Snowy mornings

Thursday morning, as I walked to the van, the snow crunched under my feet and the moon was bright. I suddenly flashed back to high school, walking to the barn in the winter. I absolutely hated getting up early in the morning, swore at that time that I'd never, ever end up getting up that early and here I am doing it. Despite the fact that I long for my warm bed, waking up slowly and lazily, I love those crisp, cold mornings.

I can't explain it, but there is a calm and peace in the air that is unlike no other time of the day. In my mind, I could hear the whir of the barn fan, and the clunk of the calves' milk bottles after I fed them. Now I hear the fan of the car heater the crunch of snow as I pull out of the driveway.

Some things do change, there are no cows to feed or milk. My dad would probably be surprised to hear that on such mornings, I do think back to those times and can honestly say I miss them. Well, not quite miss them like I want to do them again, but they are good memories.

My mornings now are filled with those few residents who are early risers asking me "Are you my nurse today?" And being disappointed if I'm not. It still surprises me that I mean that much to my residents, because with 24 of them, divided by eight hours, that means they get a total of 20 minutes max of my time, most of which is not face to face. Somehow I have become someone meaningful in their life.

To have those peaceful snowy mornings first, and then be greeted this way is really just the icing on the cake.

Goodbye, Radish

Now that we are foster kid free, and I've sorta cleaned the spare bedroom, added all the junk that spare bedrooms should have, I'm nostaligic and thinking about all the kiddos we've cared for over the years.

Dear Courtney, Coleen, Ashley, Gavin, Nick, Deavon, Derek, Scott, Rich, Dillon, David, Kyle, Verle, Paul, Andrew, and the 1/2 dozen or so respite kiddos....I truly wish you all of life's happiness, and I hope that you are able to find the best in life that God has planned for you. Yes, even the big D.

Seven years ago, we were broke and I was wondering if our home would ever know the pitter patter of little feet. Today, I look around at the scarred furniture, floors, walls, doors, and can say, yes, we've had THE parenting experience. There's the dent in the living room wall from where the Big D used to slam his feet up against doing hand stands. The damaged doors, the grape jelly stains, and the giant holes all tell stories, not unlike the holes I see in my Dad's house.

The ceiling at home bears wounds from where my brother, age 12 or so, said "Hey I bet I can touch my elbow to the ceiling", but his head hit first. Or the ragged carpet that the cats kept scratching at, the burn mark from my tea candles (damn, was I lucky I didn't burn the house down!), and the little dings that kids leave on a house that says it's lived in.

My house now bears those marks. They made me mad at the time, but as I repair them I hope I can say "thank you Lord".