Take a few minutes (and maybe a tissue or two) and read the latest from Katie.
I am so thankful, not the least that people like her walk this earth.
Netflix, I big-red-puffy-Bedazzled-heart you. You have made the Nighttime-OutOfIt-Mommy-Movie-Catchup so much less of a headache. Thanks to you, I no longer feel like I’ve been off the grid for so long (i.e.- since I had children). I can now speak of the Third Season of Lost with aplomb, if not clarity (’cause, it’s- uh- not).
I love how you think of me and my interests, in a way that’s disturbingly accurate, and kinda makes me blush. Why yes, I would love to see almost anything in your Movies Based on Classical Literature category. And indeed, my little heart is set aflutter when you nudge-nudge, wink-wink me towards Cerebral Movies With a Strong Female Lead.
But I begin to wonder, honestly, when you suggest Mexican Documentaries. And no, I didn’t know they even existed. Not that I don’t like Mexicans- but I think perhaps my language preferences might have blinded you into believing I had a penetrating need to learn of Cesar Chavez and Zorro. Um, I don’t. But thanks.
And we won’t even discuss Lesbian Comedies in Arabic.
Still, I am grateful. You’ve done wonders, cementing my dislike of Nicolas Cage, illuminating my almost-unconscious interest in Tibetan Buddhism, and affirming my intellectuality by showing me local favorites- none of which I’d touch with a 10-foot pole. I can wait on the movies that come to me from my queue, or I can be impatient and spontaneous and watch streaming movies on my computer. Huddled with my green tea and McVities digestives, I find escape, peace, and blog fodder.
Now show me a few Critically-Acclaimed Foreign Dramas. And stay away from those Feel-Good Talking-Animal Children & Family movies.
Boss lovingly calls
Friday afternoon meeting:
torturous beastie!
Look. I really appreciate that you’re trying to be fair, but how about, instead of cajoling me, attempting to convince me that you’re right when you know you’re not, and reviewing my grade book like an accountant at tax time, you just tell me you want me to change the student’s grade though he has unequivocally not passed the course, and save us all some time and stress? I need to get back to blog reading essay grading. Cheers.
If you have a few minutes, please peruse Katie’s blog over at The Journey. She’s just your average 20-year-old who moves to Africa and adopts 14 children. On her own.
I read things like this and I wonder how much more I could do, how much more we are all capable of. As R and I wade through adoption and foster care information, I think of Katie, mother to fourteen, and I wonder how much more we can do as partners. Frequently we see families with many kids, or with special needs, or with extraordinary circumstances, and our first thought is always: “How do they do it?” Sometimes, my teaching, my two kids, and a husband who’d lose his head if it weren’t attached are all I can handle. I remember when I was sick sick sick with my second child, face to the ground, unable to stay on my feet, gasping into the dirt: “No more. I can’t do this any more.”
And yet somehow, something intensely human inside of us moves aside when faced with extraordinary circumstances. We do what is in front of us. We do what must be done and we, and those around us, are a little bit better.
A tiny bit.
More.
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