General

Katie Grace was my most lovely, most peaceful, most gentle birth out of all four of my children.

Unfortunately, that was pretty much where the quiet ended with her, at least for the first four months. She cried practically non-stop for that first bit of her life. She was the prickliest little baby I had ever met. She didn’t want to be held in the sling, at least not by me. She didn’t want to co-sleep. She didn’t want to comfort nurse. She didn’t want to put down and she didn’t want to be picked up and she didn’t want to be entertained and she didn’t want to be left alone. And while her sour disposition was displayed much of the time, it really kicked into high gear between the hours of 4 PM and 11 PM.

Right after lunch today we dyed our Easter eggs!

The boys were outside playing, so it was just Katie Grace and I.

We had (starting with the blue saucepan in the back and working our way around) beet juice, paprika, cherry juice, spinach, and chamomile tea.

They turned our lovely, don’t you think?

Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast:
God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.
You striped in secret with breath-taking whips,
Those crooked rough-scored chequers may be pieced
To crosses meant for Jesu’s; you whom the East
With draught of thin and pursuant cold so nips
Breathe Easter now; you serged fellowships,
You vigil-keepers with low flames decreased,

God shall o’er-brim the measures you have spent
With oil of gladness, for sackcloth and frieze
And the ever-fretting shirt of punishment
Give myrrhy-threaded golden folds of ease.
Your scarce-sheathed bones are weary of being bent:
Lo, God shall strengthen all the feeble knees.

“SEPULCHER” – by George Herbert

Oh blessed body!  Whither art thou thrown?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one
Receive thee?

Sure there is room within our hearts good store;
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:
Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door
They leave thee.

But that which shows them large, shows them unfit.
Whatever sin did this pure rock commit,
Which holds thee now?   Who hath indicted it
Of murder?

And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior’s blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain—
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

Michael, my oldest, is an enigma wrapped up in a mystery with a solid headache center. From infancy on, he’s been a trial to figure out and a chore to keep up with. Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely adore this kid. He’s a delight and keeping up with the inner machinations of his psyche has certainly kept me on my toes. But he’s a bit of a hard case at times, and one of his obsessions is… well, obsessions.

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Back in January I had a wild hare (SIDE NOTE: there’s a saying with an interesting history) and came home from my biweekly marketing with a betta fish and a little glass bowl. Much excitement ensued. My children have been begging for a pet for years, and my stock answer has always been “we don’t have pets, we have children.” Despite their offers to ditch a sibling, I held firm. I’m not sure why I changed my mind that day, but the tiny little fish in the plastic container was met with gladness and delight.