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Monday, April 22, 2013

Coming Home

What if after a long day of shopping or even a short grocery trip, you came home and everyone in your house rushed to greet you as you walked through the door?  What if they applauded your arrival?  What if they kissed you and hugged you?  How would it make you feel?

I've noticed that each day when I come home from school, everyone seems so excited. They make a point to make a big deal of my arrival.  Maybe it's because Gabriella wants a new Hide-and-Seek buddy.  Maybe it's because Rick is happy to see someone that doesn't cry or pout when they don't get their way.  Maybe it's because the twins are just happy to see anyone.  I don't know what it is, but when I come home my family makes me feel like they missed me.  Truly missed me.

And I try to do the same for Rick.  Whenever Rick returns from errands or driving around the block to get away from the madness (I'm only partially kidding), I, too, try to make a big deal that he's home!  I encourage the girls to run (or waddle) and greet him.  I make a point to tear myself away from the latest Real Housewives episode to let him know I am happy to see him.  I mean, isn't that what we all want...to know that there are people that truly love being in our presence.  That's a good feeling to receive, but it's an even better feeling to give to someone else.

Rick snapped this picture of GG and me at the park the other day.  As I'm thinking about the whole idea behind this post, this photo came to mind.

I love the thought of coming home.  I love knowing what's waiting for me when I get there.  I love that for all the people who could care less if I'm around, there are four that think I'm fabulous...and I think the same of them.  I'm excited to see them.  I hear the garage when Rick's coming home and I'm like a little dog wagging its tail and scraping at the door.  It's sad, really...
But it's not.

I love coming home...and I hope you do, too.

My challenge to you is this:
Tonight (or tomorrow if it's too late), make the people you love feel overwhelmed by your excitement that they have come home. 


Saturday, April 13, 2013


I've been trying to think of something significant to do with the walls in the girls' new playroom.  I don't just want to paint them.  I want to do something unique...something that means something.  There's just one problem, I am not artistic when it comes to drawing.  I feel pretty artistic when it comes to photography, but not with a pencil, crayon, marker, or paint brush.  It's just not my forte.


When something has meaning...
It stands out from the ordinary...
 Marked by a moment, thought, or feeling that is worthy...

I want the the things I do, the things I say, even the stuff that's on our walls to be

As I was staring at the playroom walls over spring break, a thought came to me.  What if we used the main wall in the playroom as a canvas for our hand prints.   Whenever something significant happens, let's mark the occasion by placing our painted hands on the wall.  Let's date it, and as time goes by, our wall will change.  Those little hands will start to grow and who knows...maybe there will be more hand prints one day.  A wall full of our hands.  I thought it was the perfect idea.

So, on April 7, 2013, we all painted our hands yellow.  There was paint everywhere!  It didn't take long to figure out that 1 year olds don't like to open their hands, spread their fingers, and let you have your way. As a matter of fact, neither do 3 year olds!  None the less, we got our canvas started.  Before I wrote anything on the wall, Rick and I had the following conversation:

Me: What is today's date?
Rick: April 7th
Me: Ok, so I don't mess this up: 3-7-13
Rick: No! It's 4-7-13!
Me: Oh yeah!  I'm so glad I didn't write that!

So, I carefully wrote the date that marked the last day of a fun-filled spring break.  We all looked at the wall, high-fived its appeasing aesthetic and left it to dry.  

A few hours later, I stopped to notice how nicely the paint was drying and I couldn't believe it.  

Right there, as plain as day...
the incorrect date that wouldn't happen for 10 more days:

After everything I did to make sure I did it right, I still did it wrong.  
In all of our celebrating...
In all of our finger-painting...
In all of the joy and chaos that defines who we are as a family...

I had written the wrong date.
But actually, I couldn't be happier that I did because now...

the very first (of hopefully many) finger-painted hands that will adorn our playroom wall have marked an occasion that instantly became even more significant.

I see God in the ways we fill our days, not the dates on which they happened.