It’s my day to blog over at Inspire a Fire. It’s just a short sweet post about childhood memories including my own version of George Ella Lyon’s poem Where I’m From. If need a creative challenge on this lovely Saturday, try writing your own Where I’m From. It’s a lot of fun (unless you are not a word person, in which case it could be a torturous experience.) Where I’m From – Family Heritage @ Inspire a Fire.
I missed Boy Mom Monday last week because I was 3300 miles away from my boys in Port au Prince, Haiti. I just returned from my trip and, in lieu of a devotion, I am posting something I wrote in 2008 for my column in the local paper. Maybe some of you can relate 🙂 It all started with the Boy Wonder. In the fall of 2005, my mom made Batman and Robin costumes for my two boys. The two-year-old became smitten with Robin. I remember the morning I was awakened at the crack of dawn to my son, standing…
I’ve shoved writing in the backseat for a bit while I try to learn how to sew. I mean sew at above novice status. The zippers are killing me, and my new mantra is that old construction phrase “Measure twice, cut once.” If you are curious about this sewing craziness, take a peek at Sewing is Hard. Otherwise, just read this sweet little writing by the youngest Harms boy. He knows how to make me smile. I love that he thinks I’m 34-years-old. I sure do enjoy my job righting storees. And ISU sharts are the best.
BOYS. Every single one of the backsides in the back row of that photo belongs to a boy. Why is that a big deal you ask? Because my boys have long been almost the only boys in their age-group at church. Just Carter, Owen and a sea of girls. I’m sure at some point in a boy’s life, a lopsided ratio of boys to girls that lands heavy on the girl side is a good thing. In elementary school, not so much. On Sunday mornings, the Harms house was a battlefield: two boys with an arsenal of arguments and emotion…
The swings were empty, and I was close to tears. A wooden playset was about to make me cry. It was ridiculous really. We only lived in the house for six months. But I looked at the empty swingset while I stood in the empty house, and I thought of my three boys. Brothers who have this amazing propensity to find in each other the one nerve in a million that is most easily agitated and then patiently camp out on it until it causes the desired explosive reaction. During the past six months I’d often find those same button-pushing boys…