At 3 am this morning, Ethan became a man!

The angels guided me around the house yesterday. You need to sleep, mommy. Somebody's pituitary gland is going to pop tonight, they said. Oh, what a beautiful conversation we {Ethy and I} had, over the weekend, about Jacob in the bible. In my mind, I think Jacob and Grandpa have Ethan to monitor from heaven. That is just my imagination. The angels may be too, but I don't think so. I was flying in my dream, which is angel for we wouldn't miss this moving up ceremony for anything. Of course, the water was turned off, which is Walker for, we become a man when the house is roughing it {That was Ben's participation in the ceremony}. I awoke and was impressed to start cleaning the silverware{which is Bodden for, something unusual is happening}, in our primitive makeshift sink. Things have to be clean as they can be for the little fellow. You don't want to miss the look on his face. This is the last baby day. We are going to start seeing his man face develop. I know you know this, mommy. The nosebleed came like, childbirth. Like everybody knew it was coming. All our house and our heavenly worship community in mystic sweet communion with us. Don't miss the fireworks for Walker men, when they grow into manhood.
The dream was so graphic and warlike and smoke and planes and flight patterns. I woke up, just to get out of it. Maybe, they were letting me pick his grown up features as they set them in the glands. We thanked God for Dr. Fricht and reminisced about the deliverances that brought him to this point as I wiped the blood off his face and hands with the warm water and paper towels, that we rarely have on hand. But did, because "Ethan was becoming a man, today!"
Take his picture, mommy, you don't have enough pictures of that face and the grown face is going to surprise you, soon enough.
Thank you for reminding me that boys gallop swiftly into manhood, without as much pomp and circumstance. That is what my daddy was saying to me, when he talked about how it looked like I was being blown up like a balloon. They grow as you watch them. You are not going to want to miss this. I'll try to be aware.

Ethan's Concert Clarinet.

And---What...(Hurts) Son of my womb?

It seems a correlation that, on D day someone should have been injured in our house. If only to help us sympathize with the many veterans who lived after that day with injuries far worse and life changing. My Ethan fell and hurt his back. Nothing life threatening, it seems; but a lesson. We skip, we fall, we hurt ourselves. Today, he is home from school.
It seems that the eighth and fifteenth vertebrates seemed somewhat bruised, but not tender to the touch, this morning and his chest hurts a little. Feeling is still in his extremities and he hasn't thrown up or gone unconscious.
We pray today for the veterans and their mothers who have suffered so much from the losses on D day and in other wars. They were not skipping. Comfort and peace to their souls. Healing on my precious Ethan and thank God for strength to comfort him in his pain. Amen.

I am so thankful for my Middleschooler!

The people in my life are my favorite Thankful subject. God has blessed me so abundantly, with a precious middle school boy. I found the report card for you, special boy. I hope you are understanding the slowness of your mother, in that. I found it, exactly where I put it. I thought that you didn't need to return it. Have a great day.

Ethan the Etruscologist!

What a beautiful thing, when the little birds tell on the wayward children. A little birdie told me that Ethan had a project. I picked up one of our encyclopedia books. We have them around the house, though they are rarely read. This one came across my path as I was searching for cables and computer speaker wires, in the shoe closet. It was in the bottom of one of the boxes of stuff from Ben's office. I was distracted, as I always am, when I find an encyclopedia book. Which one is this and where does it go? I thumbed through it and found the letterings of early people groups. I could have spent the whole day in that part of the book. It is always an interest of mine, but I had already spent 5 whole minutes oogling the Mesopotamian texts. I put it next to the computer and went on to the task at hand, repairing the speakers for my mp3. I separated the wires and tried to untangle as much of the other wires that I could.
I left that encyclopedia next to the computer and remained hopeful that there would be some excuse for taking another minute to look at the languages as my heart longed.
Then, last night, in the tire of my late afternoon nap, I called for my precious little boys to read their homework to me. Ethan says, 'I have a project and poster due. I have a project that I have to complete." I should have known, I thought. Ethan has a way of avoiding any call, unless there is a looming project. I asked the usual questions...Who?What?Where?When? How long did you know that you had this? I threw the questions aside, when I found that it was due tomorrow. It's about some old language....Cunieform? I questioned. yes, Mom, how did you know...?


A little birdie told me.

Oh, the thinks that we think in Middle School?

Practice makes... a big problem?
Practice makes... contention?
Shall we dance around this problem?
The clarinet is not a monster, my fine fellow. Had I a clarinet... I say, had I a clarinet? I would have complained as you do, about practicing. But practice you must. We are only aiming for a Christmas concert dearest. Don't dispair. You will pick up. You will get the hang of this. You are discouraged because you started late in the school year. I want you should do your best. I will love it if you squeak or not. It is only my love of music and love of you that I would introduce you to it. You will choose which way you would go. Madly in love with music, as I. Or, simply a spectator. I love you!

A trip to see Ethan at school.

I have been in a weakened physical state. I have had to limit my social exposure and my physical exertion, for pain's sake. My precious daughter volunteered to take me to rescue the son of my womb, in his dilemma in Math and Spanish and Lunch. I love his middle-school attitude. He is truly, more my son, than any of the other. He has no maternal help. His mother and father have more to do than to be able to help him in his work. He doesn't want that help, these days, even when it is offered. But, on the day of delivery, he needs a bailout package. We printed the final documents, with the help of our dearest neighbors and barrelled down the road to deliver them.
The wrinkled and motley genius met me in the office. That boy looks just like me, I giggled. More inside the brain than outside the brain. Color coordinated? Not! Concerned about his work and inventions? Always. No question about his lunch. Here is your lunch and your papers and your contribution to the party. No thanks, really. I kissed his disheveled forehead. I saw my mind delivered there into middle school. I saw my mind walking around in that little fellow's body. We are a strange and motley family. We are curious and learners, not masters, but intellects, just the same. God loves us, in spite of ourselves. Usually, the joke between the Ethy boy and me is-- we look into eachother's eyes and shake our heads and say "Only a mother could love". We do love eachother.