Tag: #firsttimelolly

Adventures in Babysitting

For those of you who found your way here thanks to my First Time Lolly hashtag on Instagram, welcome. This is the sort of post you were hoping to see since it details my recent adventures in babysitting.

Mostly, it’s just a forum for the proud #firsttimelolly to show off a dozen pictures of the most beautiful little girl in the world. And I’m not just saying that. You’ll see.

My youngest son and his wife made my husband and I LollyPop back in April. Since then, we’ve tried to drive to their home every Sunday for quality time with the little one.

In August, my youngest daughter (wife of my son) began her job with the marching band at the high school in a nearby town.  There’s a two-week band camp in the summer and then marching band practice on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. I was happy to volunteer as “child care” for lovely Shana.

I do adore butterflies

My sister doesn’t have any grandbabies of her own, so she came for a visit during band camp. She loves babies.

So much cuter than Minnie Mouse

We made sure Shana was properly accessorized.

And that those kissable cheeks weren’t going unkissed.

My sister claimed she was giving me a chance to keep working on my writing, but I didn’t get much work accomplished. Because there was so much cuteness to indulge in instead.

Why so serious?

At first, I was updating Instagram regularly with new pictures, but then I had that long-term sub job and fell behind in my writing duties.

So, this post is my online Grandma’s Brag Book (is my grandmother the only person who had a little photo album called this?).

Shana is a happy girl. Most of the time.

Sometimes, I get my husband to get a shot of me with the girl. But I’d rather just have pictures of her adorable-self.

Cutest ladybug ever!

And then I realize I need some pictures of Pop and Shana, too.

Two scoops of cute her shirt says. Oh yeah!

Mostly, I’m horrible about taking pictures, and now she’s getting to the point where she wants to grab my phone whenever she sees it. (The awesome Wonder Woman cover on it could be what motivates THAT reaction.)

She is totally reaching for my phone in this one.

The biggest adventure I’m discovering is that babysitting is SO MUCH FUN when it’s your grand-baby you’re watching.

Which is your favorite photo? I know it’s hard to choose!

Lolly Loves Lolli and Pops

“We’re going to LollyPop’s house.” Those words are the reasoning behind the selection of the grandparent names around here.

Wouldn’t you know it? Now there’s a “sweet shop” called Lolli and Pops.

By sweet shop, I mean a candy story. But doesn’t the OTHER sound SO much fancier.

Kind of like going to LollyPop’s sounds cooler than going to “Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”

Or so I like to tell myself.

On a recent journey into Lolli and Pops sweet shop, I had my photo taken. And I purchased some refillable candy jars.

Because every kid knows you’re sure to get candy and Grandma’s house.

I filled it with dark chocolate covered nuts and cranberries. Since then, the stock was depleted (again, by me), so I refilled it with gummy bears. Those won’t tempt me to increase my middle-aged med-section. Not even a little.

Eventually, I’ll have multiple jars, all of them filled with whatever Shana and her siblings (and maybe cousins) love to eat. I have a few years before they’ll be ready for candy.

And I’ll be a responsible candy-doled-outer. Only given after a meal or right before I send them home with their parents. I mean, that’s just how it works, right?

What would you fill your candy jars with? What was your favorite candy as a kid?

Why I’m Not Finished Writing This Yet

It’s that time of month when I’ve scheduled this blog to be a showcase for what I’m working on. Well, what I SHOULD be working on is NOT what I actually am working on.

And I didn’t hear much about last month’s share…from the same manuscript.

Did anyone even read it? Does anyone see these posts?

Is anyone out there?

Here I am posting a blog and wondering HOW on earth to make Martha’s story stretch for another 10, 000 words. Yep. That’s how much UNDER my goal I am on this one?

How do these things happen?

I get too many irons in the fire.

This is what I’ve been doing since I “started” drafting this book:

  • Overhauled LOVE’S EMERGING FAITH
  • Written a ton of blogs
  • Made too many memes
  • Started making weekly LIVE videos
  • Started a proposal writing workshop
  • Purchased ISBNs
  • Started an audiobook making project
  • Released a book
  • Promoted said book
  • Stalked said book’s sales on an hourly basis
  • Fine! “Said book” is MOMMY’S LITTLE MATCHMAKERS
  • Organized the next book in the REFLECTIONS series
  • Edited LOVE’S EMERGING FAITH
  • Started an IngramSpark account so I can distribute the REFLECTIONS series
  • Tried to upload the first book in the series
  • Requested new covers for series (several times)
  • Given up on formatting interior and begged an author friend to do it
  • Made her change it so many times I feel guilty
  • Wrote a scene or two in A LABORING HAND
  • Submitted LOVE’S EMERGING FAITH
  • Built up three regular clients for my Fiverr business
  • Went on an excellent “Laurel and Hardy’s Next Adventure” (see upcoming blog post)
  • Became a Lolly

YES! I’m a #firsttimelolly.

It IS as exciting as they say. And here’s a snapshot of my beautiful little granddaughter.

More about her and my grandmother name and being a first time lolly in an upcoming blog post. (Like I said, I’ve been writing a TON of these)

But now…another excerpt from the still-to-be-completed first draft.

From chapter 7 or 8. Haven’t completely decided on the layout yet. First draft, remember?

Mary followed me into the tiny space that contained fresh straw and bedding we’d been sleeping on—or tossing and turning on at least—since our brother passed into the next life.

In a hushed voice I told her, “The Master is come and calls for you.”

Another twinge tugged where my heart used to be whole.

Yahweh, forgive the little untruth.

He assured me that there was only truth or lies, no sizable ones of either.

Forgive this lie then. I justified it in my mind with, I’m only trying to help her find peace.

I sensed Yahweh wasn’t impressed with my reasoning.

Mary gasped. “Where?”

“I’ll show you.”

She followed me through the crush of comforters. Their voices rose.

“Where are you going?” Imma’s hand caught my arm but I swept it away and rushed toward the door.

Someone said, “She’s going to the grave to weep.”

Let them think what they would.

I took my sister’s hand and led her toward Yeshua’s circle of followers. As we neared, he broke away as before, and I dropped Mary’s hand.

She crumbled to the ground, and I let her.

Yeshua would pick her up.

Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric and plod of footsteps. Imma had an arm around the shoulders of Avi’s girls and the women who’d been comforting us followed in a clot of black-shrouded humanity.

“Lord,” my sister cried, “if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

My throat ached at the strain of holding in my tears. I said the same words, but the pain that broke my sister’s voice removed all accusation from them. Faith and love met with confusion. Why hadn’t he come when I told him Lazarus was sick?

Yeshua glanced at her and up at me and the crowd of women. Many of them were joined by their husbands now. Our group hadn’t gone through town unseen.

Yeshua bent and touched my sister’s shoulder. Her in-drawn gasp turned into a sob. He guided her to her feet, gently, like a father helping an injured child.

Please let his touch have Heavenly comfort.

By the time she stood, his face was marred by the anguish scarring my heart. His gaze met mine. “Where have you laid him?”

From behind me, one of the men who’d helped us carry Lazarus to his tomb came forward. “Come and see.”

Our procession continued down the dusty road and cut onto a narrower path. It was then, as Mary leaned against my side, sopping the tears from her face with her veil, that I realized Yeshua could have been pointing to the graves during our conversation.

Something buzzed in the abyss where the monster of loss lurked after devouring my heart and half my soul. Something I didn’t recognize because I hadn’t truly allowed myself to feel it since Mother and the others had died.

I stopped several feet from the tomb, a step behind Yeshua. His shoulders shook, and I realized he wept.

I knew he had loved my brother. Some in the crowd muttered that very truth.

Why then hadn’t he come and healed him?

Don’t doubt. Just believe.

Yahweh, help me believe in Your perfect will.

Well, there it is. What it might have been like to be Martha in the moments before everything in her world changed.

What do you think? Do you want to keep reading?

What sort of things do YOU wonder about Martha?