The Shape Of Things To Come.
A bittersweet holiday. Everything pared down, things having shifted ever so slightly. It is most likely the last holiday we will have with Grandma B, Eric's paternal grandmother, about whom I have written before. Her lungs are bad, her heart worse. Things winding down.
I have just returned from Sarah's room, where she was crying for me because of growing pains in her legs. I rubbed her poor little limbs with a homeopathic oil I obtained for this purpose. It seems to help and at least does no harm; what else can we say that about these days?
Sarah asked me to pray with her and I did so, keeping my head close to her and whispering low so as not to wake Hunter. I try to explain to her when these things happen that sometimes growing hurts. Changing hurts. But it is the way of things. Nothing lasts, and we clutch and run and shift as we can around the changes. Sometimes we are able to dance as we do so, and those are times to cherish indeed.
I have just returned from Sarah's room, where she was crying for me because of growing pains in her legs. I rubbed her poor little limbs with a homeopathic oil I obtained for this purpose. It seems to help and at least does no harm; what else can we say that about these days?
Sarah asked me to pray with her and I did so, keeping my head close to her and whispering low so as not to wake Hunter. I try to explain to her when these things happen that sometimes growing hurts. Changing hurts. But it is the way of things. Nothing lasts, and we clutch and run and shift as we can around the changes. Sometimes we are able to dance as we do so, and those are times to cherish indeed.