlighted bits and commentary and he heard my scraps of feedback -- an almost-weekly occurence.

I really appreciate someone continually showing me what's "out there" and I appreciate how this must be borne out of a sheer love for music. (He can't keep it to himself.)

There was another mini-moment earlier this evening that I want to say was even more profound. I think it was a bridge that the rest of the band didn't know and possibly after I proposed a key change. So he and I are the only ones playing, trying to gauge singability.

I didn't need to play or sing because he's the lead vocalist and it's his comfort that's paramount. But I sang and I played because I felt like it and I didn't think I'd distract him.

Arguably by the first line he already knew but he kept playing. The singers couldn't join because they'd never heard this bridge (we were about to teach it) and the guitars couldn't join because they didn't know what key we were in yet (we weren't certain). So we were left duetting. There was chatting and some background fiddling but he and I sang and then started singing together.

I dropped the tight harmonies and I followed his lead. I let the piano embellish the guitar and we both let our full passion (for God and for good music) slip out because we weren't carrying the band.

In the context of a full-band rehearsal this shouldn't happen but for tonight I'm glad it did. I tell you what- I have never sung making eye-contact with someone as they sang back at me but it was something. To worship deeply because you have the same heart for Jesus AND the same freedom in music, it's incredible. It actually added something that we were looking at one another. It's deliberate engagement; we were worshipping, not rehearsing. [I'm sad that this is so noteworthy a happening.]

We just sang together. It was together like each voice would be less on its own and needed to be half of a whole. (Like something being greater than the sum of its parts?) What a way to worship.

I am grateful. Really.

 

Masters of Etymology

Alternate title: So Which One's the Hard Place and Which One's the Rock?

I feel stuck. It's not the big kind of life-situation stuck but perhaps we'd say I feel emotionally cornered or caught.

[Feel also right now like I'd give anything to read a scrap of leisure literature but I've been assigned to a strict diet of Bible-only for the next short while. Just last week I found myself daydreaming while I was in a staff meeting about sinking into a collection of Roald Dahl short stories. Yes, in that moment I craved solitude and clever writing over conversation with a handful of people.]

I consider that I have a lot to say about how I feel right now and what I'm processing or working through. I also don't know if I want to talk to anyone. 

I felt several hours ago like I wanted to talk to someone but I didn't even have a short list. I feel like I've worn my friends out.

I want to say something [rock]

but I can't. [hard place]

I feel a lot of things [rock]

but I don't know what I'm dealing with. [hard place]

I know Christ [Rock]

I live in a fallen world. [hard place]

"I wish!"

"I wish that were the case," is what I might perkily reply in some possible world when I'm asked if B is my son.

It has consistently been my reflex to reply that way when the mother of another player at J's ball game inquires. I've never said it because it sounds weird. More than that, it doesn't convey what I mean. 

"I wish":

On one level, I would be honored to be a mother at all.

"I wish":

Additionally, I want these boys to have a mum.

"I wish":

It means a lot to me that a stranger can pick up in twenty minutes the strength of the bond between the boys and me. 

Are they yours? and I smile massive, like I'm basking in the relationship.

"I wish":

I wish there was a way I could have a maternal-like relationship with the kids wherein I care for them, build into them, pray for them and love them for their entire lives, at a distance that appropriately adjusts over time.

Yes, that's what I mean. That last one.

My heart breaks at the thought of leaving them, of doing anything to hurt them, of failing to be there when they need me, of not being there to protect them...but they aren't mine. They just aren't mine.

--

"I wish":

I very grudgingly say "no" to the question, wishing it didn't feel like such a demotion to describe the official connection. 

It's almost like admitting I haven't sat any RCM exams. Suddenly my piano skills aren't what they sound like because there's no Grade number.

But I really can play!

But I really do love them!

This is not the post I intended to write but I'm happy with it.

What I meant to write:

(1) It seemed this morning that for the first time I saw through a pinhole down a mile-long tunnel a glimpse of eternity. 

Watching the lyrics for the third verse of 10 000 Reasons (Bless the Lord) being projected on the screen it finally grabbed me. It was that sharp pin puncturing the pitch black wall or veil and some very cool yellow light broke through.

I think I have taken the first step toward fathoming eternity and where I'll spend it.

This is significant.

(I don't think I can go on writing about it but I am [excited] because now I can catch up with all the Christians who seem to get it and live under that knowledge. I am also looking forward to the truth working its way through my self and life so my pastor will stop yelling at me for not being jubilant on the topic.)

(2) This:

[The man who delights in and meditates on the law of the Lord] is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither.

Whatever he does prospers.

Psalm 2:3

This made sense to me in a deep way for the first time this morning and then sunk even deeper on my walk to this coffee and blogging.

That tree, that man, lacks nothing. The source is near and sure.

We don't worry about its source of life like we do for the trees that are inland.

I ...

   ...

...have nothing to worry about. I can weather it. My roots go deep and He is steadfast. This is amazing. This is going to change my life. I can be bolder because what can man do to me?

(Again I have to stop writing because it's inexpressible.)

(3) Our vocal and instrumental leader killed it this morning. He loves God and it oozes from every pore. He worships hard and the rest of us scramble to keep up. It's fantastic. And I appreciate his humility.

He's like the person I've been waiting for to breathe life into or to wear or to exact the sets I compile. In the Lord's grace we complement one another and it's dynamic. It's a privilege to watch from the outside and to participate in.

And this morning it was a glorious partnership between the music and the word preached and I am beside myself.  The Lord does stuff.

After service I silently shook hands with the leader and made some "I'm speechless" gestures, nodding along with his verbal marvelling.

"[Our pastor] set it up..." he says with a big grin, trailing off because he knows I know the implication.

I go to grab something from the back room and on my return I say, "I hope that me shaking your hand in front of all of these people doesn't look like I think WE did something." He laughs. I'm chuffed I don't have to expand on comments like that with him.

I try to walk away but then turn back to say, "And how did Matt Redman know we needed that song this morning?!" He nods, laughs and says, "I know," through his chuckling.

I try to leave one more time but then turn again knowing I may never have the nerve again, I confess, "The real reason I shook your hand was because I wanted to say, 'I'm glad you're here'."

Instead of talking more like I wanted to, to gloss over the moment of vulnerability, I just held eye-contact hoping he would pick up that I wasn't being flippant. He picked it up. He made a funny face that looked like my comment had made an impact. He had no reply. My opinion shouldn't matter to him because he knows what he brings and he is surely being appreciated and encouraged by many, week after week.

I said it because I wanted to -- almost because I needed to. And he took it. Good Sunday.

Phew.

Alternate title: "Something."

I do not know how I am so awake and so even right now BUT, I feel grateful. I've been through quite a bit in the last week and in the last 12 hours but here I sit with a delicious coffee and a Blogger app that actually works.

[Thank You, Jesus, for giving me blessful things that I don't need but can greatly enjoy.]

Last night I got back just after midnight from a wedding in Leamington. It may be a legitimate miracle that I didn't die en route because of how drowsy I was. (For about an hour of the four I was kept easily awake by practising a confrontation I need to initiate this week. I was/am passionate and uninhibited enough in my rebukeversation that my brain focussed well.]

I didn't drive home but to Work B because I needed to finish the slides for tomorrow's service. This week slipped away from me.

Around 2am I had a weird moment of recollection. When asked how I would make time for my music job when my camp job would take up so much of the week, I would tell people I had carved enough time in the week to do the minimum. [Only late in Week 3 did I realise nine is far fewer than twenty-five.]

Apparently I have a hard time standing for the minimum.

People asked if I would put in evenings (or assumed I'd have to) and I would say to them that, no, I was going to keep good boundaries. I was going to do less or do the same in less time.

Sigh. I slept between 12.30 and 1am in the car--just threw the seat back and gave in to the heavy eyelids.

Then between 1.10 and 1.40 I was in and out of weird sleep in the rear pew in a cold, clammy, dark auditorium. I finally got up and started working. I told myself I could afford to work til 2 and still get enough sleep to be ready for rehearsal at 8.30. 

Because of slowness of brain

because I was sifting through notes on 130-odd psalms on four pages in two notebooks

because I prize uniformity and aesthetics (and am a secret perfectionist)

and because there were computer glitches I couldn't circumvent,

I didn't leave til about 4.40. I was in bed before 5 and flabberghasted that I was partially lucid when my alarm sounded at 7.03. I hit snooze and sent time-sensitive texts regarding the service and glitches until about 7.47 because I am a lazy waker like that.

More computer glitches and more frustrations but we made it. This isn't at all what I meant to blog about.

Let's try it again.

It is most certainly bed time.

But how can I sleep before I write about His wonders??


This should be brief but I want to say how amazed and awed I am by things I've seen God do this week.


My personality, interests and skill-set are not well suited to working for a kids day camp. And yet, I have been employed by one this summer.


I have been thinking about and preparing for this job for a few months, anticipating great stretching, discomfort, frustration and discouraging challenges. I've been dreading it. But, the three big reasons I said yes to the position still remain and act as a solid backstop.

The three reasons, actually, have made me think that the Father wants me in this position and so that has become the meta-reason or meta-motivation.
[I wish I had a better grasp on the English language.]


On the first day I was just floored by how [easily] the day trotted along. I felt like God had just shut my mouth in my dread-filled attitude. It was more than fine. The day went well. I contributed and I did my job.


The boys I've been taking care of the past several months, they have trained me in kid-chat. (If that falls under the heading of small talk then it's the only kind of small talk I don't loathe. I suspect it doesn't fit that category because it has a purpose. I suppose I don't loathe it because children lack the capacity for the kind of deep conversation I prefer, so I can't whine about not getting what's unavailable.)


Kid-chat means something. It goes far. I don't think I knew I could do it--and so naturally. I am sensitive enough that I don't push to engage every child I come into proximity with and that might not be the norm for camp but as someone who tries to send clear signals when I wish to be left alone or left alone with my thoughts, it's important to me to try to respect that in others.


For some kids (for one kid who was my bus mate this afternoon) it takes one timely observation and you've connected without needing to say anything else. [Sometimes I think introverts have a secret language.] The child seems to know after that that they can sidle up at any time and say one sentence right back. Introvert's Code.


It's lovely that we start each day with staff devos. I'm delighted that we start each day quietly and meditatively with eight people before starting loudly and actively with 18 million chatterbox energy balls.


With each new something that each day has held I have been sure it was the thing that would at least partially legitimise my dread but no.


But, no.



He equips me or has been equipping me and each new challenge is met with Christ-wrought prowess that astounds me, even in the moment as I stand outside my own body and look on.


I'm not excellent or exceptional but "I" am doing more and handling better than I should be able to and Amen that it's for His Name.


I'm even learning to not despise corporate prayer (a breakthrough after several years).


On the morning of the first day, I leaned into my boss' office and asked pointedly, "How'm I gonna do this job?"
I displayed some cousin of Panic on my face and stared intently after an answer. He knew what I meant and did the sigh, nod and small, sympathetic smile that I've seen more than once before.


He said I was gonna be fine [my brain checks off "platitude"]; he advises me to be glad (or was it grateful?) when I do get time on my own (three afternoons of five) [my brain appreciates acknowledgement of my preferences & needs and of the stretching]; he said the Lord was going to give me what I need to work outside my personality [my brain gets real-er and I try to embed this by affirming, "He must, right??"].


I did my own sigh and nod of "I can do this" and "no turning back" (I think the last whisper of "I could quit" dissipated at that moment; I was all in) as I turned on my heel to go to work.


I felt silly that a vote of confidence could mean so much but it helped. [Editor's note: Fell asleep here around 11.15; finished at time of posting.] And I have met each challenge, each task, each child with the belief that I possibly CAN do well. This is significant. With each [victory] the Lord gives, I am even more confident and more eager to see what other hurdles He will enable me to clear this summer.


--


And THEN next week J and B will be among us and the dynamic changes entirely. Before this week I was anticipating it would be tough to feel responsible for them but need to entrust them to someone else. I anticipated needing to assist their coaches with discipline because I know how many handfuls they are. I anticipated needing to remind them they don't get special privileges or special access because I'm there.

But now, I am only looking forward to having them around again after a week apart. We'll meet the other challenges as they come.

B says funny things sometimes.

This evening I took him to baseball practice and there were times when he made me laugh out loud like any friend/adult could; I wasn't "humoring" him a bit.



(A) His diamond is near to the University of Guelph where I needed to drop off books and I was surprised he had no complaints about our stop.  As we pulled in I informed him, "This is where I used to go to school," and instantly his interest ballooned 300%.  He helped me with the parking metre, asked me about some of the buildings and emitted a genuine "whoah" when we stepped into the UC.  I guess it is a bit bigger and more impressive than his elementary school.


A few steps from the libby, I shifted the eight-high stack and he asked, "Are the books getting heavy now?" and I wanted to tell him what a grown-up thing that is to say.  Not just that he would notice, and figure out why I'd shift from one arm to another, but the phrasing: the books' weight didn't change and he knew that.


He was impressively quiet and followsome as could be while I did my thing, probably owing in equal parts to his going full-throttle at practice for an hour (which was after 30 minutes of football at home), owing to it being an hour past his bed time and owning to the tasty bag of crackery things in his hand that he didn't need to share with his brother.  [I weirdly enjoyed being able to give those to him.  Pulling out of practice he asked if I had any food and remembering the surplus from my lunch was in the back seat made me very happy.  Perhaps it's a merging of my love for feeding people, my love for B and the thing I have about being prepared.  I love having the right thing for the right situation, or the problem-solvishly adaptable thing for the situation.]



(B) On the way back to the car he spies the heavily painted outdated weapon-statue and exclaims, "Is that a cannon?!?"  I'm smiling because for some reason it's cool to me to share my alma mater with this kid.  I almost pointed it out to him on the way up but wasn't sure he'd really care.

I tell him yes and yes again when he asks if we can go look at it.  He climbs up on top while he asks all sorts of questions.  I'm surprised he so easily gets why students paint it.  Conscious of the parking metre and the desire to get back to the house before the others, I urge him along sooner than I really wanted to.

He made sure to look down the chase* and when he skipped back over to me on the path he had a chunk of malleable paint layers in his hand.  "Look what I got!"  I tell him I think it's cool (because I do).  "Now I'm a part of the cannon!"

B often makes me work hard to understand what he means when he's speaking but this one really thew me for a loop.  Does he mean he's now part of a long tradition of Painting the Cannon?!  If so that's a very [insightful] thing for the little dude to say.  Maybe he meant he simply has a piece of it... Either way he made me laugh.
*I had to look it up.



(C) On the way to the diamond, he picked up the small folder that holds the vehicle's insurance and registration.

"What's this?"

"It's the insurance for this car."

"What insurance?"

(I think he means, "what is insurance?" but either way I'm stumped for an answer for his six-year-old brain.)

Holding it open to me: "What does this say?"

"That has all the information about who owns this car and who does the insurance for it."

"Who owns this car?"

I lean over and read the only name on the policy: "Dennis Fisher."

"Is that a guy or a girl?"

I hesitate slightly, deciding whether I should tell him "Dennis" is always a man's name but I'm not sure he's there yet.  "It's a guy," I reply, being careful to muffle my amusement.

His eyes bug and he leans in slightly. "You know a guy??"


Oh, I laughed so hard.  I don't know what he meant.  I don't know why that shocks him.  Does he think girls are friends with girls and boys are friends with boys?  Does he think I don't have friends outside of his family?  Does he know that our culture has a place for the phrase "I know a guy"? Everything about it was funny.  He was really shocked.  I now wish I had asked why he was shocked or what he meant.


I replied to the affirmative and he sat back and said, "Wow," quietly.  I really don't know what was running through his mind but this was possibly the highlight of my night.

The Fourth and Final

It must be finished today or it'll never happen. 


The University of Guelph's campus has changed over the last decade that I've frequented it but it's still beautiful and still fun.  The University Centre looks more different than I'd like but it's still tasteful and compelling.  I remember the first time I asked where the "University Centre" was, in September of 2002 and I remember never calling it that again because everyone said the "UC".  Just like our pub was called "The Keg" (as it had been named until that September), not "The Brass Taps" as is written on the sign.  How cool was I???!!


I went to the library and found the hundred millionteen books my friend had asked me to borrow.  I loved it.  I enjoy libraries, I enjoy searching for things and I enjoy being helpful. 

I went to the front desk, about 30% hopeful they'd let me check the books out with the card I had. I didn't want to walk across campus to get the card I probably needed (even though it was free).  I was mindful of my parking metre and of my generally tight schedule.

I didn't anticipate feeling so much pain handing over the six bills to pay my fines and clear the account.  It was super ouchy.  But the fines are just and the borrowing privileges are worth it.

They made me walk across campus. I felt annoyed.  But it needed to be done.  And then it would be done.  I checked the books out, happy as a pear and went to make my final stop before Work A. 

My friend had slipped a silly request to the list, "The Will and the Dahl: An Exploratory Essay on Danny the Champion of the World and its Semi-Augustinian Roots" by Rolled Doll (call number P2.1984.JSKHFQN found at UGiantPeach), so when I stopped to get dessert for the house, I also picked out the giantest peach I could find.  It made me happy that a gag gift and silly, pseudo-inside joke was also cheap and edible. 



Twelve days later, my best recollection is that the boys were fine after school.  We stayed in.  I cooked.  It was hot.  We ate in silence, all four of us in the living room (this is rare), watching "M*A*S*H" (1972-1983).  J and S loved the corn the most, B went to town on the Tater Tots and the fish was nothing to write home about, to be honest.

Practice had been canceled due to inclement weather and the adults were relieved.  I was particularly relieved because my evening engagement would overlap and I was not looking forward to leaving J at the diamond with his team and coach, even if Dad was fine with it. 

Kids went out to play hockey in the garage, I stayed till the next ad break in "M*A*S*H" and then I drowsily announced to my drowsy counterpart, "Well... I'm gonna go sleep in a pew for an hour."

He says a slow perplexed, "Okaaaay..." because he has forgotten about the evening event.  I'm glad we cleared this up because without that context me going to sleep in a pew when I could sleep at home is pretty strange.


I got in the car and drove away.  Partly from movement, partly from the joy of driving, partly from being outside a bit and then, on entering the church building, partly from adrenaline, I was awake again.  I think I also felt energised by being alone in the building.  Before napping I did one more run through the songs.  Knowing I had them in hand on the piano we'd be using that evening, the one with a broken sustain pedal and poor tuning, I relaxed and flopped down on a pew.


I dropped into deep sleep rather quickly and forty-five-ish minutes later when I started hearing others in the building, I legitimately didn't care if I was discovered there.  People could make "napping on the job" jokes to their hearts' content; I was staying til the last ten minutes.


It's been too long since this Thursday for me to tell the front-row account like I want to.  I know that the evening went well.  I know that learning to lead musical worship as a singer without piano is something I want to work on because I think it's a good tool to have in my belt.  For this same reason I want to learn to play the guitar.  (And if I was a millionaire with the right amount of freedom and free time, I'd learn about playing percussion, too, just so I could speak to it and hear it better.)


The event was called "Reflect! Relax! Rejoice!" and the theme just permeated.  It was an excellent time of reflection and rejoicing.  The ladies sat at their tables with coffee & tea and there was singing in worship, a slideshow reflecting on the past year of Women's Ministry (and a bonus segment reflecting on previous years) and one lady shared her testimony.

I almost always struggle to feel like I fit in with Women's Ministry Events because I seem to be in the wrong life stage or to have had the wrong upbringing, wrong clothing, wrong small talk, wrong interests -- something.  This event seemed different.  It was neat that these ladies came out on a Thursday night to worship the Lord and to do fellowship or community-building.  For probably the first time, I felt like I could just step in and be a part of it and that felt not difficult.



When the speaker shared her testimony I was incredibly engaged.  I don't know what was hooking me but I was so interested that I don't remember looking away for the full twenty or twenty-five minutes.  I always love hearing stories of how Jesus has shaped someone's life; how He has called people to Himself but I felt particularly enraptured that night.

I liked the way she shared, the shape of her story.  I liked that it was atypical, based on the sampling of testimonies I've heard.  I liked how it was so much more than her [conversion].  I really liked that she gave me a couple meaningful songs from her Story to weave into the sets of corporate worship.  I also like that she gave me the solo song she wanted.  I felt privileged to follow her with it.


I felt rather small or humbled when I went up to sing.  I just followed the music and did my best.  I felt like I wasn't doing anything, like the room was hollow.  But the song is beautiful and I was singing to the Lord, the transformation-faith account fresh in my mind.



It was interesting how much my disposition changed, once the program was over.  I was off the clock and ready to socialise.  I parked by the dessert table and stuffed myself, now that the butterflies had vacated.  I chatted with a few lovely ladies and eventually headed home.

When I turned to leave, the speaker called my name and asked if I was a huggy person as she advanced toward me.  I said, "Yes," for the first time in my life.  She hugged me like I had given her a gift. 


:)


Fine.  She told me what she thought of my singing and I replied that that kind of comment is always meaningful but that it's even more coming from someone who listens to that song/that CD multiple times a day.  If she thought my disheveled version was passable then I'm humbled. I took her comment to heart.  I felt privileged to have been a part of the evening.  I also felt privileged that the Lord was using this event and that week to form the foundation for a future friendship [alliteration] with this woman who I'd been meaning to get to know.  I could say more but I'm done.

I guess so.

[begun Monday afternoon, completed late Wednesday]

The boys are both chilling out watching X Games Barcelona and eating Red Delicious apples so...sitting with a laptop and knowing I'll be working a little late this evening, I say, "I guess so," to the prospect of blogging.  (By this point, completing these installments is now an exercise in writing discipline, not expression or processing.)


After lunch I hopped in the car and headed to the grocery store on the next block. I picked up three items because tonight was going to be an easy dinner.  I like making them something special because I can, because I'm like the aunt or grandparent who has the greater capacity than the parent to do specialler thing because we still get to go home, but today was just too much for me and I needed to go for the sure thing.  Fish, chips and corn?  Done.  They were actually Tater Tots.  Don't judge me.

I dropped the food off in the fam's freezer then headed home.  I wasn't expecting to see my housemate there, in the middle of the day, but the Holy Spirit was expecting it, as evidenced by our timely chat.

I changed my clothes and then decided to practice the solo song again, since we have an electric piano in the living room and I don't know if my audience would be smaller than one when I got back to the church building that evening.


It clicked.



Thank You, Jesus; it clicked. I started playing at the end of the conversation with my housemate. I was sat at the keyboard as we talked and, under pressure from the tick of the clock, I gently told her I needed to practice a bit. (She knew I couldn't stay.)

The song, somehow, was the prayer-answer to the unspoken question(s) of our conversation. It fit as a response, not as a perfect reply but as a sigh of trust.

I was able to sing it with an internal connection for the first time. It clicked and all the technical stuff accompanied.

BIG sigh of relief. This could officially be set on the back burner. I played through two more times and smoothed over the trickiest bits until I was sure I had it in hand.

I packed up and disappeared, glad for the adrenaline boost because I could feel my nap time dwindling as we passed 1pm.


Next I headed to campus. But right now I'm headed to bedmus. (So close to being done before another Thursday is upon me! Sigh.)

Definitely should have done this all in one shot.

Installment Two of this week's Thursday?

We left for school/work around 8.20 and after the routine pseudo-hug from B at the stop sign where we part ways, my brain began shifting from child care to Church care.

I grabbed a coffee on my way in (it was one of those days), and took my first left down the hallway to enter my office.  I was fighting and fighting and fighting the feeling of panic and drowning and being overwhelmed.  I thought that if I could get my Work B work done in about an hour I could go do my errands next and then have two or three hours to chill out and ideally to nap.  The promise of a nap was what enabled me to think I could handle a day that would start before 5 and end after 10.

First things first, I went to find one of the gals I'd been collaborating with for the past four days over the Women's Ministry Event being held that very night.  [Just going to take a moment now to reflect gratefully on the list of four women I was able to work with the past few weeks for this event.  It was a unique experience actually, and I like all those ladies, my sisters.]  This gal was the one who'd be sharing her testimony that evening and we had planned to meet this morning to see how she would do with singing the special song she'd picked out to tie in with her story.  Originally she asked if I would learn it but on Wednesday she mentioned she was feeling like she wanted to deliver it herself which I thought was a capital idea.  I would still learn to sing it as a back-up plan and we both agreed she should have the CD on hand in case neither of us could come through.  (It's a rather emotionally-charged song connected to a rather tough part of her testimony, you see.)

I found her easily and she told me - with what I recognise as pre-nervous body language, tone, laughter - that she thought she had enough to focus on with delivering her testimony that working on singing in front of fifty people would be too much for today.  No problem.  I know that pre-nervousness and I know the decision to take off the plate all that can be taken off when your mind is preoccupied with the daunting something in the near future.

Slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity to duet or to accompany someone I've never worked with (musically) before, I was also moderately relieved because I was feeling like I didn't have time to rehearse that morning.  I wanted to get these slideshows put together because they would take the longest, couldn't be faked and needed to be sent to someone else in good time.  Unfortunately, I have enough tricks and shortcuts in my musical toolbox that practice can always be left til last.

I booted up the computer and in the mean time went to find copies of the songs I'd be leading for corporate musical worship.  I would have done this second but I realised it would be easier to type the lyrics into the slideshow from the binder beside me than to type them from a web browser window I'd have to flip back and forth to.  Something about having the binder done made me extra happy and therefore slightly more relaxed. 

On my way back to the computer I stopped on the threshold of my boss' office holding up two fingers.  "Two things," I announced, hoping my tone and body language would communicate how serious I was this time about not getting caught in another "short" conversation that lasts 45 minutes.  I got the two things out easily and he responded appropriately but somehow, through a miracle of smoke, mirrors and pixie dust, I was still there for twenty-five minutes.  Yet again, I had gotten caught in what I like to call the Web of Interesting.  It's catchful.


Thankfully, a dear aquatic friend had stopped by around minute mark 25 providing the perfect outside-world interruption for me to detangle myself from the Web.  I had been expecting her.  I even gave her mother a hard time when she came in without the anticipated daughter.  I took the consolation hug from the mother, a little surprised at first to find out how much I could have said I [needed] a hug that day/at that time.  Perhaps physical affection is a basic need for human beings.

Groundbreaking.

Underwater Daughter shows up and I am glad.  I don't know when or how she and I turned into such hugberts but it's a nice.  It's a nice something.  I don't hug all my friends and I don't hug often.  But sometimes some times.  I forget that she's only here to drop something off and we're not about to hang out.  My heart sinks slightly but again there's some relief because I still feel like this day doesn't contain enough hours.  She goes and I git to working.


The slides go well.  They take me two and a half hours when they could have taken 45 minutes but I wanted them to be good.  I wanted them to be uniform, aesthetically pleasing, legible and, later, congruent with the decorations for the evening.  When I could have been done, my 44pt Georgia in black on white, I got up, walked twenty feet behind me, spied the peach-based tablecloths and the sunflower centrepieces & accents and went back to my workstation.

I played around with the tone of peach, I picked the gradient and the gradient's direction, I pulled from our Sunday morning background image collection a stunning photo of a sunflower close up that I've only used once before and that I thought would make the perfect "reset" image at the beginning and end of a song set (as opposed to a black screen).

None of that needed to be done and perhaps none of that would be noticed.  But, I wanted to do it.  I wanted to make things pretty and for them to match and if just one person found it engaging or found it facilitated worship, then great.  (It was engaging me and facilitating worship as I hunched over the six-year old Dell in a cold auditorium so it couldn't have been a waste!)  I was making gargoyles on the roof.


I was a little beside myself when I decided to use the sunflowers as intros for each song, to put the title in italics, right justified in the bottom right corner.  The bright blue of the sky and the vibrant yellow was such a neat break from the soft and subtle peach we'd be looking at for the previous and following seven, eight, nine slides.  It was so cool.  I almost felt artsy. I almost sent a text-message to an artsy friend saying simply, "I'm making things pretty!!"  She would have understood.


Completely satisfied, I saved, sent and shut down.  I sauntered down the aisle to practice the solo song I'd been asked to sing and it was going better than it had been for the previous three days but I was still sitting around 60% confidence and asking myself how I would find doing a mediocre presentation that I knew could only be mediocre before I even started.  It doesn't smell like integrity to me and I didn't like it.

But, I had to go.  I had to have lunch, I had to pick up dinner, I had to pick up books, I had to go home and change my clothes and I had to still find time to rest before I needed to be back at Work A in less than three hours.  Sigh.  I just couldn't be there at the piano with my brain so buzzy and with other people within listening range.  It's hard for me to play and/or sing freely if I don't want an audience but have one, even a passive one.


I ate lunch sitting completely erect at the edge of my chair at my desk.  I was flipping through my Twitter feed because I can't do one thing at a time and halfway through the gullet-stuffing exercise I got up to make a few photocopies in case anyone walking by thought I wasn't working.  (I don't even know what that is.)


On one level it was a gloriously enriching, edifying, energising day and on some other level I was completely high-strung from dawn til dusk. (Maybe I needed that stress to keep me awake and alert!)



And here I quit, hoping I will remember enough for Installment Three when my account is four days old.

Music can be incredibly beautiful.

I thank God that I can hear it. I thank Him that I understand it to some degree and that I get to do it, to work with it. I'm grateful.


Today has been such a long day that I'm craving home and bed but at the moment I'm waiting indoors until just before my bus comes so I don't need to stand in the rain too long.

Some time around 4 this morning, my brain started a low hum of activity. My eyes were quite closed and dreams were lingering subtly but, if I were alert enough to use facial muscles, I'd have been smiling.

[I don't get that kind of pre-alarm wakefulness very often. It almost always comes when I'm looking forward to something in the upcoming day.

The truth about today is that I could see some fun things on the horizon but I was also looking forward to finding out what my day would hold.]

At 4.20 my alarm sounded. I decided I had some flex so I hit Snooze through til 4.38 when I finally decided I didn't want to regret being late.

This morning my boss was leaving before six though he regularly leaves at 6.30. He's never asked me to come early but whenever I can, I show up to close the gap between supervision agents.

I came in around 5.40 and he calls from the top of the stairs, "You dough-head." I couldn't see him from where I stood but I smiled to myself. I know you know they're OK when they're asleep and just getting up and I'll be there in 45 but I still want to be there.

[After that one time I came in to the sound of B crying because you'd left before he was up, it's hard for me to not push to be available.* I know he was fine and they'll be fine but still.]
*iceberg tip

We had light morning conversation, a sort of residual easy-going familiar tone lingering from last night. (This morning felt so much earlier because we didn't leave the coffee shop til 11.) But this morning was so much sweeter because, to be frank, I wasn't worried about any of the dynamics in the house.

I'm bent on being myself; being gracious and assertive to fight for a healthy, functional friendship. Last night gave me hope for that and yes, that's part of what hummed my brain awake at 4am.

Five minutes after my boss leaves I'm on the couch for a nap. At 6.30 on the dot J comes in and I'm officially on the clock. (I commemorate the prestigious opening of my work day by turning my head and groggily mumbling, "Good morning," with a faint smile. J's "good morning" sounds similar. I hope there's a day when J and I can be real friends. He reminds me of myself in some strange ways.)

We watch TV in silence because we have nothing to say. We both need time for our brains to get into gear. B on the other hand wakes up in fifth gear (and stays there til bedtime).

[More often than not, bright-eyed all-cylinders B is up before I arrive and by the time J is up, between one and two hours later, bleary and subdued, the clash when these brothers first see one another is ugly. Provoking and snapping. I greatly appreciate the staggered wake-ups when J is first.]

B is up within the next fifteen minutes and I finally sit up because I need to be able to see every play in order to ref well. All things considered, they were OK.

Around 7 I started trying to upload J's video project to his school email server and because everything (including the Internet, all computers, most websites and time itself) is stupid I couldn't get it to go. When it was 7.45 I started becoming concerned.

Both J and Dad were counting on my help here and I couldn't have the kid lose marks because the school server insisted the video didn't exist, because for an email the attachment was too large, because for a Presentation in Google Docs it repeatedly stalled at 5% progress, because the wifi connection is spotty, because to upload directly to Google Drive was taking A MILLIONTEEN YEARS AND WE WERE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE FIVE MINUTES AGO...


Sigh. When we walked out, my final attempt, the glacier-paced** Drive upload was at 52% and I told J to check when he got to school but this was all I could do. We had to go.
**first-world problem

I emailed him the link to the vid as a (terrible) back-up and was deeply consoled when he said it was OK for him to do the presentation live in class instead of showing the video. PHEW.


While I was working on the laptop, the boys flanked me. B was cuddling or flopping or asking, "Can I go on the compuuuuuuter noooooow?" and J was mostly quiet, half watching me work, and keeping the courtesy one-foot space between us.

In a break from my stressed work to come through for this kid I reflected gratefully on getting to have cozy, quiet moments with the boys. Soon, Biscuit, the Jack Terrier, filled in that one-foot space and I thought it was even sweeter that in the whole room, in the whole flat, all of us were squnched on one side of one couch.

That must end the first installment.

on Thursday. / on Thursdays. (part 2 of 2)

[This portion of the tale was written & posted late Friday night -- that's why it's timestamped past 2am on Saturday!]

We headed back to the house at 4.15, the time we had agreed we would leave because both boys have baseball practice that night (so they need some rest after playing hard in the hot sun and on top of this, I needed to finish cooking).

I was thankful that the kids were as worn-out as I predicted because that meant they sat quietly in the other room without bickering with one another or asking me thirteen million questions to which I can't give an answer that satisfies them.  (Sometimes after-school is brutal for the Crankies.  Half the time it's just cos they miss their dad.)  Perspective.  Context.


I started to develop my own case of the Happies.  I love cooking for others.  I do.  And for these guys?  Where I can pour out all my love and affection into a couple dishes one day a week?  Glorious.

A mac & cheese casserole that has been a hit twice before in this house was now being complemented with bacon.  It sounded good in my head and my meatetarian friend whom I'd texted earlier that day told me the hypothetical combination sounded delicious so I went for it. Aware that the recipe doesn't yield a ton (and aware that I have a hard time eating meals that consist of just one thing), I added a Caesar salad and was particularly pleased with how the homemade croutons turned out.

The kids' dad came home and we did the routine debriefing of our respective days.  I talked more than I expected to because I was feeling more comfortable than I often do.  Tongs in hand, leaning against the counter, I'm talking across the kitchen like I'd talk to any good friend in a comfortable or neutral space.  [This is a blessing.]  Truth: we don't talk like this every day but when we do, when we're both relaxed and unguarded, it's a good day.

My Happies are getting worse; hives are starting to form.  I'm happy that he's sitting down after a hard day.  I'm happy that the kids are happy.  I'm happy that he has the freedom to chat with me, to check his email and to take a shower while dinner is still being moved toward completion.  [And on a side note, God bless the inventor of the crockpot because it was chugging away faithfully while even I was out and about.] The efficiency- and multitasking-obsessed parts of my brain were delighted.

I'm happy that the meal is going to be tasty and a treat for a weekday.  (I later told S that if I could say I had hobbies, cooking for others might be one and so in that context spending a little extra coin on a meal makes sense.)

When I couldn't stand it any longer I had to ask for some insight.  I said I didn't understand why the mac & cheese wasn't done, 40 minutes after it should have been. Turns out I was wrong and it was ready.  I was flustered about the idea of us having to rush to eat before we went for baseball practices: then how much help would I be?

I asked S to do the portioning because I know I'm not good at it, especially for children and especially for children whose stomach sizes I don't know super well.  I took that moment to sit directly in front of the air conditioner, hunched over like I finally realised it had been a long day (after a long day) and that standing between a hot oven and a hot crockpot while under the ungracious skylight was making me a bit warm.


We ate.  It was good.  The boys were in the living room and the adults sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table.  Light conversation turned to deep conversation and my introvert gears started grinding cheerfully in fourth.

Both boys finished their meal without a peep, a complaint or a prompt.  This is a rarity.  It wasn't too spicy, it didn't have too many mushrooms, it wasn't too much food, it wasn't "but I HATE carrots!", it wasn't "can I just eat half?".... it was eaten.  J (10yo) came into the kitchen with two half-forkfuls left on his plate, mmm-ing to himself.  (For whatever reason, he was taking the last two bites while standing at the table next to me.)  I gawked.  He told me, "That was really good, Jesskah," as he went to put his plate away.

I pointed a did-you-see-that? finger after him, looking to S and blurting, "He ate it all!"  (On top of normal picky-child-ness, J had also been finishing up a pair of bananas not forty-five minutes before, and he was warned that if he didn't finish his dinner he wouldn't be going to baseball. I thought he had over-snacked for not the first time but I was wrong.)


I was genuinely surprised.  Zero complaints and zero leftovers.  S assures me with more softness than I might think the statement warrants, "it's really good."


"Huh," I think I said, feeling speechless for a moment, my finger probably still in the air.  I still can't put into words what I was feeling as I processed the look of the empty plate and the sweetness and sincerity in J's voice as he came to pay me a compliment.  I felt _____ that what I had put work into had reached him well.  I mean it meant a lot to me, that moment. J is free enough with his criticism and negative comments that I believe he means his positive ones just as uninhibitedly.


S and I continue our deep, real-life conversation and I'm feeling overwhelmed by all the converging blessings: ease in conversation (I'm being myself!), tasty food, satisfied boys' stomachs & taste buds, pleased & grateful Dad, knowing the secret of the ice cream in the freezer, the cumulative weight of a day that's gone well, and mostly feeling I've made a contribution (a magnificent aligning of ways they are helped/blessed and ways in which I delight to serve).

[Oh also, this is officially the first time I've enjoyed bacon.  As in, I'm glad it was around.  I fear for my future.]

Not too long after, B (6yo) comes in with a twin plate, save three slivers of cucumber which doesn't bother me a bit.  The feeling of being ______ because the boys are happy returns even stronger because it's both of them.  BOTH of them finished and enjoyed their dinners.  [No words for that level of happiness and something akin to humbling.]


S and B leave for their practice fifteen minutes before J and I need to go.  He chills in front of the television while I murder the dishes and try to get my brain back into You Are Responsible for a Child mode.

Phew.  That's a tough one to don at the end of a day, not gonna lie.


We head out and he chatters the whole way, providing the running commentary for the game he's playing on my phone.  I respond to even less of his commentary than normal (because I'm focused on completing a task I've never had before) and he doesn't notice at all.  He keeps chattering and I keep driving.  I am conscious of how neat and flabbergasting it is that J enjoys spending one-on-one time with me.  He's a totally different kid.


We get to the park and the chattering continues, now about baseball and his team and whatever else pops into his head.  He takes the field and I take a seat, feeling the 3-2-1 countdown to the shift in Responsibility and situation dynamics.  I'm hyper-aware of our surroundings as usual when in public with the kids--but I also trust the coach.


J is impressing me with his athletic prowess and my internal gloat and pride bubble up like he belongs to me.  Like it's a natural response.  Like of course I'm proud of him and bristle with undue sensitivity at one of the coach's comments.


Then I started blogging out my day because it was a doozy.

on Thursday. / on Thursdays. (part 1 of 2)

[This post was drafted Thursday between 6.30pm and 9.30pm.]



I'm sitting cross-legged on the grass at a public school's ball diamond.

It's been a long day. I feel like I haven't stopped since 05.30 but that isn't quite true. After work I went to see a dear friend, taking my time in transit and enjoying the time to just space out. [For me it's the equivalent of pulling the tarps off or doing stretches or letting the engine warm up. Sheesh. None of those really fits.]

Friend time was good but she was having a very mom-brain day and I was feeling every tick of the clock. There were more things in my Thursday than I had originally wanted but we were going to make it work.

For the first time I really got to connect with her almost-three-year-old son. He's lovely. I used to visit her weekly soon after he was born so I feel like it's a long-standing relationship but this is the first time - as far as his awareness goes - we've really engaged. He's a sweetie. I made him laugh by throwing things and making silly comments and he made me laugh with his laugh, his ridiculous smile and various animal sounds that eventually all sounded like shrieks as he became more worked up.

A joy.

I'm happy that Friend & I had our time and a brief catch-up but I'm interested in finding in the next couple weeks the ideal climate for us both to be focused and free in conversation as we usually are.


Next I headed to the grocery store because I'm making dinner for the fam at Work A tonight. [Two weeks running and I'm overjoyed.] This is a perfect reason for me to designate Thursdays as my half-days (or full days) off.

It's grown into the (much-desired) day where I get to do things that are important to me, that are relaxing and productive but I suspect it's the three pairs of jeans clumped together on one side of the washer, causing it to rumble violently. I suspect this one day's five-hour chunk protected as tank-filling time will color my whole week.

[Wow. J just made a great diving catch and we all applauded. I so proud.]


Headed home to get lunch then headed to the boys' house to load up the crockpot. While eating lunch I opened the hatch on speed-brainstorming for the meeting I had two hours away. I was pre-panicking because I just hadn't budgeted well for my prep time.

But,
I would not go to the meeting empty-handed,
I did not want to not get dinner ready,
I didn't want to skip stopping in at work and
I would not be late for my meeting
so
I did a mega-exhale of flusteredness as I sat down to my work and my meal.

Remembering my task was to pick songs that lead believers into worship of the Most High, I thought I would pray. I failed to recognise what I was doing because this wasn't for a Sunday morning service as is my weekly task, but rather a one-off Thursday evening event. Still.  Prayer.

I opened my eyes and the songs picked me. I was done inside twelve minutes what I'd suspected would take at least an hour.

This left enough time to follow the recipe unrushed and with great care (the best way to cook). Finished that before I thought I would then headed off to work to pull the song lyrics from our collection to bring to the meeting.

My boss from Work B texted me as I was finishing up in the kitchen, saying he noticed I wasn't on the premises and that he hoped my day was going well. Borne out of many discussions on why we mustn't work for our worth but accept that God has created us with intrinsic value, he seemed genuinely interested in me enjoying and maximizing my time out of the office.  Kind.


I informed him that I was on my way in and asked if he was free because I had "money, a tale and a song" for him. [What a trifecta!]


I got in and found the song lyrics first, heading to my boss' office second with a CD and two fives in hand. Something in me was just LOVING that I would be in the office for less than an hour and that I felt no guilt about it. (I may pay for it tomorrow but I don't mind.)


My boss and I chatted so comfortably I could have put my feet up. (I smiled to myself when I noticed his literally were up.) He did the lion's share of the talking and I was glad.

My tale was well received, far better than expected. I left the building feeling like I had been drenched by edification.

I headed to the meeting and found a one-hour easy-going idea swap to be similarly enjoyable. My counterpart is chill and we come up with a plan that I am pumped about but that is going to need meat added. Glad that I now have a couple days to work it through on my own.


Finally I headed back to the boys' house around 3 to snag the ten-minute nap I've come to depend on before they burst through the door around 3.15. We went back to the school for them to play with their friends, bikes and skateboards abounding.

I sat in the not-shade, cursing the lack of breeze and exhaling with unplanned loudness when dark clouds rolled in and finally gave me a break. I was glad to be "at work" where I'm either catching up on emails or just getting some space-out time and the boys are fine, needing minimal intervention.  I'm happy they get time with their peers.

(to be continued)