Know what?

My oldest boy is six and a half.  Which makes me lame and three quarters.  

Mothering boys does not come naturally to me.  I grew up with sisters.  Boys were always a great mystery.  All that energy.  Natural boy energy seemed like naughtiness before I had boys of my own.  Now I know better.  A boy without energy enough to climb the walls, tear them down and then build them back up should have his thyroid levels checked. 

Many times a day I am reminding my boys to talk in a quieter voice, simmer down, walk nicely, slow down, talk politely etc.  And many times a day I am reminding myself that I am raising boys.  Boys need to talk in a loud voice, simmer up, walk crazy, kick into high gear and talk about bodily functions.  They must do all of these things or they will explode.  We do a daily dance of reigning in and channeling energy.  Finding appropriate outlets for natural tendencies.

Yesterday was a day full of correction and redirection.  It started to show on my boy's face.  The 'I can't do anything fun' look.  So I skunked him in a game of marbles.  Then he beat me twice...and practiced some smack talk.  So I body slammed him.  Then I beat him in a foot race.  He smiled at me like I wasn't quite as lame as he thought.  Then to seal the deal I asked him, "Know what?"

"What?"

"Chicken butt."  I said.  And his eyes got wide.

"Know why?" I asked.

"Why?"  he grinned.

"Cow pie." I said. His eyes got wider.

"Know where?"

"Where?" he asked on pins and needles.

"In  your underwear."  I whispered.  And his eyes fell onto the floor.

And I am now the coolest person he knows.  For now. 

7.12.11

"Do you mind if I take a quick nap?"  I asked my husband, home from a morning of summer school, after lunch. 

"Not at all."

I snuck away to our bedroom and closed the door.  One minute later, the door opened.

"I can snuggle you, mom?" 

"Of course you can snuggle me.  I love to snuggle." 

Then a thought...soon it is this little one's naptime.  "Do you want to take a nap on Mommy's bed?"

He did.

So I quickly grabbed his blankie and snuggled him in next to me.  We closed our eyes.  He started to snicker.  I thought to myself.  If I'm going to get him to sleep, I'm going to need to keep my composure.  I peeked one eye open and reminded him to close his.  After a very short moment of silence, a car drove across my face and parked on my forehead.  More snickering from him. Nothing from me.  The car disappeared.  And then returned.  And then disappeared.  Then two legs flew up into the air and plopped back down.  The bed wiggled.  He giggled.  I kept as still as a statue. 

Two fingers walked up my arm and poked me in the nostril.  He could barely contain his laughter.  I opened my eyes and looked directly into his.  He's waiting for my response.  And in that moment I thought I can do one of two things:  I can dial up my tone and tell him firmly that it is time to sleep - and this day will be like any other OR  I can enter in to this silliness and make today a day to remember.

I raised my hand all the way above him, still locked in his gaze.  The corner of my mouth started a smile that gave my intentions away.  He tried in vain to escape the tickle monster.  For fifteen minutes we giggled together.  It was the most fun we've had  in awhile - and it almost didn't happen.

I'm glad it did.

Grandma Bernice

When I married my husband I inherited his Grandma Bernice.  She is one of my most favorite people in the whole world. 

She gave me this mug for my birthday, and I drink my morning coffee from it everyday.  It makes me so glad.  Who doesn't love Holly Hobbie?!  It says, "Start each day in a happy way."  So I do.

Yesterday was a VERY special day. 

Our mail lady delivered our mail to us seven hours early because she had a package for us that was marked "perishable" and it was a million degrees outside.  The package was from Grandma Bernice.  It contained donuts.  Donuts!!!  Old fashioned cake donuts. 

I don't have a picture to show of them, because we ate them all. 

And now, a little story about Grandma Bernice's donuts:

Yesterday, my two and a half year old brought me the donut he had taken several bites out of and said, "here, mom." 

I took it, thinking "Hmm.  Maybe he doesn't like donuts?  More for me!" then asked him, "Is this for me? Are you done?  Can mommy finish this donut?"  (Because it would be a shame to waste any!)

He said, "Sure, mom."

So I ate it.

And then he said, "Can I have a fresh donut, mom?"

He had dropped the one I ate on the ground. 

Classy.

Jude 2

Mercy :: Peace :: & Love

for Poppa and Nonna

recently, for a fundraiser

oh the humanity!

My son had a dentist appointment on Monday.  A funny thing happened.  And by funny, I mean crappy. 

A friend watched my other kids for me, so it was just me and my boy.  He isn't ready to "go back" alone to the chair, so I assumed my position in the corner of the exam room.  I love this dental office.  The hygienists are all wonderful, as are the assistants...and I normally really like our dentist.  HOWEVER!  Monday, when the dentist came in to drill out my boy's cavities, after greeting him he asked how I was feeling. 

I told him I was feeling just fine.  And thought, hmmm?  That's a goofy question to ask.  Usually people ask, "How are you?" but not, "How are you feeling?" right?  Not that it's a big deal to ask how someone is feeling...it just seemed out of  context.  But whatever.  I was feeling fine, and it was kind of him to ask. 

Then he asked if I wanted a chair.  Another kind inquiry.  I was totally fine to be standing.  Another chair sort of hogs up a lot of room in that little space, and I really didn't mind, so I said I would be just fine standing. 

"We like to take care of mamas," he explained.
And his assistant died a little death in her chair.  She was reading his mind. 

When everything was finished and the dentist prepared to take his leave he looked at me and said, "Enjoy the second half of baby!"  Which was when his assistant presented my son with the prize box with way too much enthusiasm and grandeur in a pay-no-attention-to-the-man-behind-the-curtain sort of way.

The next day I got an email survey from the dental office and was tempted to write "don't assume anyone wearing a tunic and not sucking in their stomach is pregnant" as a suggestion on how they could serve me better.

Then I ate a piece of cake.

slow down you move too fast

Hello.

It's been a little while.

I had a bit of a computer virus last week. The week before? I don't remember. I was forced to go a lot of days without this connection to the outside world. It was a lonely time, friends. A lonely time. My husband has been busy with school and baseball. And writing papers. So it's been me and the kids and the kids and me many a night in May. Good times.

Since then, my girl....my eeny tiny baby girl, turned nine.

Nine.

That is half way to eighteen.

Fifteen minutes ago she looked like this:

Look at those eyes. My goodness. I didn't know my capacity to love until I had her. And once she was born and looked at me with those eyes, my insides turned all squishy and I began to say things like, "honeysugarpumpkinbutternoodleumpkins." Love trumps grammar and proper words.

I became so very aware of time. And how quickly it passes. Do you know how many times I've written about that? I don't either. But it's a lot of times. Because it's all I think about.

I've had three more babies since she was born. Three boys. They're wonderful. You just have no idea. These boys and this girl. My heart is so full.

one moment in time

Imagine if you will:

The sound of a lone bagpipe.

Monotonous crescendos and decrescendos.

Add:

Two cymbals crashing together.

Again and again and again.

Along with:

The loud angry whistle of a {derailed} freight train.

As well as:

The horrible mews of a single cat being pulled in two opposite directions.

Can you hear it?

It is the soundtrack of my life.

After grocery shopping, after school, but before naps.

the chapel

When I was young, there was a tiny little church that we would pass on our way to my Granny's lake cabin. It was a small chapel in the middle of nowhere. Once I asked about it, and someone explained that it was a place where people could go to pray. . I really liked that idea. . I still do. . The idea of a quiet and peaceful place set aside for prayers. It looked welcoming. Something reminded me of that little church today. And I thought about churches. And welcoming. And quiet peaceful places for prayers. . Is your church one of those? . Is mine? . What if I was a road weary traveler? And I came upon a church. Could I enter? During "business hours," sure. Or, maybe. Otherwise the doors are locked. Because someone might try and steal the sound system. Or the computers. Or the money. Or the stuff. Because stuff is really important. We can't have people stealing our stuff. I mean, God's stuff. He needs us to lock up tight so the bad guys don't come and spray paint graffiti on the cross. . We can't have that. . No sir. . No. As long as it's during regular business hours. Without ill intentions. With shoes and a shirt. A modest shirt. And no weird piercings or tattoos. . Um, and if you borrow a book, please fill out the proper form. We're going to need it back...and if you want to use room 430, you'll need to reserve it 2 weeks in advance and make sure you have approval from committee 54C. . . . . But how do I really feel? . . . . My Cute Jesus. . That's how I feel. My Cute Jesus fits in a box that I've labeled "My Dad was loving and my mom stayed home and fed us properly and my husband is good to me and my kids are obedient and my house is clean and I don't say bad words and I try not to gossip and I wear turtleneck sweaters and say please and thank you." So. Naturally. I love Jesus. Because. . Just because. Life has been good to me. And for that I am thankful. But because of that can I empathize? Can I love? Can I reach out and love someone? Someone whose dad wasn't loving? Whose husband is cruel? Who doesn't wear turtleneck sweaters? Who comes to pray past business hours? . Oh Dear God. Crack me wide open.

sisters...sisters...

I know three people that will read that and finish the song in their heads. (Five, counting my mom and dad.)

Sisters.

I have three. (Six - almost - when I include my lovely in-law-ed sisters. Seven counting a beloved Summer Sister, who would also be able to finish that song.)

((Hi Sarah!))

I count myself one lucky duck in the sister department. Growing up in a family with one thousand girls means that if you can't find your own you can always find someone else's:

• clean clothes
• matched socks
• ponytail holder
• mascara
• hair brush
• comb
• shoes
• bobby pins
• swim suit
• (undies)
• barbies

It was always better to ask forgiveness than permission. (Permission was never granted.)

Now that we are grown, I always have someone I can call when I need:

• ideas for dinner
• prayer
• commiseration
• help with parenting
• instructions for dealing with sick kids
• maternity clothes
• baby clothes
• big kid clothes
• my clothes
• purses
• home decor

They all get my inside jokes. We often say the same exact weirdo thing at the same exact weirdo time. Heallow. There are three people on this planet with my same phone voice. Three that can be my exact same happy or sad when I am happy or sad. Three other people that know you are only supposed to give your parents presents that make them cry.

They know that when you are on the phone with them and they say, "Have you talked to J?" They must also say, "She's not pregnant." Unless she is pregnant. (Which she is not. And neither am I --in case you were wondering. Dad.) They let the sister with the news be the one to deliver the news...except for that one time I told H's friend Erin that H was expecting....but she looked the news out of me! And I told her she had to act surprised...which she did...and no one would have known...but I told on myself...and I never will make that mistake again! Because news that isn't mine isn't mine to share. Sisters know this rule.

They know all the rules.

And, they would love to go to the blind school and just see. :)

I love my sisters.

donuts

Last night when my husband fell asleep on the couch, I covered him with a blanket. I took our tiniest tiny baby to bed with me, and anticipated the morning. Our Big Tiny Baby now has a big boy bed. Which means, when he wakes up at 5:30 he can get himself out of his room and well on his way to start his day. Namely, scooting himself downstairs and demanding milk.

Last night, I imagined him at the top of the stairs at 5:30 seeing his daddy down on the couch, and going straight to him for the milk. I imagined me sleeping until 10 with my tiniest tiny baby. I imagined a world with calorie free boneless chicken wings from Applebee's and peace and brotherly love.

::::

5:30 am --A sound! It is Big Tiny Baby. He is awake. He is at the top of the stairs. He is scootching down the steps. He sees his daddy. He goes to his daddy. He tells his daddy "Hi, Daddy." Daddy does not wake up. Big Tiny Baby comes back up the steps. In a few seconds I hear, "Hi Mom."

"Good morning, Buddy," I say.

And then, I become a genius, "Do you want a donut? Go and ask Daddy for a donut. He will bring you for a drive to get a donut." (Three of his most favorite things: Daddy, Donuts, Drives)

But then! My genius plan backfires....Big Tiny Baby(2.5) is excited by this. And wakes up the entire house (with the exception of Daddy on the couch--naturally) with loud talks of drives and donuts .

However! My boy (6) is reminded upon awakening that he and Daddy had planned a morning drive. In 3 seconds he is dressed for the day with all the gear he needs for the aforementioned drive. My girl, not to be left behind--and now hungry for donuts-- is ALSO dressed and ready for the drive AND she's made her bed.

I summon my energy reserves and slither out of bed. I make the other beds. I change two diapers. I start the coffee. I wave as four of my most favorites drive off into the sunrise towards donuts.

I can hardly stand it

There are no words...this daughter of mine.


I am saving this...of course.

She's almost nine. And I know that I am teetering REALLY close to the edge of a tweenage cliff. One day when I'm a big loser, and I don't know anything, and certainly don't understand, I'm going to take this out and reread it. (Or I'll just recite it from memory.) And know that she's still in there somewhere.

I'm so lucky she's mine.

fin wail

I baked banana bread yesterday.

When it was time to add the eggs, I realized I didn't have any. It was too late to turn back. Babies were sleeping so we couldn't make a quick run, and I didn't feel like bothering any neighbors.

What to do...what to do?

I love a good quandary. Especially a cooking quandary. The challenge small. The stakes low.

Sometimes I win. Sometimes I fail. This time, it wasn't quite a win, but it wasn't a fail, either.

The banana bread came out moist and cakey.

With a slight tang.

From the mayonnaise.

her big brown eyes

I went to a concert with my mom and my girl the other night. At one point, my girl looked at me. And her eyes....big and brown and round. She was at once both the 8 1/2 year old she is right now, and the baby that she will always be in my heart. Those eyes.

I remembered the night before her first birthday. One whole year had come and gone. She would never be my tiny girl again. I cried. Hard. I woke up my sleeping husband. "She's going to be one." He didn't feel it like I did.

I was two years into a four year interior design program when she was born. Before I met her, I was sure I could keep pushing towards the career of my dreams. And then we met. My baby. My girl. My mom watched her for me while I attended classes. It worked. I tucked the pain of leaving her in my back pocket and finished another year.

The summer between years 3 and 4 of the program -that I worked so hard to get into- required an internship. I applied to a few places and was so excited to be hired to one that paid money.

That night before her birthday, I felt the sting of all that would be required from me that summer. All the time away. From the child that was no longer a baby. My girl. Growing so fast I could almost see it happening. I thought about just calling this place to tell them I couldn't do it. Quitting. Before I began.

But I couldn't.

We had sacrificed so much to get to where we were, and this internship would only be for a summer. But that summer turned into more. The 4th year in that program (my 6th college year) was busy with school-work and work-work. And I saw my girl at the end of the day. I put her to bed each night. And dressed her each morning. But the in between wasn't hers and mine. It was hers. And mine. Separately.

Everyday I sat at my desk I thought about how I would rather be sitting with her. I pressed forward, though, with that pain tucked away deep. I could still feel it.

And then, in an unexpected turn of events, we were expecting.

It was then I knew. There was no way....

....no way for us.

No way for me to tuck those feelings away any longer. It was time to tuck "my career" away.

That was almost seven years ago. I can feel that career being tucked away, but it doesn't feel painful....it feels good.

"If I could hear Christ

praying for me in the next room,

I would not fear a million enemies.

Yet distance makes no difference.

He is praying for me."

~Robert M. McCheyne

one time...

• ...I gave a woman the Heimlich maneuver at a Chinese restaurant. It felt like television. Only, no one clapped or cheered afterwards.
• ...when I was about 9 on a school field trip, I bought a Canadian coin from the mint in Winnipeg. Sealed in a plastic case, it had never been touched by human hands. On the bus ride home, I chewed it out of the plastic holder so I could be the first human to touch it.
• ...I drove my parents car around the block a few times. I was eleven. I told them about it. When I was eighteen.
• ...I saw ravens for the first time on a girl scout camp out. They were huge. I thought they were a sign of the rapture. For real. (They weren't a sign of the rapture. They were just regular ravens.)

Happy weekend.

breathing

This site, A Holy Experience, feels like a good deep breath.

Wisdom.

Just....wow.

And the music.

I read, and then just let the amazing music play.

that's my boy

"I could not live without a F18 Hornet and Destroyer."

"Inside the box is a A1 Abram's Tank it has 10 pieces of metal."

1 11 11

I am being reminded that God is God and I am not.

I know. Big news.

He is in control. I am not in control.

When I try to be in control? I lose control.

How many times will I need to be reminded?!