Cajun Cottage Under the Oaks

Happy Father's Day

Spaghetti-Stained Accolades

I just came from another lady's blog. It's lovely, heartfelt, and moving.

Her comments register 213 to 361 comments per post. Impressive!

I was envious. I admit it. Me with my 2 to 5 posts per comment. I was uncharitably, unChristianably envious.

Gone were the lovely lip-sings of this past conference in Houston. Silenced were the sweet serenades. Interrupted was my brief interlude. Gone was the unexpectedly delightful acclaim that we all claim not to want, but secretly desire and cherish.

Still I love her blog. It moves my spirit and lifts my heart. I will keep visiting it.

I clicked on to another dear lady's blog. Her GoogleReader links never hold any of my blog posts. Makes me sad because somehow, someway I thought she liked me. At one time I romanced the thought that my writing fancied her...at one time. She called me once and encouraged me in my "God-given talent." Guess through time she realized I wasn't as good or as witty or as talented or as friendly as she previously suspected.

I've lost my touch. I've definitely lost my touch.

So, for a moment I wondered why I continue to click and read and set myself up for failure as a lesser pawn of God. Why do I do that to myself? And I sit here feeling quite neglected, quite unheard, quite unappreciated, quite like Christ must have felt in the Garden of Gethsemane.

But then, I'm not Christ; now am I? And my garden blooms.

And to remind me of this, God sent a little angel.

Actually it was a smacking (or was it slurping) sound at my shoulder coming from the spaghetti-sauce stained lips of my tousled-headed child.  Turning from the screen gave me the brightest, most awakening insight of all. Annie's face, her laughter, her wispy fingers on my neck and her bowl of spaghetti filtered through all my senses. Her squeaky, "Mommy, I do love you" was the accolade that trumpeted and awoke in me such an enormous amount of gratitude and appreciation that it brought tears to my eyes.

The appreciation and acclaim I am given within my household is the arcanum that will get me into heaven. I need not look outside the gate walls for anything more. This...the here and the now...is what matters. This...the spaghetti and unbrushed hair...is what matters. This...the silence of the sleeping child in my bed as I type...is what matters.  This...the wilted carrots and springtime clovers next to my keyboard...is what matters.

Nothing outside of this really matters. These are the people who know me...my flaws, my faults, my failings.

And they still love me.

Perhaps I haven't lost my touch (or my audience) afterall.

One of the Many Reasons...

we are often running late for co-op classes.

Retro-Easter

 

 

 

 

 

More Easter '09 pictures coming soon!

What We're Doing

 

Proud to represent SW Louisiana in the National Homeschool Basketball Tournament

 

Touring Fantastic Caverns and appreciating Mother Nature in Ozark, MO.

 

Getting some reading and naps during quiet time.

 

Cheering for our boys and girls.

 

Catching rolls at Lambert's Cafe. I think that sign should read "CAUTION: Watch Your Head"

 

 

Eating sno-cones and too much of lots of other things.

Sorry it's just pictures but we're headed out to more games until late at night.

Sabbath Splurge

Two of my girls and one friend are in the kitchen baking monkey bread and brownies.

Garrett is playing music videos and funny youtube videos on the kitchen computer, adding much laughter and conversation to what is already spilling out of the kitchen mixing bowl.

Daddy is outside under the BBQ awning grilling seasoned chicken while raindrops spit on the oak trees overhead.

Cozy candles smile in the living room, kitchen, and sitting room on this rainy Sabbath.

One of my girls and two friends are outside in the playhouse under the Cajun oaks, safe from the rain, a beach towel serving as a makeshift door.

I am debating whether to clean-out the pantry, rearrange the living room funiture, write down my LA history lesson for tomorrow, work on some writing projects, mop that dreadful kitchen floor, or relax in the recliner with my fuzzy socks and a drink while watching the movie I bought for my husband at Christmas time: Little Chenier: A Cajun Story

Decisions! Decisions!

Bet He Doesn't Do Windows Either...

I don't often ask my oldest son to watch his little sisters. Except for the occasional times he treats them to an ice cream of their choice, he is very busy. And I do mean very.

He gets up between 4:30-5:30 AM every day to get ready and tend to his dog before heading to work. If he isn't at work he's at school. If he isn't at work or school he's at my computer doing his online classes. If he isn't at work or school or computer, he is crashed in his father's recliner in my living room taking up space. He sleeps through games of "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" and "Sorry". He sleeps through arguments his little sisters have at his feet. He sleeps through unsoothing piano recitals. He sleeps through dishes clanging and TV blaring and mice running marathons on the exercise wheel. 

I don't know how he maintains this lifestyle but his father reminds me that we were young at one time too.

Yet this young adult is still the first guinea pig in this household and...guinea pigs or not...are called upon, on occasion, to help out around the homestead. So tonight I asked him, as he sat diligently finishing an English paper, to watch his two little sisters for me.

His father had gotten called out to work, his brother hadn't gotten home from his game, his older sister was studying at Kei's, and his younger sister had been sick. Was he going to be home and could he please watch the younger ones while I made my adoration hour? Just an hour? And he only had to be there in case of blood or vomit. I often add this grand finale' to my request because it helps the males in my family realize how simple the task is. As long as there is no blood or vomit, babysitting is a very manageable task.

"Sure, Mom, no problem."  The drumming of his fingertips on the keyboard didn't miss a beat.

"Thanks, honey. I'll be home in an hour."

"Ok! And, mom, just two things..." and he briefly directed his complete attention to me.

"Yeah?"

"Just to let you know...I don't do blood.  Or vomit."

Luckily he didn't have to.  ;o)

Hellooooo, February!

Happy Birthday, MawMaw Red

 

With her "doughnut cake".

 

 

 

 

All the grandchildren and great-grandchildren (minus 3 great granddaughters).

Happy Birthday, Abbey!

Cousins are forever!

 

We love you, sweetheart! 

Hope you have a perfect day. <Mwah!>