Missing my dogs, rambling about blessings, Passover and the economy

Salvador really, really likes to stack blocks.

He likes to stack them. He likes to knock them down. He likes to chew on them. Blocks, blocks, blocks. Give the boy some blocks and he will entertain himself for twenty blissful minutes of mommy washing dishes or diagramming sentences.

Yes, Salvador loves his blocks. Unless they're Lego-brand blocks. Today the girls switched things up on the poor boy and he was irate. They didn't stack the same way at all. Nor would a tower crash in a satisfactory manner. It's funny watching these little realizations and it's funny realizing that these little quirks are adding up to a big personality.

You might want to prepare yourself for a little (a lot of?) thoroughly biased journalism. And also? A bit of mommy rambling.

What am I saying? This is what you come here for! I read recently that the "blogs about nothing have gone the way of Seinfeld." (I am so glad you are back writing in the blogosphere, Ei!)

As usual I am way behind the trend... I had no idea blogs about everything and nothing were out of vogue. And yet here we are. Me: Missing my dogs, posting the occasional upcycling project, chronicling the wildly exciting homemakery homestead news and boo-hooing about my baby's lightspeed growth not to mention my big girls' relentless march to young adulthood.

Oh! And we mustn't forget the incessant introspection. It's a navel-gazing extravaganza at times here. Don't be afraid to nod in agreement. Or nod off. Whichever.

Salvador also likes to crawl around with blades of the lawn in his four little pearly whites.

(Don't fence him in. My new dog, however, will likely need to be fenced in. I will be getting a new dog at some point. The passing of two beloved puppies in six months is not to deter me. I really, really am not okay without a dog. Go figure.)

Yesterday we observed Passover with some lovely friends. We reflected on thousands of years of sacrifice, on the one divine sacrifice and on the astounding gift of mercy that bring us to the place we are now.

Our friends, in the course of Old Testament readings for the Seder, re-enacted in a lighthearted way the plagues that preceded the Jews being set free from Egypt. The children may or may not have taken these plagues to be as odious as they truly must have been; the frogs and crickets were origami and Grace (my little amphibian lover) frantically gathered them up... the flies were bits of licorice that rained down and were promptly gobbled by our friends' dog... the 'boils' were face paint applied by our 15-year-old friend... the Schleich livestock fell over with "x"-marked eyes... you get the idea.

In the midst of these theatrical teaching methods, I was again struck by how very blessed we are. Our family, our nation, our world at this time in history is blessed. The economy is difficult to be sure. My husband owns an engineering, surveying and planning firm, which has been severely affected by the recession and the crash of the mortgage markets et cetera. My family used to rely on real estate for a significant portion of its financial security. Countless of our friends are in construction and development. These are people we love and the hardships are real. But they are nothing, nothing, compared to the grace and mercy we have been shown.

People around the world are suffering, right now, from the effects of poverty, storms, earthquakes and loss of loved ones. I am warm and safe and surrounded by the people I love and wishing for a new puppy. I am a little ashamed to say this next little bit, because it may seem obvious. (Madeleine L'Engle once said in a writers' conference not to fear to state the obvious. I try to take that advice for my own because I think sometimes we overlook the important while searching for the profound.) So here goes:

I have no right to complain. I am neither stranded in a desert nor bound by slavery. I am not under the law but under grace. I am fed and clothed and able to feed and clothe and shelter my family. I have the luxury of time to pine for a pet, for crying out loud.

I stack up my blocks and I think I know when and how those towers may fall.

But really, things can and do change without notice. I think I should enjoy the play time. I think I should notice the beauty and the blessings and take more than a moment to be grateful for the sacrifices given for me. And for you.

(Oh, and Honey? I want a new dog.)