Hosanna

I cut a sheet up, right along one sewn edge.  After hemming one square, I left the other seven with unfinished edges, knowing that they would probably be forgotten by the evening.  I wanted them to be precious momentos, but I have been a mom for seventeen years now, so I have had some hard lessons. One (that I still sometimes deny) is that when I push for a sentimental response from my children, they are more likely to remember a disappointed mom than a present one. Because they just don't care about the same things as I do. While I was making hankerchiefs, they were thinking about what they wanted to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, rummaging through the fridge and pantry.

After laying the hankerchiefs aside, unfinished but ready, I moved onto a project that was just for me. I spent an inordinate amount of time looking for the newly purchased painters' tape, giving up on said painters', then using other painters' tape to block out a chalk-painting on my driveway that shouted, "Hosanna!". Because I am sentimental and I care about picture-picture moments, and I was going to do something to mark this holy day (even if it took all day).

When the Hosanna Shout came that afternoon, I had just finished a piece of Oliver's plotted and kneaded pizza. Simone sat next to me, yanking on her dolly's hair. Colin's hand itched to grab his phone and Chad's eyes squinted to stay open. I called Elysée and Carina in from wandering through the living room and into my bathroom and back again. They had my high heels on, smelled like they had been bathing in perfume, and looked like they had been rolling in makeup. 

I shushed and fussed and told everyone to grab their hankerchiefs. Gabe accused Elysée of grabbing his. Elysée has never met an accusation she isn't willing to fight to the grave, so I knew this conflict was not going to be solved in the brief moment we had before we needed to raise our voices together. I tossed my own hankerchief to Gabe and ran to my bathroom to grab a tissue that wasn't there. I heard the shout begin and ran back to awkwardly wave my hand in the air and pretend that it was a meaningful moment for me.

After the session was over, I went back to painting my chalk masterpiece with a Pinterest recipe that was too lumpy. I added water, then more cornstarch and more food dye and altered my plan in my head because the original simply wasn't going to happen. I looked for more cornstarch, found none, and grabbed some old potato starch. 

I thought about my kids and worried and felt no peace at all.  I prayed and asked for peace and felt the cool breeze and heard the birds.  

Nothing really changed but I kept painting and my kids left me alone. 

I thought about this old blog for some reason, and decided to revive it.

When I finally pulled the tape off my completed painting, after the second session, Colin was there. He said it was a mess, but I defended it. It wasn't what I had planned, but it was what I was capable of, with what I had on hand. I hadn't given up. It was mine and it was meaningful. 

I would take a picture in the morning and write about it. 

I laid in bed tonight after forcing the oldest two into theirs. I downloaded the Blogger app onto my phone. While typing the first few sentences of this post with faint little deet deet deets in the dark, Chad laying next to me with his earbuds in, I thought I heard a noise. 

Rain? 

Alexa and been consulted repeatedly and had insisted it wasn't possible.

I grabbed my phone to take a horrible flashy picture of my artistic offering before it streaked under the car and into the mulch.

 

Hosanna! 

Save me, sweet Savior!

Take my imperfect offerings and sanctify them.

Save me and my family from ourselves.