Roses

At the end of last month, our families gathered in puny little Carlsbad to help us celebrate and participate in Grace's baptism and Rose's blessing. I love momentous family events. I love spending time together. 

And now, my children are gone. Three of them, anyway. Grace and Claire left with Grandma and Grandpa for a fun-filled month of farm work and bike riding and creek wading. Weston went with my mom so that Brad and I could work on the house that we're building. But because subcontractors routinely break their commitments and because I tend to be way too optimistic about the amount of work that can be accomplished in a day, Brad and I haven't done much that qualifies as work.

So while Brad is at his job, I am home with one little nursing baby, encompassed either by silence or colicky screams. The time with Brad and Rose has been mostly quiet. Still. Nice.

But I ache for my children. 

Years ago, my dad was showing me how to prune a rose bush. He told me that cutting the roses was like separating a mamma from her babies--the rose bush works hard to bring them back. At the time, of course, I did not at all understand his metaphor. I hadn't been a mother. But, man, I feel like that. I miss my babies.