You and me, we were always best buddies, Elijah told Jack. They sat on the couch today, looking at photo albums together. I love keeping photos of the kids close at hand so they can flip through them and tell stories about “days gone by” with great gusto, imagination and sometimes slight exaggeration. The summer boredom bug has been hitting everyone at random times of the day. To combat it today, everyone is writing down recipes for their library summer log. It is fabulous. There is nothing better than cobwebby brains getting a good dusting with a pencil and paper or a good book to read.
Summer brings out the pig tails as well.

Today Betty exclaimed about the birthmark on her arm: I have a birk!

Today Elijah found my old walkman and box of tapes. This was a delightful novelty to share with my 21st century kids.
This weekend Matthew was supposed to run for 24-hours. Long story short, it was cancelled at the last-minute, supposedly because of the heat… which was not even as bad as the week prior had been. Telling an ultra-runner it’s too hot to run is like telling an Eskimo it’s too cold to fish, Matthew said. It was a difficult day of disappointment for us both, along with the hundreds of runners involved. The months of training and preparation both physically and mentally is hard to describe. The running bug has not been quenched and running 100-miles is about as magnetic to him as a puddle is to a kid. It doesn’t make sense to most people, but aren’t you glad we’re not all made to run, play, cook, write, paint or sing the same way? In all areas of life, instead of labeling someone as weird, we should admire them for how amazing God made them. Some to labor for hours on a still-life painting. Some to perfect a recipe. Some to build unbelievable structures. Some to conquer math problems. Some to write poetry. Some to raise children. Some to see beauty in the ashes. Some to run 100 miles. Stay tuned.


Oh, oh,oh. . . These cutie patooties are just … just… too TOO! Thank you, Amykins, for so beautifully chronicling these too brief seasons of your lives. sigh
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