Well really, where did it all go? First there was January–nonexistent because I was alone all month with a two year old and a two-month old baby while I sent Spencer to explore New York. Then February, March, April–all spent deciding and then planning to move to New York City. And then that whole three months of homeless roaming and return to the West coast in frustrating defeat. Top it off with another three months of readjusting to stable (but lonely) apartment life in the same old city, and I guess that explains how it flew by.
My children are now 3 and 1, respectively. When did this happen? Next thing I know they will be in college, and then married, and then getting pregnant and having little grandbabies. Before I know it I’ll be dead!
Who could have explained that time speeds up so horribly when you have children? It always rubbed me wrong when people told me, “oh, I know you feel like you’ll live forever when you’re young”, and then laughed a quiet chuckle at my silly feeling of immortality. Well, I never did feel like I’d live forever. I have always, as far back as I can recall, known that I will die one day. Some days I didn’t care, and some days it troubled me, even as a child. But I think I understand what they meant now. When you have kids, along with experiencing a universe of new emotions and sensations (ever accidentally stick your finger in a poopy diaper?), you also become almost physically aware of the flight of time. This is because you see how quickly your children are growing, and you love them so much that it suddenly dawns on you that they are getting older much too quickly. Time, you come to realize by their 3rd birthday, is unfair.
One of the reasons I trust Jesus, and all that stuff written about Him in the Bible, is that it makes sense. Time seems unfair because it IS unfair. We are meant to live much longer lives, to be able to build deeper relationships, to be able to plant an oak tree and watch it tower one day. And when you put sin into the picture it makes sense that God would shorten our lives; we can only do so much harm and hurt so many people before our time is up. He limited the time people have to destroy their enviroment and each other, and I suppose to be fair, He limited the time they can do great, amazing things and see beauty unfold in the earth as well.
But I look forward to the resurrection–that gives the perplexity of time some hope. Things seemingly unfinished here will be worked into the pattern of history like a thread into a blanket, and when we are much wiser and much younger (to borrow a turn of speech from Chesterton), we will look back on history and our time in it and see the endless purposes of God working all the evil of mankind into the good of His love. The perfect, mind-blowing, world-fixing Love that is pretty much terrifying to anyone who really thinks about it.
I guess I’m rambling. In more mundane matters things are going well:
The chicks are almost real hens now! They are big and fairly happy in their run outside although like everything around our house they need more sun. Our neighbor brings them beet tops from the farmer’s market every Sunday, enough to last all week along with their regular food. Strangely, I can stand outside for an emberassingly long time just watching them doing chickeny things like scratching and dust bathing and eating greens. This sense of wellbeing and contentment wells up in me and I leave feeling like a duchess or something. Like “Ah, my loyal subjects the chickens; how they soothe my soul with their rustic ways!” It’s weird.
Ci is doing well. She is such a good dog. Mol is her buddy and they play all sorts of games together. It’s actually quite hilarious to watch a 3 year old child bossing around a dog about the same size as herself, “Sit, Ci, sit!” And Ci sits dutifully. “Up Ci, up!” and she’s up. “Liedown, liedown, Ci, LIE DOWN!!” and eventually the border collie flops down almost as if emberassed to be obeying such a small, midget-voiced person.
Mol and Chub have grown like weeds. Very cute, potentially beautiful weeds who keep me busy in the extreme. They go about all day reorganizing the house for me, requiring meals of me, needing to be taken to the park so they can run about in the sun like real children do, digging about in dirt and needing me to give them baths, crying at me for various and sundry reasons, and then waking me and Spence throughout the night like the tag team from hell. One needs a nurse, then the other needs to pee; one needs to be reassured after a bad dream, the other sneaks into our bed and wiggles around obnoxiously. Finally dawn comes and just as it breaks or a little before, Mol says, “Up time daddy? Get up! Get up!” and we know we’re screwed.
There, I got all that writing out of my system, now on to reading about. . .you guessed it! Gardening and small farming 🙂