Our Birthday Boys

Baby Boy (12), Tink (21), and Hippie Boy's Shadow (8)

Doesn't Libby's cake look fabulous?!
(It tastes as good as it looks)

For my Rock

I married the best guy in the world. OK. I'm sure a few of you married ladies out there might argue with me, so I'll say that I married the best one for me. This whole life, family, adoption, homeschool thing is hard, and I read a lot about families where Dad is just not on board a lot of the time. Maybe he's busy bringing home the bacon, and trust me, we go through plenty of bacon around here. Someone has to bring it home. But all too often it seems as though the wife and mother is the one who is much more emotionally committed to the challenges that the family has taken on. Sometimes hubby seems to be along for the ride in much the same way as the children.

Not so at our house. My husband is willing to step in and shoulder much of the burden, particularly as I become fatigued or discouraged. Today he got the children up for school (the ones who go to school), fed them breakfast and pushed them in the direction of getting dressed, personal hygiene, bed making, stuffing of backpacks. He loaded the lunches I had prepared last night into lunch boxes, and signed notebooks to teachers. He checked to be sure the children had coats and hats and gloves on as they ran out into the frigid air. He plugged in the truck, and let the goat out of her night time stall, being sure her purple coat was securely fastened.

In fact, if I had remembered to lay out clothing for school last night, he would have never woken me at all. As it was, he gently came in and shook me, asking if he should pick out school outfits for the children. I dragged myself out to save him this frustration, but he actually even helped with hair. He also found time to make me a pot of coffee, and bring me some pain reliever, and feel my forehead in response to my query, "Do I feel hot?"

Because I am tired, and irritable, and sick. The holidays were long, and action packed. And I seem to be settling into my regular winter bout of illness. Last night I woke up to an odd noise. It was a loud whistle, that seemed strangely close. I thought maybe the cat who had tucked himself into my armpit was snoring...he does that sometimes. But no, it was my very own lungs, singing a wheezy song. So I hacked a few times, and dislodged whatever was making the racket, and went back to my not so stellar rest.

I don't know what folks do when they feel as though they are in this thing alone. How do we get by without someone who pampers us when we're tired and sick? Now I understand it is short lived. Tonight a large group arrives at camp for busy weekend. Hubby will be churning out meals as fast as he can, so that by the time the buses roll out the back gate on Sunday, he will have served about 1500 meals. Thankfully I can hitch a ride on that train, and avoid cooking for two days. If I'm not coughing too hard, I might make myself useful in the kitchen. Then Monday will arrive, with nine days of glorious vacation! Not that we're going anywhere exciting, but it will be nice to relax and do nothing. While we're doing nothing, I have a really long list of stuff that needs to get done.

For Libby-Lou

Here it is, hung up in a temporary fashion. I have hopes of getting it hung more permanently soon, over great Grandma's antique bed. Actually great, great now that I think of it. It will remind your father and I to be kind to one another even after twenty-one years!