We ordered Pizza Hut this week, something we do more often than we should but not nearly as often as I’m tempted. Credit where credit’s due, folks.

When the delivery guy arrived, Corin answered the door and promptly started a one-sided conversation about who-knows-what. I came behind with a hungry Lina on my hip, blocking Tennyson from running out the door with well-practiced footwork while signing credit card receipts one-handed over Corin’s head. It must have looked like something, because the friendly delivery guy seemed awestruck. If he only knew the orchestrations required for using a public restroom…

—

I’m spoiled by having Jon work from home. Yes, he works crazy-long hours, and there’s definitely less separation between work and home life. But most Thursdays, I can put Lina down for a nap, drive alone to pick Corin up from Mother’s Day Out, and then the two of us take a pretty relaxed trip to the grocery store. The kid LOVES grocery shopping. He rides in the car cart or pushes his own mini cart when we can find one, and it’s usually a surprisingly smooth experience. The only hiccup this week was the holiday Matchbox cars display right down the aisle from the greeting cards I needed to peruse. ‘Tis the season for the “Christmas is coming” solution for every impending toy tantrum.

We were loading groceries in the parking lot when a woman I recognized approached me and asked for a ride to the Mapco up the road. I realized I had given her that same ride some time ago. She had four heavy bags of groceries, so I helped her put them in the back seat and asked if I could take her all the way home. She mentioned that she’d been waiting on her Food Stamps check, which comes a week later now than it used to, and had been without food for a couple days. She said it would be steak and potatoes that night for dinner.

Corin thought it was all very interesting. He kept commenting on the traffic. “See all those cars backed up? See them? No, mommy, I’m talking to the other girl.” The “other girl” was at least in her late 60s and had what appeared to be an older model hearing aid that whistled and whined in familiar fashion. So then the backseat commentary switched to the subject of hearing aids. “Your hearing aid is squealing at you. Lina has a hearing aid. Her hearing aid squeals sometimes. I don’t have a hearing aid. Mommy doesn’t have a hearing aid. Daddy doesn’t have a hearing aid. Tennyson doesn’t have a hearing aid. Lina has a hearing aid.”

Our passenger mentioned that her mother had passed away a year ago, and I said we had lost my husband’s grandma recently and missed her badly. Again, the backseat commentary: “Mommy, what are you talking about? Oh, Grandma Ginnie? Grandma Ginnie died. I hope we don’t die.” I suddenly felt grateful our passenger’s hearing aid was malfunctioning.

We dropped her off at a pull-in behind a lovely old home she said belonged to her brother. I offered to help her carry the groceries into the trailer she lived in on the property, but I got the impression she didn’t want me to come any farther. I said good-bye and drove home in relative quiet, wondering if there was something more I should have done for someone who was clearly struggling.

—

And to end on a very serious note: I’d like to share a link to the adoption blog of friends who have been on a difficult journey in their quest to adopt from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Please take a moment to read the latest update. It has weighed heavy on me since it was posted. Both the families in this story need your prayers, and I believe this issue needs greater exposure. So many well-intentioned families here in the U.S. feel called to provide for orphans who long for a family, and it breaks my heart that this desire is being used by the lowest of the low to profit by removing children from their own loving homes. Again, please pray for these two families and the precious kids who need to go home to their parents and siblings.