My, My Diva and Prima, are crying and fussing at me!

You should have heard her fussing about the dirt that I added to her this morning. Diva thought I had forgotten her. "I am not used to weeds being allowed to touch me!" she said. "I don't mind sharing the ground with lamb's ears and flowers, but I will not have weeds touching me!" I am so sorry, Diva, I replied. I meant no harm by it. In fact, I think a little humbling will do you good, keep your head out of the clouds, so much. "I will not stand it, she said they are messing up my groove." We love you just the same with or without your groove, I stated, right in her face.
Diva is very spoiled and I do hope she doesn't die, before she gets acclamated to the far less attention that she gets at our house, having to share her mommy with 6 children a husband a dog, 4 sisters etc. etc. etc... I love you, Diva, with 1/100th of my heart. I can only spend a little time with you. That is why I fuss at you, she said, you wouldn't notice me at all, if I didn't brown my leaves and act up. Well you better perk up, I said. I will not have these tantrums until I get my garden together, do you hear me.
My okra is the only, or onliest happy thing in the yard. They are so content to be left alone. Some of the plants simply grow straight and tall and them some of them coil around for some reason, I haven't figured out why, exactly. I added dirt to them and the little strawberry plant that they shade in the little okra patch that I am keeping. Ahhhhh! they sighed, just as happy as can be. How can you say ahhh cried the eggplants. She doesn't care diddly about us. I do too, I said as I pulled a few weeds and dropped some sweat on them for a kiss at attention to them. The birds care more about us, said the eggplants.
My dear old Father in law introduced me to okra. I had never even seen such a thing. He said the children never liked them, but I want some. Have you bought any? I said Grandpa, I called him Grandpa, in front of the children. The next time we go to the store together you will have to show me this stuff you call okra. I don't remember him showing them to me, when we went to the store.
When we went to the store I do remember realizing what a disrespectful culture that we have. People never talked to him in the stores that we went to. They talked to me, as though he was a child. I remember thinking, how sad that old people have to deal with this disrespect. Well, I tried to show him respect. And on his deathbed, like Dolcinea, from DonQuijote, he allowed me to bring him water, with all of his children doting and darting hither and yon, he didn't ignore me. He said Jayne get me some water with a straw. I took this to mean, "You shall not lose your reward." I did the best I could though not a chef or a baker, As a mommy and a daughter in law I took him in and I learned more than I gave. My okra patch is a loving reminder to me of the love that we shared and the change of my name, like Dolcinea.

Last night, I put a few okra, freshpicked in my "dirty rice".

That okra, tasted sweet and fresh, but it also seemed to clear my lungs. Whatever was or wasn't brewing in my lungs, came into a pile and I coughed and coughed and then woke up feeling better. I think that okra is a lung medicine. Well, I do use it for you. I will plant the rest of the seeds and try to keep okra on the table as frequently as I can stuff it down your throat.

What does a Freshman like to wear?

No more flip flops, Do you hear me!!

Camp was a gas! I hear.

Our family story should be called...

Meetings with Father!
The CEO calls a meeting and the design team discusses the possibilities and then...They're off! Off to...their labors, their mess, their cleanup.
It is fun, these last days of everybody gathering around papa for their instructions. They are each a piece of his mind and my mind. The fireworks and the sparks are contagious and then they come out of the meeting repleat with abilities and determinations.
Now, if I can just get them to work on a business application to all of this industriousness. The cows would be milked and the grass would be straight. Money and Lord willing, that is the next step to this process...
This week they ended in prayer led by Ezra.

When Dad was working and Deaconing and busy and we didn't see him much...

We made appointments on Sundays for you children to spend an hour each with him alone. Your father led you to Christ and instructed you in the word. Read and listened to all of the little stories that you brought to him. We determinedly carved out time for you children, in your father's busy schedule. He loves and cares for you and you can see and feel that. I am grateful that you have him.

If I had my baby girl again. Laments of motherhood.

She's officially a High Schooler. My baby girl is grown. We never played paper dolls, blocks. We didn't read all of the American Girl books. We didn't play enough with the dolls or soccer as oft as I would have liked.
I said none of my girls will go into adulthood, without an American Twist Serve and a silent set. My two skills, greatly cherished. I don't want an American Twist Serve, Mommy. That is what they all say. What has a good serve and volley and a silent set ever gotten you? Good question. The discipline of imitating and accomplishing something that gets you to a goal. They don't understand the big hullabaloo. Life goes by so quickly.
If I had a baby girl again and I have no intention of having one. Blocks everyday and all of the American Girl's books would be the first thing that I would do. I missed it, but she did okay without those injected maternal intentions.