Pumpkin Spice Lattes

Pumpkin Spice Lattes

Pumpkin Spice Lattes

Summer has gone.

Sunshine is still here. But instead of filling thick warm air infused with the scent of flowers, it now pierces the cold, still air like a stern but just teacher.

Leaves that were budding new lives in the spring have aged and colored the landscapes with red, orange and yellow. The full branches have thinned out and one by one leaves float to the ground, their short lives over already.

People are rejoicing of Pumpkin Spice Lattes and pumpkin soup, and although I think I should love those things, pumpkins make me gag.

I love the colors of the trees and I love the sound of the word ‘Autumn’.
I love Chocolate milk with little marshmallows.
Movie nights under a fleece blanket.

But the cold air creeps in makes me feel like a word my mom and my sister won’t let me use.

I try to appreciate the colors of fall. A resentful little voice inside tells me that after the last leaves have fallen, it will just be winter in disguise.

Several times a day, I count the weeks until I can start, possibly, hopefully, looking for sunshine and green leaves uncurling from naked branches.

There are many, many weeks still.

I think of my sister, who is in New Zealand now.
I think of the summer stretching out in front of her.

When we arrive at the place where our house church meets, I walk up the steel stairs. Boxes loaded with apples are occupying every landing place.

They infuse the air that is too cold with a delectable smell, luring me on, and I suppose this is what they mean when they go on about Pumpkin Spice Lattes.

Upstairs, there is coffee and tea. Friends are smiling as if it’s still summer, and they let my sons jump on their couches and their backs.

I think, just maybe, that I will survive this winter.
This winter that is, for now, still fall.

And I will say Autumn.Pumpkin Spice Lattes

 

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The Pet Diaries, part 1

The Pet Diaries, part 1

It’s a sunny wednesday and thunder is in the air.

Little boys run around the yard hoping to find a mouse, a bee or a beetle: since a dog is forbidden, they must find other pets.

Those pets rarely live longer then 2 days.

Huddling together they admire a worm. I cringe and take a step back, relieved to be sent to find a suitable house for the worm (pet houses are destroyed almost as fast as their inhabitants decease.)

Now the hunt for worm food is on. I am asked for my expert opinion on worm food, so I Google it. A rainworm? It eats dirt.This sets of a round of awed, grossed out exclamations.IT EATS DIRT AND POOPS IT OUT.

It is the stuff little boys live for. Who needs a dog when you can have a snakish, blubbery creature that eats dirt, poops it out and which you can cut in two without killing it?

Their life is full.

I stand inside, watching them through the window so I don’t have to stifle my giggles.

The scent of the rain that is to come swirls through the summer air, mixing the joy of little boys’ laughter […]

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A trip to Mars

They almost run me over in their enthusiasm when they come to give me a hug.

I hug them back, I think they’re sweet.

They run down the stairs like a troop of wild elephants and the love cools down. Or pauses. Or does the love just get irritated for a second?

I don’t think I should be irritated as I walk downstairs, irritated. I am an elephant, too. An elephant who closes the door quite loudly.

They want oatmeal and I want coffee and quiet but well…in that case I should not have taken three boys. And I would rather have those three boys.

But I also want coffee now. And quiet.

It is 9 o’clock in the morning and there are still many hours in this day. With no quiet.

The sound moves outside.

I sit inside with my quiet. We are good friends.

The sound comes inside again. If I don’t want to come out side and fly to Mars?

Spaceships make a lot of noise, but sure, I’d love to go along to Mars. One simply doesn’t throw away a chance like that.

(The spaceship outside did not get photographed, but we did, naturally, also have […]

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finding and seeking and being

I’m always looking for something.

I don’t quite know what it is.

Something.

Something I want to do.

Someone I long to be. She flees away from me, as if she thinks I’m not ready yet. Or, knowing me, she’s just teasing me.

I keep on looking, and in the meantime I just am.

He looks for me. A worn out knit blanket and a teddy bear that is losing his fur travel with him. He knows very well what he wants.

Me.

He couldn’t care less that I should be peeling carrots and crying over onions.

I sit down with him on my lap and he’s quite willing to share me with my book. He found me.

I hold him tight and his hair smells like summer and sunshine.

I inhale the smell like I’m an addict, because that’s what I am. This is me. I am just a mama kissing a sandy head of hair.

The head dives away under my chin. I slowly turn my head towards my book.

We sit, we are. |

Being might just be the most important thing you can do.

And so we sit, being important, with sand between our […]

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Acceptable and unacceptable blood

“Do it yourself”, I say.

“Just go play.”

I wish he were big and independent already.

“Quit whining.” “Don’t be such a wimp.” “Blood isn’t that bad. That will heal nicely.”

I think my empathy and worrying mother’s heart are hard to find.

But there they are:

Someone hurts his heart. Deep down I feel a raging hurricane coming up, aimed at the cause of his sadness.

Blood that seeps out of your skin? You’ll be fine.

Blood seeping out of your heart? That’s serious business we’re talking about.

I want to hold him close. As if I can stop all the pain this world can give from touching him. As if I can protect him this way.

Still, I force myself to loosen my arms, pushing him out into the wide world every time again.

I feel my eyebrows wrinkle up with worry, feeling his pain deep within me.

All the pain I have ever felt comes floating up like black oil in clear water. Am I worrying about his pain or mine now?

My eyes follow him as he goes on, each step taking him a little farther into a part of the world. Without me.

Because […]

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The last hour of this day

The day has slipped into the night a long time ago.

Children’s sweaty bodies are draped across their beds. Miniature chests move up and down, gently letting air in and out and the little mouths open up halfway to let it all happen a little more conveniently.

Behind closed eyelids little boys awaken in another world, slaying dragons and flying over roofs.

Beside me lies their dad, in whom I can see little pieces from all of them. His labored breathing could almost be called snoring and his mouth opens just like theirs.

I tiptoe down the stairs to close the door and can’t resist going outside for just a few minutes.

To lie down on the damp grass and stare into the night sky. The stars are staring right back.

They can already see the day of tomorrow coming. Far, far away over the horizon. I beg them to keep it at bay for just a few more hours, but all they do is stare back at me wordlessly.

The cool night flows around me, crawling up my skin as if it’s a paint brush just dipped in goosebump-paint.

I don’t want to go to sleep yet. I want […]

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what I need

I’m paid with a price. But He’ll relinquish me if I want to be relinquished. I can walk away and He’ll let me go.

I don’t, because I want to be bought. I want to be bought back and saved and made into me.

The me He had in mind when He was creating my soul.

Because I don’t always know who I am, and what I should do. I don’t always know who I want to be, and what I want to do. And sometimes I am who I don’t want to be and I do what I don’t want to do, not knowing how to stop.

But the one who made me and bought me when I fell into the wrong hands, He knows how to lead me back to the one I should be.

He holds me close to His heart, so close I can hear it beating, and shows me who I can be.

I stay and I trust and I feel the water wash of the grime I didn’t even know was there.

For a second, it feels like He is the cause of the dirt washing up. I consider just turning my […]

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