Perhaps that is why we are spending trillions of dollars on a war in the Middle East while the atrocities continue on the continent of Africa.

I watched Mia Farrow on Larry King last night, speak of her impending hunger strike to draw attention to the devastation that continues to be ignored by the powers that be in the Western World.

What the hell are we doing friends, that human beings are left to die as we turn a blind eye and continue the status quo?

I need to get on the ball. Do you?

I am overwhelmed at the sight of these pictures and must fight the urge to turn away-wishing I didn't know that such suffering is happening on our watch. Back in the eighties, when musician Bob Geldof brought the plight of the starving in Ethiopia to pop culture, my friend Karen and I fasted for 24 hours- we were fourteen and it seemed like a good thing to do, joining Hollywood in a one-day hunger strike. We survived, of course, then there was LiveAid and all of its splendor.... we didn't hear much about Africa after that...at least I didn't. Twenty some years later and I'm troubled by my own inaction and am reminded of this great poem by Pastor Martin Niemoller:



How do I make a difference today and tomorrow?

Each of my children is a unique individual though people say you can spot a "Sombar" from a mile a way. As any parent does, I love each of them with the same fervor yet differently. Lily, Liam, Benjamin, and Seth are amazing in how they come to life with their own set of gifts. I sometimes feel inadequately prepared to do my job of raising them. Tom and I are constantly reviewing our progress, with a stern eye to smoothing out the rough spots. But it is never perfect, as none of us are.

My neighbor, Hailey, and I, had a very thought provoking conversation about our boys yesterday morning. She shared this movie with me, so I am, in turn, sharing it with you.

Yes, friends, I'm back with yet another post of my graveside adventures. And no shock, it is a story brought to life by my six year-old son, Benjamin.

After that peaceful walk I took at 8:30 this morning, described in full in my previous post, I arrived home to find Ben waiting at the door for "his turn" to walk with me. Thinking perhaps that he was looking to stroll up to the Uptown Coffee shop, I agreed, though my feet were sore and blistered from the preceding five miles. Alas, no, Benjamin fully intended to greet the dead himself, so I walked alongside of him, then trailed behind him, the mile to the entrance. At first he insisted we get a move-on up the "biggest hill" as he calls it, but then he became sidetracked by the mysterious building on the right ("mommy- is this a hotel?" "uh,no, Benjamin, it is something called a mausoleum where they put bodies in the walls instead of in the ground outside.") So for the next twenty minutes, I traipsed through the narrow hallways as my son began a math excursion of sorts, figuring out who of the dead inscribed on the walls, had died first, and how many years later did the man on the other wall die and who died in between them. I could easily have been a little troubled by this exploration, but how can you argue with the ever-intrigued mind of such an amazing little boy. And I felt happy that I'd allowed myself, along with him, to be in that place. Parenting Benjamin is a moment-by-moment commitment, and, frankly, I welcomed the intensity with which he was greeting this experience, because he held himself with such dignity- not a trace of his usual overly-boisterous personality. I am learning to treasure such time with him, even as I pore through books on how to survive his explosiveness and sometimes unwelcome spirited behavior.

So I ended up making two treks through the graves today, the second time around with a more expedited pace (Ben insisted we jog). We did eventually make it to that coffee shop and he ordered his favorite orange soda and I took some deep breaths and consumed enough water to satisfy a dromedary in the desert.

I proceeded back and forth down the main drag of my town several more times today- all with Benjamin in tow. And tonight, after splurging on ice cream for he and his baby brother, we played a rousing game of wiffle ball in the front yard with our friends and I smiled at having had such a crazy, wonderful day.

I've been absent from the blogosphere for a while and I know that this has caused some of you, kind readers, a bit of angst, wondering about my state of being, whether or not my own fragility had finally gotten the best of me. We've traveled some, but mostly done alot of communing within the nucleus of us- forgoing our usual desperate measures of attempting to gain control over the chaos in our house, and, instead, frolicking about, sometimes in our p.j.'s, watching movies, reading, dining outdoors (thank God for spring) and exploring our hearts' desires.

I've been facing the realities of my time last year, in turmoil, Monday marking the one-year anniversary of my hospital admission. I find myself with a greater need for solitude these days, time for reflection and gratitude.

I expect to be back in the writing mood momentarily. For now I must go play with my eight year-old.

I discovered this song a couple of years ago on Jen Beaver's Blog and I feel it in my bones whenever I hear it. This is my Easter- my Jesus.

Which Jesus do you follow?
Which Jesus do you serve?
If Ephesians says to imitate Christ
Then why do you look so much like the world?

Cause my Jesus bled and died
He spent His time with thieves and liars
He loved the poor and accosted the arrogant
So which one do you want to be?

Blessed are the poor in spirit
Or do we pray to be blessed with the wealth of this land
Blessed are they that hunger and thirst for righteousness
Or do we ache for another taste of this world of shifting sand

Cause my Jesus bled and died for my sins
He spent His time with thieves and sluts and liars
He loved the poor and accosted the rich
So which one do you want to be?

Who is this that you follow
This picture of the American dream
If Jesus was here would you walk right by on the other side or fall down and worship at His holy feet

Pretty blue eyes and curly brown hair and a clear complexion
Is how you see Him as He dies for Your sins
But the Word says He was battered and scarred
Or did you miss that part
Sometimes I doubt we'd recognize Him

Cause my Jesus bled and died
He spent His time with thieves and the least of these
He loved the poor and accosted the comfortable
So which one do you want to be?

Cause my Jesus would never be accepted in my church
The blood and dirt on His feet would stain the carpet
But He reaches for the hurting and despised the proud
I think He'd prefer Beale St. to the stained glass crowd
And I know that He can hear me if I cry out loud

I want to be like my Jesus!
I want to be like my Jesus!

Not a posterchild for American prosperity, but like my Jesus
You see I'm tired of living for success and popularity
I want to be like my Jesus but I'm not sure what that means to be like You Jesus
Cause You said to live like You, love like You but then You died for me
Can I be like You Jesus?
I want to be like my Jesus

Words and Music by Todd Agnew

The second graders in our school district are going to the symphony this morning, so we parents were instructed to "dress" them appropriately. Easier said than done, people. Just weeks ago, I stripped the boys' closets of all button-down shirts, and made a nice big donation to Goodwill, since they refuse to wear anything that would resemble fine haberdashery. So, on Wednesday I ran out to find him a dress shirt and tie and I've heard nothing but moaning and complaining ever since. "MOMMY-I AM NOT WEARING A TIE!!!!!" ("yes you are, Liam, because Daddy would have to wear a tie if he ever went to the symphony.."). So at 8:00 this morning there was nothing but gnashing of teeth as Liam stowed himself behind closed doors, refusing to come out, attempting to "do" his own hair with my mousse. He finally emerged, looking handsome as ever (except for his shirt, which he absolutely refused to tuck-in. I picked my battles). I took his picture- I just couldn't resist- but he was bitter. His father got him to school on time, donning tie and matted down hair, and a growl. If this is the hardest thing that he ever has to do, he's one lucky boy. He just doesn't know that...yet.

All four kids slept in our bedroom last night, beginning with Lily and Liam on the sleeper sofa next to our bed. I've been sensing their loneliness, since we gave each of our children their own room after the new year (displacing us to the family room). Lily, Liam, and Benjamin were all co-sleepers as babies, Ben still coming in half-way through each night these days. Sethy does as well, though I chose to have him sleep in a crib early-on due to my own need for space.

Many people would frown on this style of parenting but, for me, I'm just trying to enjoy my children's need for night-time parenting, while it lasts. In a year or two, Lily will probably be spending a lot more time segregating herself from the rest of the brood, with normal adolescence bringing less patience for the oddities of family members. The boys will follow suit, shortly thereafter- and Tom and I will wish we could get more moments with them.

So for now, we're taking comfort in these hours that we're all together, hoping to somehow capture time and make it go by and little slower....or at least enjoy it a bit more than we might have otherwise.

This morning while I was getting dressed, Benjamin, my six year-old, was entertaining Seth, my 21 month-old. As I threw on a running suit, I overheard Ben quizzing Seth on various animal sounds ("what does the lion say?", "what does the doggy say?" "what does the elephant say?" and so on...). Seth was doing well until Ben sped up a bit and was questioning him so fast that his words were barely audible. I suggested that maybe he slow down and give his baby brother a chance, to which Ben proclaimed "MOM- THIS IS THE SPEED ROUND!" Good grief.