I feel overwhelmed this week. Weighty things are on my heart, and a busy schedule intensifies the emotional stress. In addition, several friends are in the midst of weighty circumstances as well.

My first reaction is to want to do something – about their circumstances and my own – but there is often nothing I can do fix or change the circumstances. This is not an easy pill to swallow for a task-oriented person.

Recently Thomas and I were talking about things that were opposites, and he blurted out that Jesus was BIG and outer space was small.

It was so great how matter-of-fact he said it.

This is the child-like faith God desires for me to have – a faith not jaded by cynicism and chronic eye-rolling, or even by my own expectation of how God should solve the problem.

Most of the time my ego is too proud or my fears are too dark or my anger too festered to rest in his peace. But Thomas would think this is silly, for how can my anger be too big for God, my grief too deep, my circumstances too weighty?

I wish I were more like Thomas.

Me in New York, July 2000

This morning the kids and I watched videos of the planes hitting the two towers, and videos of the towers coming down. We talked about what happened on this day ten years ago, why it was so confusing and scary, and what Bryan and I were doing when we first heard what was going on.

After asking a few questions about the planes and the pilot and the men who took over the planes, six-year-old Thomas said, “But why did the guy fly the plane if he knew he was gonna die?”

Thomas’ questions often make me stop and think. They’re always profound.

“Those men were so angry at our country, they were willing to sacrifice their lives to hurt as many people as possible,” I said. “Compare that to Jesus, who sacrificed His life because he loved us so much and didn’t want us to hurt anymore.”

Thomas just scrunched up his face, contemplating that chasm.

Doe Bay Fest 2010 from Decade ii on Vimeo.

I’ve had a helluvatime explaining to my kids where we’re going this weekend.

Every year for the last seven or eight years, we’ve attended a small music festival on Orcas Island. This year that music festival was canceled, but we’re going to another music festival.

On Orcas Island.

So, yeah. My kids are confused.

Thomas especially, but I think that’s only because he doesn’t pay attention when I’m talking to him. I clearly explained how we were going to the same island to see a music festival, but it’s a different campground and a different music festival.

Thomas asked me about 42 questions to clarify what I was saying, and after 10 minutes of me repeating myself he finally goes, “OHHHHHH, so we’re going to the SAME ISLAND but to a DIFFERENT CAMPGROUND.”

See that bald spot on my head? That’s where I pulled all my hair out.

Every Thursday we host a small group of friends in our home. We eat dinner together and hash out the challenges of living a meaningful life.

Our friend Bob usually brings dessert because he shows up a little late, after he gets off work.

Bob is now Bob the Dessert Guy in the eyes of my children. Thomas actually believes that Bob’s home is lined with shelves of cakes and brownie bites.

He begs me all the time to take him to Bob’s house.

Last fall when we were in California, Grandma served up ice cream after dinner. There was discussion around the table re our favorite desserts, and Thomas said, “Do you know Bob?”

I had to dash into the kitchen, laughing uncontrollably as Thomas talked about Bob and his desserts as if everyone knew who Bob was. I mean, why wouldn’t you know who Bob was? Bob is the Dessert Guy!

But this is who Thomas is. He invites you into his experiences. He wants you to see what he’s seeing, to taste what he’s tasting. It’s never a complete experience until he can share it with you.

So Thomas knows Bob the Dessert Guy, and he thinks you should too. Wanna come over this Thursday?

I’m not really sure what I was thinking, signing up for this @postaday thing. While I like writing and feel compelled to do it, I don’t want it taking precedence over things like…I don’t know…sleep.

I also don’t want to fill my blog with a bunch of content that’s not really even blogworthy.

I often tell my kids they talk too much, and that what comes out of their mouths is foolishness. Yada yada yada is what I hear, but none of it means anything. Don’t open your mouth unless you have something to say of value, I tell them.

But they lack self control.

So to avoid sounding like an eight year old, I’ll make a deal with you.

(Well, I’ll make a deal with myself, actually, since I would write in this space even if you weren’t here to read it.)

The deal is, I promise to write more, but I won’t post if it’s not bloggable.

This is Thomas. I believe I had asked him to put the laundry basket back into his room, and he spent about 20 minutes crying about how that was so hard. Or something. After awhile I start tuning out his drama, but I guarantee you it was less about it being hard than it was about it not being his idea.

I should note that his room is just across the hallway there, about three feet in front of the basket.

This may come as shocking news to you given that I posted only ONCE in December, but I’m going to give the WordPress Daily Post thing a shot.

It’s true that I have a few things going on these days, and I have a highly creative job that tends to drain my creative energy, but I still love to write, and I still have things to write about.

It’s become far too easy to ignore my blog lately. I fear the longer I ignore it the harder it will be to jump back in, and I’ll end up whining like Thomas about something that’s so easy and right in front of me.

So into the deep end I jump.

To keep it simple, I’ll use photos as a writing prompt.

I honestly don’t know how I manage to parent these children sometimes. Between Thomas’ obsessive hoarding and Ruthie’s creative body art, there’s 101 different ways these kids could end up institutionalized.

I’ve quit trying to prevent the madness. It’s more fun to embrace it and laugh.

At LAX for our return flight to Seattle we were herded into a queue that took us to an escalator that led to the security screening on the second floor.

As Thomas boarded the escalator, he didn’t make the turn wide enough for his wheely bag to clear the end, and it got stuck. As he ascended the bag finally cleared, but he didn’t quite have himself situated.

Also, he wasn’t paying attention.

I’m not sure how it happened exactly, but he ended up rolling down the escalator steps like he’d just rolled down a grassy slope a few days before.

A quick-witted attendant stopped the escalator, I comforted him and kissed his scrapes, and we headed for the elevator.

Fast forward to our Seattle arrival.

On our way toward baggage claim, we obviously take the elevator this time. As Thomas is getting on the elevator, he turns around to say something to me as he continues to walk backwards.

And I swear I’m not making this up.

He says, “I’m sure glad we’re not taking the escalator this time because I got kinda scared.”

Then he tripped over Ruthie’s bag and flipped over backwards into the elevator.

The picture to the left is Thomas’ vision.

He was very concerned that Bryan could pull it off, given that it turned out a bit small in relation to the size of his pumpkin, and he was very adamant that the pumpkin have a pucker.

Bryan, of course, pulled it off with his eyes closed.

This is Ruthie’s pumpkin, based off her vision on the picture to the left.

Ruthie was a very demanding Creative Director and submitted many creative change orders after the design was already approved, such as substituting hair for eyelashes.

But she was nothing if not thorough in gutting her pumpkin.