Summit

The day after Christmas we headed to the Snowy Mountains & Great Dividing Range for an overnight adventure to climb Mt. Kosciuszko, which is the highest peak on the Australian continent. (And, just to be clear, it's the tiniest of the seven summits and probably the only one I'll ever scale. And the overnight was in a motel, not huddled on the side of the mountain in tents.)

What a glorious day. Walking under blue skies, a light breeze, and sunshine with those five dears was a highlight of the year for me. We've been separated so often this year, it felt like such a blessing just to be together, chatting and laughing and teasing our way up a mountain. I wanted to stay there forever.

It put me in mind of this quote, which I have posted before but can't resist doing again:

"You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know"
~Rene Daumal, Mount Analogue

And so, today we descend from mountain peaks and joy-filled holidays to mountains of laundry and putting away Christmas (and sunburns!). Soon Lauren will leave and it will be four again. But. We will remember the summit and hopefully will conduct ourselves in the lower regions by the memory of what we saw higher up. And we'll get there again, eventually. 

Overheard in the kitchen, yesterday

We recently got a letter from the middle school, alerting us to the fact that the 8th grade will soon be starting the human sexuality portion of the health class.

M: Oh, I remember when we had that program in health. Is Mr. ______ still teaching it?

S: [reluctant to discuss this] Yeah...

M: Don't worry, it's not that bad.  

S: [dubious] Really?...

M: Yeah, I'm not gonna lie, I kind of liked sex ed. There was a lot of role playing.

S: .......

Me: [bursting out laughing] I think you'd better clarify that, Maddy.

. . .

Of course we established that she meant there were lots of roleplaying exercises about saying no and making choices and that sort of thing. But we still have a good laugh about it.

If you are joyful...

...it will shine in your eyes and in your look, in your conversation and in your countenance. You will not be able to hide it because joy overflows. Joy must be one of the pivots of our life. It is the token of a generous personality. Sometimes it is also a mantle that clothes a life of sacrifice and self-giving. A person who has this gift often reaches high summits. He or she is like a sun in a community. ~Mother Teresa

I know people like this, don't you? I aspire to this. I would especially like for my family to think of me as someone who is joyful, a sun in our community of home. Sometimes I find this so inspiring, so aspirational.

But I have to admit that sometimes--today, for instance--I'm not a sun, I'm a raincloud. A bowl of cold oatmeal. A brittle fall leaf. Rather than overflowing, my joy congeals in wobbly puddles at the bottom of my heart. Telling me to be joyful just mires my feet in guilt. You know how it is sometimes. Instead I lean on hope.

Tomorrow will be better, as I used to whisper in the ears of my young ones at the end of hard days. Tomorrow will be better.

. . .

image via

Beg to differ

Lauren was unloading the dishwasher and noticed it had done a less-than-stellar job getting all those pesky food bits off of the plates.

Sam: I ALWAYS rinse my plate all the way off before I put it in.

Me: Hmm.  Sometimes I do but sometimes I don't. It seems like the dishwasher should be able to handle a little food, though.

Sam: I always do.  I guess my standards of cleanliness are just higher than most people.

{widespread bursting of laughter throughout the kitchen}

Ring-ring!  Hello? Oh, Sam! It's your room. It's calling to BEG TO DIFFER on the standards of cleanliness.

But thank you for the laugh.

Sticky situation

Over the summer we replaced our hardy old minivan Ruby (~200,000 miles!) with a brand new family mobile.  This was a long-awaited event and, as we cleared out the flotsam and jetsam from the trusty but stained Ruby, G extracted a promise from each of us:

No food in the new car.

The kids tried different techniques to test the paternal rule resolve.  They sneaked snacks aboard in their pockets, for one.  Oh, the folly of youth. These things are always discovered and woe!WOE! unto the child who sneakily munches in the back seat.  By their crumbs they are judged.

Eventually we all got used to the new reign of foodlessness and all was well.  We took 6-hour summer trips where water was the only allowed substance to touch our lips while inside the new vehicle.  If sometimes I brought a therapeutic can of Diet Coke into the car, I claimed parental exemption and crossed my fingers.

So imagine my horror when I got into the car recently and found that the gear shift between the two front seats was verrrry difficult to move.  It stuck and was almost impossible to shift into reverse or drive, especially first thing in the morning.  Like something had been spilled nearby.  I was pretty sure I hadn't spilled my soda. Had I? HAD I?!  Looking closer, I noticed several sticky spots on and around and in(!) the shifter.

I scrambled into the house to get something to wipe up the evidence.  

G: (casually) What are you doing? 

A: (slamming cupboards and rushing around) oh...I just noticed something needed to be wiped up in the car

G: (his interest piqued) Oh? What?

A: Um.  Well.  I just tried to shift the car into reverse and--I don't know how this happened--it seems like there's something spilled and sticky.

G: What?!

A: Yeah. I can't figure it out because we really haven't had anything in the car like that.

G: (Silence)

A: And it's REALLY sticky.  So, you know, I don't even think it would be...a drink...or anything.

G: Hmm.

A: (still getting towels and water)

G: So...it is sticky like honey?

A: Yeah! That's exactly what it's like.  I even tasted it and it's sweet. Why?

G: Hmm.

A: What?

G: I had a peanut butter and honey sandwich in the car.

A: (laughing) YOU did?

G: (meekly laughing) Yes...I didn't have time to eat before soccer practice so I grabbed a sandwich. 

A: (still laughing) Okay Mr. No Food in the Car!  A peanut butter and honey sandwich?!

And so it is that every morning when I get in the car, I wrestle the somewhat sticky gearshift into reverse and chuckle a little that it was G who was the first to usher the new car into "broken in" status.

. . .

Thankful for: my funny (+ honest!) G, the 10 a.m. schedule at church, great car conversations with my kids.