Lambchops

      “This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on, my friend.Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was.And they'll continue singing it forever, just becauseThis is the song that never ends…!”

     The song that never ends will live on in your mind till eternity and beyond. Once hearing it, say hundreds or maybe only a few times, it will never leave you. Your last day in the dementia ward, before crossing into the next world, the words will still be swirling through your conscious and unconscious mind: waiting for someone to sing along.

     Raising children has been like that for me. Yes, it's the job, I mean Joy, that never ends. It just goes on and on and on and on. Period. No one really sings along. I mean I wish they would. With a little help we could turn it into a whole musical production. Different parts. Different sets. A stage manager. “Can’t you just see it?”What a production it could be!Unfortunately, the production could not raise enough funding, so today it's just me and my brood. Without getting too up close and personal,

     “Come and listen to a story about…”  Yea that is the Beverly Hillbillies theme song. Lately these ditties keep running through me somewhat depleted gray matter.

      If we count the two grandsons currently residing in my home, and well we kinda must. They live here. I am responsible for their bathing and toothbrushing. Often that is the least of my worries.

     “‘Are you dead?”

“What on earth did he do to you that you thought the baseball bat was a good idea?”

“I know you didn't actually hit him with it. But, swinging in it in his general direction had us both concerned.”  The somewhat loud discussion continues. “And you were screaming, ‘I'm going to kill you’. That threw me off a bit.” I mumbled barely audible. No, not really, more like at a death scream.

     “Well yes, I agree, afterwards, he did throw a few well-placed jabs. Honestly, you kinda deserved it.” I sigh dejectedly.

      Both offended parties retreat to neutral ground. Me, I pour myself a healthy glass of dark red.

     So, I guess the above would be a chapter in the last section of the narrative.

     Yet, it is the one I am living now, so the easiest for me to recall and retell.

     Not all the stories are quite so violent. We do have laughter and good food. We eat out a lot.

Perhaps being involved in a group of young writers will push me to dig deeper into adventures of the past, wherein lie exciting tales to tell.

     Truly there are many joys in parenting. The terrain is rocky, and the paths are steep. God alone gives grace, so that we all may survive. Would I trade my current adventure for another? Please do not ask me twice. Regardless, this is my journey to travel. By Grace alone, we will all flourish and give Glory to the God who kept us all alive.

 Side note: I joined a writing group that meets once a month. They are the young writers. I’m the old lady in the group. Taught several in homeschooling 20 years ago.