At 5:56pm my little family was in our not-totally-clean-but-passably-clean kitchen. My husband stands at the stove cooking chicken, our baby is army crawling around on the floor with his toys, and I am making coffee- because, you know, we're parents. And being parents means we drink coffee anytime we actually need to be around people, and/or capable of coherent speech, and/or in an upright position. It was relatively peaceful, or at least relatively quiet. And then I looked at the clock. It is always a bad idea to look at the clock. I think of clocks much like a Glade air freshener that automatically releases scent when you walk in a room, except clocks automatically release cortisol into my bloodstream when I look directly at them. "It's four minutes to six." These were the words that sprang us all into action- Arthur heading out to church, I packing the diaper bag with baby food and grabbing a sweatshirt, Judah utilizing the 47 seconds I was gone to s
The ramblings of a woman, wife, mother, artist, and Christ follower.