My friend Cara Meredith invites people to write guest posts on her blog, and she always has the best prompts. Last year she had us write about unexpected moments, and I got to tell a bit of my love story. This year the prompt is rituals, and I loved getting to write about one of the sweetest things that has developed in our home: the unexpected ritual of world-conquering. Here’s a snippet (and here’s the whole link..)
It’s 8:11am, and there’s fussing by the front door:
“Where are your shoes?”
“I can’t find my library book.”
“Why didn’t you unpack your lunch bag yesterday?”
“Hurry up! I don’t want to get another tardy note!”
In the flurry, zips are zipped, snacks are packed, and finally, my husband and older kids tumble out the door. I stand with my youngest—both still in our pajamas and slippers—and call out to them: “Bye! Love you! Conquer the world!” My three year old echoes in a voice that echoes down the street: “Conquer! The! World!!!” and his Daddy rolls down the window as he backs out the driveway and shouts back, “bye! Conquer your little world, too!”
Tail lights disappear down the street, and we click the front door closed.
This is how it happens every day.
(Read the rest here)
Photo credit: Flickr Creative Commons/Clotho98
Today I’m over at my friend Cara Meredith’s blog, where she has a wonderful little series called “The Little Things”, telling about how it’s the small details of life that sometimes make such a very big difference (great series, right?) I LOVED getting to write this – it’s the awkward and unlikely story of the little thing that made me realize the guy I thought was Not My Type had perhaps more to him than I had realized. Click on over to Cara’s right away (and look around while you’re there!), or read here for a preview 🙂
Amanpreet Kaur – Couple Holding Hands (Flickr Creative Commons)
He stood at my front door with a sheepish grin and a bomber jacket that really should have stayed in 1987. He was late. He mumbled. He seemed uncomfortable.
However, he was new to town and I was ‘practicing hospitality’, as it were, so I welcomed him in and introduced him to the dozen friends at the table. We made conversation over dinner: he was an engineer, he had traveled, he had quit his job to spend a year at seminary reading. He was introverted, mathematical. He needed a new jacket.
I sized him up: he was the perfect guy.
For somebody else.
Putting on my Emma-matchmaker hat, I made a mental list of quiet, mathematical girls I could introduce him to. This could work out nicely, I thought.
(OK, Go! Go! Go! Over to Cara’s Right Away!)