Scatter-brained and long.

The first week of school is done.  We're in the swing of it.  I've done many projects.  Kate and Lola play really well in the mornings with each other, so I've gotten a pile of sewing done and primed a few places.  I'll finish un-papering the den bath soon, hopefully.

Before school started, Riley followed me around all day.  Her sisters would gather up their ponies and barbies and pretend forever, but Riley just followed me from room to room.  I never made humus or dinner or a glass of water without her.  I never read foxnews.com without her long hair tickling my cheek while she hunched over, leaning into me.  And she's not quiet either.  I'd think the kids were playing nicely so I might escape to my bedroom for a few minutes and she'd just follow along, jabbering all the way.  Plop down on my bed and tell me about her hair.  It's a thing you don't want to shut down, as much as you want your space.  I saw the preciousness in it at the same time that I wanted to run and lock the door behind me just to hear some silence. She's getting so big though, and she may not want to talk to me next year.  So I'm grateful for a summer of smothering and long hair up in my face while I try to read.

Ange got me Jillian Michaels' Ripped in 30.  My hamstrings cramped with pain for a week, but I think I'm healing now.

Speaking of Ange, she was over the other day and we started singing good ol' Rebekah Saint James (I think that's her name).  She's always singing old songs from random people that we listened to when we were 15.  We were harmonizing and it was ridiculous and fun.  By ridiculous I mean awesome. :)

Kate fell at the lake a few weeks ago and hit the edge of the outdoor stairs forehead first.  It appears to be healed up now, but there is what feels to be a pebble under her skin.

This post is so random.
I went in to the school to pick up the girls at the end of the first day of school and was chatting with one of the moms.  I asked her where her man was.  I meant to say little man, meaning her son, but for some reason only the word "man" came out.  Actually, that's what I call someone's child when I can't remember their name.  "How's your little one?", "Oh, your little guy is getting so big."  My brain just does not hold on to names.
ANYWAY...So she thought I was asking where her husband was.  Well, she answered quickly and casually that they has gotten a divorce at the beginning of the summer because he decided he was gay.
Oh my gracious.  I felt so bad, but she didn't appear to blush or sweat or anything.  She laughed and said it was shocking, but not too hard.  I can't imagine the pain she's tucking inside herself.  It reminds me that you never know the pain the people around you might be going through while you're caught up in your own little world of stuff.
That same day I was at the grocery store when I saw approaching far off at the end of the parking lot, a black man in a wheelchair with 4 little boys.  They were coming right for me.  It was deja vu all over again.  When someone comes galloping toward you from the end of the parking lot, load your groceries as fast as you can or they're going to catch you, tell you an elaborate story and ask you for money or a ride.  Every time in the past I've said no.
I couldn't get my  groceries loaded fast enough.
This guy had quite a story.  A fire burned their house, they just came from Texas, they're waiting for papers to get shots, to get the kids into school, to get a job.  Needed to pay for food and a hotel.
Tears came to his eyes when he said he could go without but he needed something for his kids.  They were clearly not his.  All the same age, all looked different.  I knew I was getting snowed.  What is it about helping people, you just want them to know that you know that they're snowing you, so you're not really getting snowed.  I told him I wouldn't give him money, but I'd get them some food.
The boys were cute.  I felt for them.  We went back into the grocery store and got some lunchables.  The boys were so excited.  I was happy that they were happy that they got to choose between balogna, or pizza.  I don't know if their story was true or not.  But it wasn't going to hurt me to buy some lunchables.  It just made me feel not good to have the wheelchair man possibly lying to me and saying, "If you could just help us, by the grace of God, Lady."  I think they use God just to use Him.  And I felt used.  I don't know.  I felt bad to give to that guy, I guess just because of the possibility that he could be lying to me.  I'm cynical.  I thought his wheelchair and his tears and his elaborate story were lies, and me helping him was only going to encourage him to keep on lying to people.  While we pulled out of the parking lot I watched women pulling cash from their purses for them.  I don't even know the moral to this story.  Maybe it's that I'm bad to not like giving to poor, crying, wheelchair men.  I like to be the wise one, not the used one.  But I guess the gospel is all about how Christ was used and used up for takers; people who didn't appreciate Him.  I guess just because it doesn't feel good doesn't mean it's not okay for me to do.

I feel fall approaching.  I am so excited to wear jeans and making soup.