It's Memorial Day weekend, and after a normal Saturday of running hither and yon I'm already exhausted. The fact that the healthiest things I've eaten all day are a few grape tomatoes probably isn't helping. (Note I didn't say the only things, but rather the healthiest.)
Went to the mall to get Marisa's ears pierced this afternoon. What started as tiny butterflies turned into not-so-tiny ones by the time they were ready for us at Claires. I know it was in large part due to the 2 young (2 yo) girls there ahead of us.
Why do people insist on completing a process about which the recipient is clearly hysterical?! If you want your child's ears pierced there are (IMHO) 2 times to do it, and when they're 2yo isn't one of them. (For inquiring minds: those times are during infancy when they're clueless and when they're old enough to at least partially reason with.)
Unfortunately, we did have a few shed tears, but not hysteria, and nothing that wasn't fixed with a small bottle of lotion from Bath & Body Works, and the promise of ice cream after dinner.
It's Memorial Weekend, a time to celebrate and honor those men and women to whom we owe our freedom. To that end, I'd like to share a thought a dear friend shared with me earlier today.
The context of the following was in relation to her cousin having let her know that each memorial Day she and her father visit the graves of family members who were veterans; my friend's father's grave happens to be one they go to. Beth compared veterans to "Jesus - who left His home (heaven) to go to a foreign place (earth) and fight a battle to free those who were oppressed."
She was given the thought while praying for someone ministering in Iraq. Definitely an "aha" moment for me when I read it. Or as she likes to call it a "Yea God" moment.
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