I’m taking a break from my 31 Days topic because, quite frankly, I’m a little bored with it. I can only be serious for so long, folks, then my brain starts to smoke and tremor with the need to be ridiculous. I am not what you might call a “deep thinker.” I mean, I can pontificate (look out now - big word!) and dwell on things now and again and from time to time, I do feel the need to dig deep and write and talk pretty.
But then the silly must come out and I have to release the inner dialogue of humor that runs on a constant loop in my head or so help me, I will end up bursting out laughing at the most inappropriate of times.
Or a funeral.
Or pretty much any situation that requires a certain amount of decorum and maturity.
So basically, I’m a twelve year old boy.
*this is the part where I eloquently transition to a new topic*
I shipped the kiddies off to school today and came to the beach. Because…well, because I can. Don’t hate. I’ve seen you all on Facebook talking about apple picking and pumpkin patching and wearing your scarves and boots and drinking your yuppy Starbucks.
blah, blah, blah…
All I have right now is the beach. Somebody call the Waaaambulance…
For the next three months, I will be desperately missing St. Louis. Just brace yourselves for it. It is what it is. I miss the pumpkin patch. I long to visit Eckert’s and stock up on 52 lbs of apples that we will never be able to eat before they all rot.
I miss the chill of fall and my boots. Sometimes I sit on the floor in the closet and whisper to my boots tenderly. I remind them that they’re still loved and I run my hand over them so they know they’re not alone. I may even whisper My Precious now and then, just so they know I’m here and I miss them.
Do not judge me!
While I am longing for autumn, I will fall back on the only thing I have. A rockin’ pair of sandles and the sunny shoreline of my favorite beach. And I will remind myself that Jesus probably likes the beach better than pumpkin patches and apple orchards, too.
And I will feel better.
Come January, I’m sorry, but I will no longer miss Midwest weather. I won’t miss snow and ice and temps that make you feel like your nose is falling off the second you step outside. I will walk outside with glee, and my boots and I will probably be reunited a few times before it gets too hot and I must send them back to the closet.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
*insert clever transition sentence here*
It’s a rough time to be four years old in the Stuart household these days. In the last two days, the four year old in our midst has colored on the bedroom carpet with purple marker…and the wall. He has slammed into the curtains in a moment of preschool insanity and pulled the curtain rods from the wall. And he has dropped and shattered a glass jar on the tile floor.
Guess what happens when your entire house is tiled and a glass jar shatters?
Glass. Goes. Everywhere.
You know what? Discard what I said above. It’s not hard to be a four year old right now – it’s hard to be the mother of a four year old right now!
I feel like this right here:
I bet she has a four year old bird back at the nest who is slowly, and completely by accident, destroying everything, too. I feel her pain. I just might curl up next to her and bask in the sun. She totally has the right idea.
*pretend I say something wildly hilarious here*
So I’m gonna go now. I’m sitting in a coffee shop right by the water and the beach is calling my name. Literally, I hear it. The waves lap the shore and each time they do I hear, Keeelllliiiii….Cooooommmmeee….Plllllaaaaaayyyyyy.
I shall not ignore the ocean any longer lest I be smote.
Have a good Tuesday. I feel so much better having released the nonsense inside my head.