week, weak

Hola -- sorry about the radio silence. I've simulaneously been too busy and yet feeling like there's not much to say that's interesting. It must be because I've just been feeling slightly negative lately. Not enough prayer, no doubt. Why do I KNOW this, yet not DO anything about it... Yet I even feel vaguely guilty about that, like I'm using God as some sort of feel-good service. Getting my head in order -- a therapy session. Just put it on my bill, God! Oh, wait. You already paid it all. Well... in THAT case...
I used to hop here and there and have time and energy enough for it, but these days, if I have two or three commitments in a day, I feel rather edgy. This weekend was a little slammed, and slammed with good things, but truth be told, I'd much rather be helping great good friends move their stuff across town in the rain than have a half-dozen social engagements. Arghh.
We had a fun church "women's retreat" that pretty much consisted of us sitting around until 1:30 or 2 a.m. and eating bad food and stuff. I wished Matt and I hadn't had plans the next day so I could sort of savor it, instead of worrying about rushing off. But our host has said we need to do another one, so I can hope for that. Such sweet, talented, funny ladies I am privileged to know. It was neat to see people come from so many different directions, in terms of background and personality, and find a very comfortable common place. Dear Erin, the only woman there without kids, weathered the kid talk very nicely. I'm sure I would have wanted to flee long before, if it were me.
The next day, Matt and Lizzy and I sort of just barely decided to drag our carcasses off to the Long Branch balloon festival. One of the few times I'm glad I live in Manassas! It wasn't far at all. Shocking, really, how few miles you need to go, west on Hwy. 66, before things start feeling really darned bucolic. And SO scenic. If I had actually developed the photos I took there, I would post them. Another day. We weren't there long, and the balloons didn't take off -- again! -- because there was way too much wind, but we had a good time anyway. Lizzy had a blast on the merry-go-round. Went on it about eight or 10 times. She's growing up so fast. She had a blast jumping around on a hay bale maze play area they'd set up for the kids. I got one of those incredibly lucky great shots of her in midair -- must post later.

Oh, unassociated Lizzy tale -- for no good reason (I should know better! Just because I'm feeling broody, I guess. Maybe it was the two or three questions about when I'm having another baby, asked rather insistently by the day care ladies, one day last week), I was talking to Lizzy one night before bed about babies, and how lots of her little friends at the day care have little brothers or sisters, and whether she would like one. Yes, she would! She would share her toys, and help give the baby his paci (the height of child care, in Lizzy's eyes) and hold him/her on Lizzy's lap. So that was all cute and stuff. The next morning, the first thing she says, half-asleep and with tones of distress, is, "Where's our baby?" It's funny how awful I feel when I'm unable to fulfill even the zaniest, most impractical request. Boy, it's hard not to spoil her. I don't do a very good job of resisting, I'm afraid.

What's next. Oh, we flew home and started cleaning furiously for my aunt and uncle's arrival. Fortunately, they arrived about an hour and a half late (about 9:30), so the house really sparkled. I think that was the root of my stress the whole weekend was the sense that I would be unable to clean my house to my satisfaction before they showed up. That I couldn't even stay up late Friday to accomplish this! (since I was elsewhere at a sleepover.) O Mother, what have you done to me -- in my youth, I always rolled my eyes at my mom's insistence that the whole house (which seemed clean to me in the first place) be extra spiffed up for company. And now *gasp!* I AM HER. not that, er, that would ever be a bad thing.
So my aunt and uncle came to church with me Sunday, which was fun. I don't really know what they thought of it -- we were examining salt and light, as described in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. As usual, we were nearly a half-hour late, which I HATE. I get little enough time with the lovely people whose church I attend. Very frustrating. However, with four adults and one 2-year-old... yeah, well, it happened. We had pumpkin curry and coffee cake, with and without the salt. And a very talented, artsy lady in our church did a painting throughout the service to illustrate how different lights can bring out different elements. One of the wackier services we've had. And very cool.
Sunday afternoon, we went to Old Town Alexandria, and I left out my usual story in which I point out the steps (across from the town hall) where I first heard my mother utter a serious cuss word. (Sorry, Mom! You're an indelible part of the tour.) I didn't think her sister would be very charmed by the tale. I have SOME tact, after all... Just not much. So we bummed around there. I didn't buy anything in the Christmas store because I wanted it all. Whoa! TWO moments of restraint in ONE DAY. Then we spent most of Sunday evening monkeying around with the stupid internet installment because I'm tired of nagging Matt to do it, and my uncle was happy to help. And by "help," I mean, "do all the thinking but defer to me on the actual clicking because he is the world's nicest and most patient man." And we sort of got it working -- I think.
I took Monday off and we tooled around "my" area of D.C. -- near where I work, anyway. The tio y tia wanted to see the Holocaust Museum (AGAIN -- shudder), go up the Washington Monument, and tour the White House. As you might guess, that last one didn't happen, but we managed the first two. And saw the WWII memorial at about 5 p.m. -- a seriously bad idea, unless retina sunburn is something to which you aspire.
I could go off here about my thoughts about the Holocaust, etc. -- oh, why not.
See, I've been through the Holocaust Museum. With my parents, incidentally. And I lived in Germany for a year and a half. When my parents came to visit, we went to Dachau, seriously casting a pall on the rest of the day. My parents and I went to Israel for a couple of weeks in, what, 2001? I think. Right after the kerfuffle with Sharon on the Temple Mount. We actually declined to see the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem -- were embarrrassed to explain this to our Jewish guide, but -- and here's my point -- when is enough, enough? I have processed and experienced and wept and grieved for this situation. It defies words, the hatred and lack of -- humanity it would take to order, or carry out, these acts. But when can we as individuals vow to do our parts to not let this sort of atrocity happen again, and allow ourselves to move on from that point? I guess when we feel strongly enough to rant about it on our blogs. I did catch some points that hadn't really stuck before -- details about how Hitler came to power, how very much of the world the Nazis actually controlled at their height, stuff like that. And, I suppose, as we grow and change, different elements of the story will hit us in different ways. For example, the window that dealt with the elimination of handicapped and mentally retarded children (incidentally, read this) got me the most this time around. I hadn't remembered that part. And now that I'm a mom, I think about stuff like the women in one story who were breastfeeding their infants on the cattle car on the way to Treblinka or Auchwitz who had no water for two or three days, and who were constantly calling for water. It's small stuff -- stuff I can relate to, like how dang thirsty and hungry a nursing mother is -- and the cruelty of those who don't see these people as human, or valuable -- that hits me at the core. Perhaps it's time to research and be indignant about a new atrocity.
So my uncle wanted to do another 3 1/2-hour-tour through the museum, and after that cheeriness, we went up the Washington Monument (had timed tickets) and then we had lunch at about 3:30. Yipe! The Monument was kind of a letdown for the simple reason that the windows were so danged small. I guess, since I've never noticed them from the ground, I should have expected that. I got a photo of the red lights that blink to warn planes away from the inside to show my parents -- one of them (mom?) says it reminds her of the Evil Eye of Sauron. They're actually kinda small themselves. One fun Monument fact -- no mortar was used to hold the bricks together. Purely gravity pulling at their sheer weight. (used on the outside to keep out moisture) Knowing that sure makes you want to shoot up that 500-foot elevator in what felt like fairly high winds. Or not.
This is getting ridiculously long, so I'll wrap up. An entertaining visit. The best moment was when my aunt and uncle were concerned that Matt might be an alcoholic because of the various bottles of booze on the counter. (one of rum, one of tequila and one we haven't opened that friends brought us back from Costa Rica -- oops, sorry Mike and Stacy, we'll get to it!) I neglected to point out that Matt has used the rum once or twice in about four months, and I'm the only one who has the tequila... Heh. Fortunately, this occurred at about quarter to midnight, and my sole focus at that point was in ending the conversation so that I might get a few hours of sleep. Thank the Lord that Lizzy didn't wake up in the middle of the night. She's so weird. The colder it is, the better she sleeps, I think.
Have a great week, everybody. It sure is pretty out there.