A Surefire Answer to Stress

Stress makes me do funny things.

Like obsess about learning to spin.

Spin yarn, that is.

General spinning around and getting nothing done, 

I already do quite well, thankyouverymuch.

So instead of doing all those little pesky

or maybe not so little pesky chores

associated with moving, 

I browse spinning wheels online.

I confer with friends who spin.

Asking lots of questions.

Which wheel is best?

What is a good price?

I borrow books from the library.

I think this looks like fun.

I find a listing for a used wheel.

Just the right one.

Just the right price.

I bite.

And now it sits.

Watching me patiently as I paint yet another wall.

Waiting to be set up at the Farm.

Will owning sheep be the next level of crazy?

No.

But I would like to make friends with someone who does.

More to come, dear readers, more to come.

Not *my* wheel, but one just like it!
It's a Lendrum, double treadle.
So pretty, and folds up nice and tidy.

A Quick Breath Before I Succumb to Paint Fumes

What has the Queen been up to you ask?

Tons of fun!

Painting trim.

Painting walls.

Painting doors.

Oooh, I get to prime now.

Yay!

So long cheerful kitchen.

Your bright yellow walls have lifted my spirits.

Daily.

Here is my kitchen circa 2007 during the remodel.

Success!!

My goal as a Mama! {grin}
Speaking of which, I should probably
add some $$ to the Royals' therapy jars.

In A Word

Several years ago, I was given a word.

Unbeknownst to the giver, 

this word changed my perspective on certain

aspects of my life that I had just

chalked up to "sometimes life sucks".

What word, you ask?

grief.

Grief has always meant to me sadness,

like over the loss of a loved one.
However, through the words of this wise woman,
I came to see it as a bigger word.
A more encompassing word.
It became my word.

She was talking about her son and his battle with cancer.
He was victorious, but she was grieving.
This caught my attention.
She said she mourned the loss of those years
of his young life that he spent getting well.
Instead of having a "normal" life,
they lived in and out of hospitals, waiting with bated breath
as to what the latest test results would bring.
And it broke her heart.

When she gave me these words I had
just begun feeding the Prince the supplemental bottles.

And I was angry. Well, heartbroken, really.

She told me that it was grief talking.
Grief that things didn't go as planned or pictured.

When she gave me these words I was just
entering the worst stretch of time
that I have ever had with my spirited child.

And I was frustrated and exhausted.
Already.
Little did I know . . .

This time, I knew it was grief talking.
Grief that this child has such huge hang-ups,
that I am still not sure will be overcome,
about such seemingly simple things, like getting dressed.
Grief that her siblings and I had to figure out how to graciously
deal with the temperament that God had given to this child,
rather than just sit back and enjoy the ride passively.

Her wise words gave me the understanding that I needed to be free to mourn.
And with that freedom has eventually come joy!

Psalm 30:11
You have turned my griefs into joy; you took off my sackcloth
and you clothed me with joy!