The Emmaline News

Lately, the news is not my favorite activity, and yet, I have a hard time looking away. Some inner drive empathetically proclaims that the more I read about what is happening, the more I will know, and the more I know, the more I can control. A default assumption that with knowledge comes power.

What actually happens, is the more I read, the more my lack of control becomes evident. The headlines show various peoples’ opinions, governments’ attempts to act (and keep us from acting 😂), and scientists trying their best to lead (we are lucky and blessed to have scientific advances). But the predications of our best scientists about our current situation still need to be proved, partially proved, or disproved over time, and in the meantime, we wait at home. In this case, knowledge of the current situation just reiterates my powerlessness.

And that is good, because, “All flesh is grass and all its beauty is like the flower of the field,” and, “The grass withers, the flowers fade, but the word of our God will stand forever.” And that word includes the words that “He gives power to the faint.” Maybe in this case, it also includes the power to look away from the facts, rumors, and stories zinging from city to city, and to instead turn to our homes.

So, I turn to the news in my home.

In our beloved little home, my tiny daughter decided that the time has come to move. Here, our headlines read: We Have a Crawler, Mueller Family on High Alert.

And oh, how pleased she is to push herself up and pause, and then go across the floor, determined to eat the dog’s food, chew on crayons, or look for cords. All the while ready to smile if a parent or sibling should look her way. Yes, Emmaline Melanie is ready to explore her world, and her tiny prancing brings us joy.

And while I watch, I want to learn to wait in patience and prayer and joy.

“Christ be in my waking.”

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The Adventure Begins Very Early on the Morning of July 15th

Note: In-N-Out is the first place I go when I arrive back in California. The California chain tastes like coming home. My day had been planned. I was going to walk with friends. Have coffee with my mom and a phone date in the evening. Followed by my husband asking, “what should we have for dinner.” And me responding “In-n-Out.” I’ll admit it I did exercise in hopes of expediting the labor process, but as I had been told, “babies will come when they will.” So I laid my plans: Plan A the aforementioned walk etc. and Plan B— Have a baby. When my mom arrived, full of more energy than I’m used to her having (a contrast with my labored lack of energy), it was apparent that Plan B was in effect. We were most definitely not going to coffee. I was going to have a baby. Labor… it’s not fun. Epidurals… they are a wonderful invention. It was late evening. I’d hoped they’d let me push on the 14 th . The history nerd in me was caught by the idea of having a baby on Bastille D

The Bicycle Onsie is too Small!!

The fabric stretched around Felicity’s little feet and nestled her in a perfect fit. It was the first time I’d put Felicity in a onesie with feet. Up until then, she wore t-shirt onesies that snapped around her diaper. They were light and perfect for the hot summer days. But when nighttime came, Felicity liked to be cuddled and the footsie onsie was the perfect solution. Up until now, all Felicity’s clothes flopped and folded around Felicity’s tiny, baby body. She swam in the extra fabric. This onsie was snug and it fit like it was made for her. She’d wave her little legs and arms and the white fabric with little bicycles printed across its surface stretched with her. I loved putting her into it. Then something happened. It didn’t take long…maybe a couple of weeks. The bicycle onesie was washed following a diaper explosion and the cotton cloth shrunk. But just a little. Felicity’s cheeks and limbs became rounder and her eyes wider. She watched the ceiling fan and figured o

Slaying Giants

Days like this begin when the night before I choose not to sleep, because I must read a few more lines from some news site or scroll one last time through the glowing screen of my iPhone instead of making good on my resolve to read quality literature and journal prior to bed. They continue when I wake up earlier than usual to teach, but finish teaching to realize that my children also went to bed later then they should. So now, everyone’s patience operates like feet hitting a wet spot on a wood floor. Bam. You loose traction. And first one then another is upset and done. That tantrum sparked another melt-down from someone else, and as I try to not join the melt-downs, and instead attempt to be the adult I hazard some words of explanation. “Your choices impact us all.” I tell one of them. My children’s choice do change the tenor of the room for good or for ill, but so do my choices. On days of this sort, where nothing is really wrong, other than a strong case of the grumpies, that ge

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