(five years old)

Lots of changes in our lives all at once. Your Dad got a new job at McDonnell Douglas, we are moving a short distance away, 4310 Abbott Ave., the car is having lots of problems, the family room flooded again (in house on Edgewood), just to name a few things.

You are changing in your personality, a little rebellious at times. When I’m angry or grouchy, you’re worse. You react a lot like my brother Stanley, you respond best to praise. Of course, Lora, David, and your Dad are the same when it comes to responding best to praise, but you get more cantankerous when I’m grouchy.

…Apparently also applies to the Olympics. See, this is why I haven’t been watching. Because I tried with pairs skating and then had to stay up late to see the skaters who were actually good. As it got later and later, I thought, maybe I should just give up and go to bed. But then, I’d just watched a ton of skaters who were constantly falling, and I wanted to see at least one couple who could stay upright throughout their whole program. Since then, I’ve just sort of hoped the Olympics would be gone soon so that normal TV could come back. Tonight, though, I thought I’d give it another shot. Figure skating again. Just watched the first one–someone in, like, twenty-first place. So, it’ll probably be another three hours before they get to the good ones. Sigh.

So, I didn’t give anything up for Lent. Or, I haven’t, or I’m not giving up anything for Lent. Is Lent still going on? When is it over? Is it over already? And why is it that everyone else seems to know exactly when Lent starts, what it’s about, and when it’s over—except for me? I know you give something up. And I know it should be something you like. For instance, I doubt it would count if I gave up, say, cleaning the bathrooms. I’m just guessing here. I mean, maybe that totally works, and in which case I might actually consider finding out what Lent’s all about. (No, I’m just kidding. That would be gross.)

I’m sure there’s a lovely, poetic, and deeply spiritual reason behind Lent. But, frankly, whenever I hear the word, the first thought that comes to mind is, the other day when I was cleaning the cat box outside (spring cleaning for the cats!), I noticed that some fuzz was coming out of the little vent that connects to our dryer, and I wondered if that was a fire hazard. I mean, really, I clean the lint trap with every load—why is it coming out the other end? Should I be worried? Wait, something about giving something up? Oh. Yeah. That.

And, you know, I go to church, my husband works for a church for crying out loud, I volunteer at church, I tithe. You’d expect I should know about Lent. Oooh, look! I defy expectations! Oh, wait, that’s only good when you exceed expectations isn’t it?

I thought tonight, maybe I should investigate this Lent business. Seems like a learning experience or something. Growth, right? But then, I thought, I’d have to give something up. And that’s the main problem I have with Lent. That, and no one ever told me the point. So, I give something up. Then what? I think everyone should give up some money for Lent. We could fix Haiti and save Congo and stop human trafficking. I don’t really care that so-and-so from Wichita is giving up chocolate. Who does that help exactly? Right—so-and-so from Wichita. Maybe Lent should be something we’re always doing. Shouldn’t we always be giving something up for the betterment of others? Maybe the problem is that we only think about sacrifice roughly once a year, and even then it doesn’t seem to produce anything worthwhile.

Okay, I’ve just angered most of my friends and a whole host of strangers. Who are all probably very sincere and fabulous in their observance of Lent. Reference previous statement about “lovely, poetic, and deeply spiritual.” My hat’s off to you. You’re all better people than I am, much more self-denying and monastic in a way I can only admire from a distance. I mean that. I’m much too lazy to go about investigating Lent in a meaningful way, and secretly I’m sure that I’m threatened by people who are able to give up something they love for any length of time. I once didn’t have ice cream for forty days, and I nearly died. True story. (Well.)  So, whenever Lent is over, you can go back to chocolate or cleaning bathrooms, and you’ll have gained something lovely, poetic, and deeply spiritual, and I’ll still be in the dark, a little bewildered and feeling like there’s a boat I’m missing. But, it’s all good. I’ve got chocolate-covered gummy bears to console me.

Yesterday, I spent the morning, as I do every Monday, watching Story. Monday was gorgeous in the morning. I walked to Sharon’s place, the sun shining and the air warm enough for a light sweater. Spring seemed inevitable, which made me feel relaxed and excited all at once.

After Sharon left for her mom’s group, Story and I went outside and played in the wind. A series of pavers led from the porch to an aboveground pool, and Story “jumped” from stone to stone—which meant, really, that she stepped from one stone to another, then paused, then kind of bounced while saying, “Jump! Jump!”

I thought, this is life for her. This is life—a backyard on a day when spring seems inevitable, a series of pavers to “jump” on, the wind. And I wanted to surround her and protect her from everything else, from everything that is not a backyard on a day that feels like spring.

She’s not yet two. She won’t remember these mornings with me. She won’t remember running in the yard, she won’t remember the time I picked her up and spun and spun and spun. But I hope that when she’s older she’ll have a sense, somewhere deep within her, of being loved, of being protected, of being cared for. That when she sees me she will know, even without an image, that we spent mornings together in between seasons, when it was not quite winter and not quite spring.

Dear Telemarketer, caller ID: “800 Service,” who persists against my most vigilant efforts at ignoring your call:

Your determination is admirable. Truly, a motivational speaker could use you as an example of Not Giving Up—the quality one must possess if one does not also possess unusual talent and/or impeccable connections. I’ve not given you a single indication that I’ll ever pick up, and yet you still call, trying out different times and days to see if perhaps you might catch me unawares. That perhaps I might be expecting a call and might answer without checking the caller ID. Or perhaps I have a demanding job and am only at home after 9:00 on Friday nights. No? Well, then you’ll try 9:00 Saturday morning. And then at 5:00 the same Saturday afternoon.

It began with a call every other day or so. Then you increased your attempts to once a day. Now it’s multiple times every day. I have not once answered. My faithful answering machine picks up every time, and says the exact same thing every time. I’m considering changing it from its benign “Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible” (you always listen to the whole message, but never leave one of your own) to something more obvious. Like, “Hey, if you have something I want, then you’ll leave a message and I’ll call you back. Otherwise, stop calling me!” But I fear even that wouldn’t deter you. Because you know you don’t have something I want, but are convinced that if you could get me on the phone, your stunning script would wow me into submission, persuading me to agree to whatever service or product you’re harking. Or, that with your celebrated persistence you’ll just annoy me long enough that I’ll agree to anything just to get you to leave me alone.

I’ll tell you now, whatever it is, I’m not interested. I don’t need a Discover Business Card. I don’t want a home equity loan or mortgage protection insurance or a free trip to Bermuda. The timeshares Hilton keeps wanting to show us? We don’t qualify for the minimum income level to see them. So, I can assure you that you’re wasting your time. And I am screening every call. Every time you call, I get a little more annoyed. Most of the time, I’m hoping to hear from a friend, and then I go to the phone, and it’s you! You! So, please, I’m begging you. Give up. Move on. Because the next time you call, I just may be tempted to answer…

Today, I went to the doctor for malaria meds and to make sure I’m current on all my vaccines. Because I got about four million shots last year, I only had to get flu shots this year. My arms still feel tired and wimpy. Come on, arms, have you no memory? This was nothing!

I also snagged a prescription for Cipro but was warned that the drug can cause ruptured tendons and major birth defects. !!!! But there’s a possibility I might be allergic to the alternative drug. The frustrating thing is there’s no way to know until I take the medicine. My mom had a serious reaction to this drug—we’re talking an in-the-hospital, get-ready-to-meet-Jesus reaction—so I’m kind of petrified of trying it. Especially in the middle of Africa with questionable access to healthcare. But, ruptured tendons… Well, I’ve got a couple months to think it over.

Speaking of which, as far as I know the tickets have been purchased! We’re flying out of Raleigh at 6:15 the morning of May 18^th. That’s exactly three months from today. Which seems like a long time, but time has a way of passing quickly.

Right now, I’m taking a break from cleaning the floors, and I’ve got Congolese music blasting (it’s great cleaning music) in the living room. I’m enjoying the trip preparation more this time around, mostly because the element of surprise has been lessened. Because once the line has been crossed once, it feels easier to cross the second time. Well, having to get only two shots helps, too.

Let me just say that Jesse and I have excellent timing. Case in point: When is a great time to argue about money? How about in the car, on the way to a marriage retreat in Myrtle Beach, on Valentine’s weekend? Seemed ideal to us, and so we fussed and griped and pouted and sulked our way out of Wilmington and right into the conference. Fortunately, our friends were there to distract us and give us some time to cool off. And then, I suppose our timing isn’t so bad after all—we had two days of nearly nonstop instruction and “homework” to make us think about our marriage and all the things that work well about it. By Saturday morning, things were suitably smoothed over and we were on our way back to grinny again.

However, as I was going to sleep on Friday night, I realized to my great horror that I had neglected to pack my makeup. Now, for some of my friends who have abundant natural beauty, this would not be a panic-inducing realization. Moi? I had nightmares (literally—dreamed all night about makeup) and resolved not to go to the Saturday sessions at all unless makeup could be procured. Yes, that is the extent of my vanity. I’d rather leave home without underwear, or clean socks, or even a hair dryer (okay, the hair dryer would be upsetting too).

This is how you know you have a true friend. You call her at 6:30 on a Saturday morning at a marriage retreat (which she’s also attending with her hubby) to tell her you’ve left your makeup at home, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “Do you want to use mine?” and the second thing she says is, “I’m packing it up right now for you.” Kara Shaw, I swear, is an angel. I promised her one of my kidneys, should she ever find herself in need. (And what’s even better is she does Mary Kay, so she has really awesome makeup.)

Sunday, I decided to put forth serious effort into the whole “day of rest” concept. I didn’t check my email once. I stayed in bed after I woke up, then I got out of bed to read and then fall asleep again. Jesse surprised me with a scavenger hunt with rhyming clues that led me to Jelly Belly jellybeans (my favorite), a dozen long-stemmed roses, and a sweet card. Fight? What fight? He’s the best.

Today was spent on errands and laundry and a Jamie Oliver recipe (my favorite) for dinner. Oh, and did you know? It snowed here Friday night. When we were in Myrtle Beach. Gah! The good news? It also snowed in Myrtle Beach. What a sight—to stand on a hotel balcony and look at the ocean, waves pounding a beach covered in a blanket of the purest snow. We couldn’t stay mad.