Of Being Thankful

As previously mentioned, I'm memorizing my way through Colossians 3, and it has been a life-changer. I'm suddenly recalling the many, many, many (did I say many?) lessons I've heard through my life about the importance of hiding God's Word in my heart. And I definitely agreed with them. But then, isn't there a verse about walking away from what we hear and forgetting to actually put those lessons to action? (Answer: Yes, there is; it's in James 1, in case you weren't sure.) 

31 years into this journey and I'm finally realizing that maybe some of those older, wiser voices in my life actually knew what they were talking about.

So, yes, Colossians 3:1-14 led me to the point of putting away earthly things and putting on a compassionate heart, bound in love, which pulls it all together in perfect harmony. And then, yesterday, I moved on to the next verse on the schedule to commit to memory. And it just keeps getting better (as God's Word is known to do).

"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful." (v. 15, ESV).

Peace.

Even more so than embracing this all-encompassing love that transforms a heart bent toward anger to a heart designed for kindness, humility, and patience, this next step up the chain - the one to rule them all - peace. It brings an even deeper sigh of sweet relief from this storm that has been raging inside for longer than I care to admit.

Because who can be patient? Who can be meek? Humble, kind and compassionate? From a heart filled with turmoil? How can I bring calm to my life and that of my children, putting to rest this wrathful, earthly self, without peace reigning over all my actions.

When peace is in control, the quiet voice of love can be heard. And all the rest is a natural overflow of a heart ruled by the peace that comes only from Christ.

Thank you, Jesus.

And then, what brings a pure smile to my face. After moving past peace, and breathing that sigh of sweet relief, three simple words. "And be thankful." That's it. Almost as if it's just an afterthought. We are to dress ourselves with compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness and patience, wrapping it all in love, ruled over by peace. And, oh yeah, just be grateful.

As I nod on over to Ann Voskamp, yet another voice of wisdom whose truth is finally ringing in my heart even more deeply than ever before, I recognize that maybe it's this counting of One Thousand Gifts that turns our eyes, our hearts, from the one thousand papercuts, so that we dwell on what our hearts were meant to see in this painful world. Because even more than the tiny things that cut us shallow are the gifts given to love us deep.

And be thankful.

This is where are hearts were meant to rest. In a peace that makes us recognize all around us, even in the maddening storm, is sheer gift.

This gift of being alive and being loved and being chosen. As His holy and beloved. 

And what lost trinket or crying child or squabbling siblings or clutter-ridden home can ever drown out this Truth. That when all is falling apart, He stands still. And His peace reigns in our hearts.

And we are thankful.

He is not finished with me, yet.

Of Saying Good-Bye

"Guys, come here, I need to talk to you."

Micaiah started inching her way toward me, a sly grin on her face.  She's right, usually when I bring her and her brothers close to talk to them I'm telling them about something exciting that's going to happen - we're leaving that afternoon to go to Nenaw & Papaw's, we're going to pick up the toys so we can paint, we're going to the store (it doesn't take much, when you're four or less, to garner excitement).  It broke my heart knowing how out of place her current grin of anticipation was.

"Annie won't be coming home."

It was the sad news I had hoped not to have to share when we found the lump in our cat's abdomen on Sunday.  I had hoped making them say good-bye to her yesterday, while she moaned in her cage just before being shuttled off to the vet, was just a silly precautionary measure - more like a, "Have fun at the doctor; we'll see you soon!" kind of good-bye.

But it wasn't so.

At first the pronouncement that Annie wouldn't be returning from the doctor was a little bit of a shock to the two older ones and I debated whether to leave it at just that.  These are the tough calls a Mommy has to make when Daddy is at work and real life is unfolding before us.  So I decided to push through and be honest (well, as honest as a four-year-old and a two-year-old need).

"She's very sick and she's going to die."

At this my tears broke forth, indicating to Micaiah this was the proper response.  Thus, imitating me, she, too, wept for Annie.

For about ten full seconds.

And then, through the sobs, "Mommy, maybe we can do an activity."

"What kind of activity, Baby?" Was her soul more sensitive than I had anticipated? Was she already planning some sort of memorial?  Or was it simply-

"You know, an activity from The Box?"  Yep, just as I suspected. "The Box" being a cardboard box in which I keep craft kits for she and her brother to do on occasion.  Nothing cat or funeral-related there.  Just a fun thing to do now that we're done crying.

"Okay, Baby, sure."

Apparently these kinds of things are just easier on the young.

To be fair, they did ask a few more questions intermittently as the morning progressed and I did overhear this sweet conversation:

Emmett: "Why is Annie going to die, Sissy?"
Micaiah [in her most sweet, heartfelt voice]: "Because she's sick. Sometimes people, and animals, get sick."
Emmett: "But they don't die."
Micaiah: "Sometimes they do."

I know we'll still be answering questions in the most unexpected moments, as kids are known to have, but for now I'm glad this early brush with death was slightly less traumatic than we'd feared.  If only I could promise them this would be the last time we'd ever have this conversation.

Sometimes life gets hard.  And sometimes it's even harder than that.

Here's to the girl who wore her heart on her fur.

1,000 Gifts:
1110. A chance to say good-bye
1111. Simple understandings of not-so-simple things
1112. Understanding care-takers
1113. The way Joey's head rests in my lap as he sucks his thumb, tired from playing 
1114. Singing lullabies
1115. Learning to play the piano as I teach her
1116. Listening to her read

Of Taking New Steps

On January 15 Joey took his first two steps while he and I played in the living room.  A little more than a month later, we finally pulled out the video camera to capture our new little toddler.  He still has trouble making it more than the distance from one couch to the other on his own two feet, but he sure does love to try.

This act of becoming a walker has truly shown us how independent our little guy is.  While we spent weeks trying to encourage him - standing the little man up and holding out our hands to him - he constantly plopped down on his rear to begin his crawl - every time.  I finally decided he has his whole life to walk, so he might as well take advantage of the hands and knees approach as long as his knees are still padded enough to handle it.  Because goodness knows that goes away all too quickly.

As with all things in life, it was at the moment of our surrender that he finally decided it was his time to shine.  Within days he began to toddle the four steps between Mommy and Daddy (as captured in the below video) all on his own and only days after that he now regularly pushes himself to his own two feet, taking the halting steps in whichever direction he chooses.  True, he still often gets over excited and quickly loses balance, and crawling his still his preferred method of transport, but let it be known our little guy can walk.

Which brings us to my big milestone - our youngest child can walk and I'm NOT currently incubating another.  Such a big step for us all!

(Note: My favorite thing about this video, other than the evidence of his newest ability, is how encouraging his wonderful siblings are. These kids are my greatest gift.)


1,000 Steps:
1101. What once was a curse now is a blessing
1102. A sign I was made for this
1103. First (and second and third) steps
1104. Giving away and still having plenty to give
1105. Quiet times with kids
1106. Her enjoying the music
1107. A little boy offering to help (and doing it well)
1108. Fat flakes in our hair as we get groceries
1109. Grocery shopping with one kid at a time

Of 52 Weeks

52 weeks ago tonight, I was headed to bed, a little sad and a little anxious.

This baby inside me had been due nine days before and, what concerned me most was the idea that the closer I got to Thursday without a baby meant the closer I came to facing an induction - the one thing I had wanted so badly to avoid with this baby.  A Pitocin-free birth in the comfort of my home is what I had looked forward to since before this little being was even formed in my womb.

Going to bed that Saturday night without a baby in my arms meant waking up that Sunday morning to another crowd of friendly, sympathetic faces, with their looks of pity and surprise upon seeing my continually swelling belly.  Another round of, "No, still no baby, yet!" with a false smile to hide the growing frustration.

What I was not expecting was to be sending my two oldest children to church the following morning as I snuggled my fresh-from-the-womb son in those very arms I had so lamented for being empty the night before.

I had not expected the early morning pains, the ones that made my toes curl and my words stop.  The ones that were so sporadically spaced I could not determine if the call to the midwife should be made or if I needed to hold off.  I had not anticipated the hour of longing to push while forcing myself to wait, trusting I could do all things through the strength of my Savior, knowing my panicked, yet re-assuring, husband was not at all ready to welcome a tiny life to this world on his own.

I hadn't even considered I might be pushing this baby into the waiting arms of an assistant I had met only once or twice before, whose baby-delivering skills were the most valuable asset in that room.  Or that the midwife would be walking into a room newly calmed from the preceding chaos and a baby boy only five minutes old.

All before the other children even woke up.

I didn't know I wouldn't be the one dressing them up in their pre-Valentine's best or ushering them out the door.

More than anything else, I had no idea how my heart could swell to love another human being with the same intensity I felt for those other two who had previously passed from my womb.

Oh how pregnant with anticipation and surprise was that one Saturday night.

Fifty-two weeks ago.

1,000 Gifts:
1087. A not-even-one-year-old face smiling, "Cheese!"
1088. Birthday cake
1089. Siblings, bringing gifts to their brother, eager to help
1090. A birthday celebration covered with the love of family
1091. Precious conversations with my little ones.
1092. A precocious exclamation: "I feel like a woman hurting everywhere!" 

Of Her Snow List

One of the beauties of having grandparents who live further north is that our precious daughter has no concept of a Christmas that's not white (and, for that matter, she has very few memories of snow that are not associated with the holiday - which has led her to believe that snow=Christmas).  And in her short years on this earth, she has developed a rather precise list of the activities which must occur whilst enjoying one's white Christmas.

Therefore, when next presented with snow (after getting over the fact that you will not, in fact, be receiving presents because it is not, in fact, Christmas day), you should know, it is absolutely necessary to make snow angels, throw snowballs and build a snowman (and she still believes Easter egg eyes are the norm on this one, because it's all Mom could come up with during the rare Oklahoma blizzard two years ago - when she was TWO - this girl forgets nothing).

A possible addition to the list after her experience this year (though, I recall, it was not her first, so maybe it's not a favorite): sledding.  Then again, she might just pronounce this as an unrealistic expectation for the future, as she knows full-well Aunt Dia broke the pink sled.  And we all know, if you don't have a pink sled, it's just not worth it.

In any matter, after enjoying a few warm days inside while visiting Gram and Grandy this December (and after many, many pleadings, from the moment we crossed the Nebraska border), we all gave in, bundled her and her brothers up (Joseph only just enough for the obligatory "first snow" photos) and tromped out to the growing layers of white crystals.

After being pulled on the sled for a few circles around the yard (due to lack of hills within Gram and Grandy's fence - don't worry, we visited one of those later in the week), she stood up and declared it was time for snowballs.  Thus, she found fistfuls of powder (it had not enough time/moisture to become snowball ready, but this fact is of no importance to a four-year-old) and tossed them at Mom and Dad, giggling like a wild-woman the whole time.

Of course, we fought back - as is absolutely necessary.

When snowballs were concluded (after about two minutes), it was snow angel time. So, she and I laid ourselves in the cold wet, spread our arms and legs and completed the second item on her list (with a few tears on her side, due to the wild nature of her flailing and the ensuing snow shower on her face).

As the snow was shaken off, Micaiah declared, "Now we make a snowman."

Check.

Again, the precipitation was not so conducive to proper packing, so we ended up with more of a mound than a man, but the grapes and carrot from Gram made a suitable face just the same (sadly, no plastic eggs were involved).

We then snapped a few family photos with Frosty.

And with that, she was done.

Ready to go inside and warm up.

Meanwhile, her oldest brother, mittened fingers gripping the handles, would have been content to continue with rides on the bright orange sled (note: the one not broken a couple of days later) well into darkness, though we hardly allowed it considering the rest of us were perfectly fine with completing Micaiah's checklist and retreating into the warmth of the house.

He, apparently, is much more of a free spirit than the rest of us.

1,000 Gifts:
1068. A new year to count new gifts
1069. Snowflakes on the tongue

1070. A carton of ice cream and Netflix on a hormonal afternoon
1071. Saturating my memory with Scripture
1072. A few days to relax in the midst of travels
1073. Tiny locks of fine baby hair falling to the floor, and a mullet gone

Of Christmas Traditions

I am a big fan of traditions.  I like starting them and I like continuing them.  With every passing year, I treasure the repetitious rituals - it's what makes a holiday feel "right" to me.

For Christmas, one of my favored activities growing up (admittedly, I think I was the only child who enjoyed this - or maybe my brother's complete disdain overshadowed my sister's shared joy, I can't be sure), was looking at Christmas lights.  Every year, typically after the Christmas Eve service, my family would load up in the van, head to Sonic for milkshakes (because there's nothing like a cold treat while bundling up from the cold . . . apparently) and cruise the neighborhoods, admiring or critiquing the handiwork of others.

Thus, I have been eager to continue the tradition with our own little ones and have been pushing this for the past week.  And tonight was the night.

I prepped myself for the dreamy image in my head of a blissful family evening to go quickly awry - it always seems to with toddlers.  For our two big kids, who are accustomed to watching a dvd during any trip longer than five minutes, I was particularly concerned.

Apparently, though, Harry Connick, Jr. crooning "Frosty the Snowman" is the exact ingredient required to distract children from the lack of animated characters on the screen before them and entice them to gaze out the windows at the colored, blinking lights.  Either that or the "oohs" and "aahs" were simply sympathy admiration given in an attempt to match their mother's exuberance.  Either way, I'll take it.

The cries of, "Look, it's the Mommy purple reindeer and the Daddy purple riendeer!" and "It's Santa!  He's real and he's looking in our car!" were joy to a Momma's heart (for just one night, I didn't even feel the need to correct him).

And, yes, this evening of family togetherness was brought to you by Sonic, who, as always, provided the snacks.

Coupled with the spontaneous caroling at the dinner table for the past couple of nights (our children are loving "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer") and I would say it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

1,000 Gifts:
1063. Family traditions
1064. Lights on the street reminding us of the Light of the world
1065. "Good-bye, Puppy!  Have a special day!" said Emmett
1066. An evening of frustration ending with everything working as it should
1067. Plans, all asunder, falling back into place

Of Something More

With my husband gone for the evening, I find myself preparing to drown my loneliness in ice cream and chick flicks.  Bringing my new favorite Blue Bell variety in from the deep freeze, I find myself wondering.  Is this it?

Not, "Is this all the ice cream?"  But, "Is this all of life?"

Looking forward to a bowl of sugar and milk and an evening on my couch.  Is this all there is?

It's the same question I asked earlier this evening, as I changed another cloth diaper, putting another insert into the diaper pail, waiting to be washed and re-folded and re-filled and re-dumped into the pail.  Is this endless parade of the same task all there is?

It's the same question I ask myself as I scurry through another December, determined not to be lost in the materialism, determining to let it all go and feeling as though it won't let go of me.  So I find myself, only twelve days left, worried I won't have the packages in the mail on time - the packages I bought long before this ridiculous deadline.  Is this breaking the same resolution year after year all there is?

It's the same question I asked myself a few weeks ago as I realized we're here.  The American dream.  We've achieved it.  If the dream is a warm place to live, food in my belly and a family (pets included), with a little money to spare to satisfy our (smallish) whims - we're here.  But is this really all there is?

And I find myself coming to the same answer: If I'm bored with life I must be doing something wrong.

It's like I have finally achieved all I meant to and now I keep waiting for something to happen and I don't even know what it is.  I feel like Rose of Titanic fame, envisioning my entire life before me, an endless stream of the same.  Glorifying God through it all, yes.  Loving the little moments, the thousands of gifts, yes.  But still feeling, truly knowing, that there is more to this.

And because I still haven't allowed myself to fully seek His path and let go of my own self-imposed to-do list, self-imposed expectations I imagine others have (or maybe don't even imagine, but the importance of their opinion is definitely sheer fantasy) and fully run after what I know He has laid before me, I remain listless unsatisfied, ready to just be home.  Done with here and ready for there.

But I am still here.  I still have a family I love, I still have friends who encourage, I still have the resources I need to do what He has asked - so maybe I should do something about this.

Maybe it's time to do something right.

1,000 Gifts:
1058. A warm December afternoon, shucking the coats and heading outside
1059. Tiny hands grasping orange fur
1060. The baby boy in my lap, giggling and nuzzling, in the warmth of the sun
1061. One bright spot of light on the wall, a ray breaking through the closed blinds
1062. This hope, a knowing, of something more.

Of Becoming a (Little) Man

A sight to see around our house lately is our little two-year-old coming into his own.  Where once he parroted his sister and then began mimicking her words with his own twist, he has now branched out completely.  He has his own thoughts, ideas and desires.  And he is not so bad at expressing them.

The concept of a talks-a-lot big sister not letting her little brother speak for himself?  Not for this guy.  He'll shout to be heard.  Literally.

In addition, this little guy is all boy.  While, yes, he still asks to wear his sissy's headbands or colors with the pink crayon, we also find ourselves saying (much more than we ever have to with our little girl), "No hitting!"  Because hitting, pushing and kicking are just his ways of playing, conveying frustration and being an annoying little brother.

Don't get me wrong, he is also very loving - willing to share his chocolate with me when I ask or putting his arm around his sister at dinner or giving his little brother just-because kisses or snuggling with Daddy during TV time.  He definitely has a sweet streak - it just sometimes gets out-shone by his ornery side.

It's such a pleasure to watch him grow and realize he truly is becoming a little man.  Oh that we would raise him right.

1,000 Gifts:
1052. Duck, Duck, Goose with six adults (four of which are 50 or older), a pre-schooler, a toddler and an infant
1053. Extended weekends
1054. A kitchen built for entertaining
1055. Beautiful Thanksgiving weather
1056. The smell of fall in the air
1057. Family traditions

Thanksgiving Weekend:
Playing outside with Grandpa - Joey's first time in the tree house.  I love how it looks like the brothers are conspiring.

This is how we found them when Mom and I returned from our laidback version of Black Friday shopping.

Bowling for the first time.  They loved pushing the ball down the slide.

They even both beat Daddy the first game (then again, he didn't have the aid of bumpers).

Love tiny bowling shoes.

Tickles from Grandpa.

So proud of him for branching out and trying something new at Pops. The fact that it was mock Russian makes it that much better.

Getting Duck, Duck, Goose instructions.

Love her giggles.

Iconic Pops photos

Loved our family time.

Sights of the Season:
We open one Christmas-related book or movie every day of December leading up to Christmas.  Love seeing these under my tree!

Joey's "First Christmas" ornament - perfect!

Of the Splash Zone

Two boys, sitting in waist-deep water, facing each other in the tub for the first time.

The big one raises his hand, high over his head, and brings it down with sheer force, sending water over the two of them, as well as the Mommy seated on the stool nearby.  Worried about the little one's reaction to sprays of water in his tiny face, I begin to scold the elder, while watching the face of the younger, prepared to console.

I hear a high-pitched squeal and begin my words of encouragement, but before they escape my lips, the squeal is accompanied by a giggle and two little white teeth shining out of a grin.

He loves it!

Tentatively, an itty bitty hand lowers to the surface.  Can he re-create this?

Before he tries, big brother brings down his hand again.  A bigger splash.  A bigger laugh - out of both of them.

The littlest bring his own arm down a little stronger and is rewarded with the smallest of sprays.

And so they go, back and forth.  Splashing.  Giggling.  Filling the floor with water and the air with laughter.

Brothers.

Doing what brothers do.

And a Mommy enjoying every moment from the splash zone.

1,000 Gifts:
1044. Witnessing a little boy's problem-solving skills
1045. Quiet time at the library
1046. A husband who will drive across town to turn the key in the ignition
1047. Leftover queso
1048. The way water splashes, covering a face
1049. A hard-working husband
1050. The adventurous spirit of our youngest
1051. Ice Cream for dinner after the kids go to bed

Of Getting Out the Tree

This evening as we jumped the gun on our Christmas decorating, it seemed as though the amount of involvement by various members of the family has truly grown exponentially.  While last year we had an excited, but still not really understanding, three-year-old and a brand-new toddler who wasn't interested in much more than crawling around the greenery, this year brought an exuberant four-year-old with a plan and a penchant for hanging ornaments (our tree actually lacks the clustered effect one might expect by the decorating abilities of two children under the age of five), and a two-year-old who could not wait for it to be his turn with every new piece of memorabilia adorning the branches.  I mean, he was into this thing - much more so than I believe his sister was even last year.

Of course, there was also the little crawler who was relegated to his spot in the corner, just watching the action, but when he was let loose, he was ecstatic by all the glimmer and flair.  With a ten-month-old opening gifts next month, I think this will be, by far, the most fun first Christmas in our family.

In any event, I'll declare this season gets more fun with every passing year.

1,000 Gifts:
1037. Two kids bent in the dirt
1038. The two of them, working together, to rip open a letter from their cousin
1039. Chicken on the bone
1040. Memories hung on a tree
1041. The little guy, standing in his crib
1042. How excited they get to see their little brother
1043. How thrilled he gets to crawl after them

Of My Future Grandchildren

Scene: I am walking three kids to the car in a fairly deserted and complacent parking lot - but recognizing a teachable moment (as in one that won't get my child run over for making the wrong decision but knowing they need to learn before that happens), I order them to stop running, stay close to me and stay close to the car.  I then kneel down to have a rational conversation with my four-year-old . . .

Me: "I know there are not many cars in this parking lot, but we still need to be very careful because we don't know when a car might come and these cars are a lot bigger than you and could crush you (now realizing I may be getting too graphic for a four-year-old but also not wanting to end with a simple, "and you could get hurt" because paper cuts hurt, cars are a little more serious) and then you could get dead."

Micaiah: (not too fazed) "Yeah, and when I get dead because of the cars, then I will see Jesus."

Me: "Well, yes, and we want to see Jesus, but I don't want you to see Jesus until you're old and wrinkly and have had lots of kids and grandkids."

Micaiah: "And when I am big like you, I will have kids!"

Me: "Yep, and when you're big like Gram, you will have grandkids.  And when you're big like Grandma Veta, you will have GREAT-grandkids and I don't want you to see Jesus before that happens."


This lovely scene led to a great fascination with the idea that someday she will have her own children.  Also, it led to the realization that her children will call her little brother Uncle Emmett - but for lack of anyone else, she will be marrying Joey.  And they will have lots of "different kids".  And they will have a little girl named Kylie, "just like my cousin."

And these are the things we learn through one teachable moment in the parking lot.

1,000 Gifts:
1032. A calm evening out with the family
1033. Gingerbread House ice cream
1034. Thanksgiving preparations
1035. A Christmas suit for my toddler
1036. Rice scattered everywhere - signs of good times for our children

Of Keeping the New

Last week, as I attempted to dress three children for a photo shoot with their aunt that was supposed to take place at 10am, for which I was hoping to arrive by 9:30 so as to allow more actual photo time, I scrambled to find three pairs of socks, pull on three pairs of pants (ok, four if you include mine - and that was important to me), tug on shirts, locate jackets and secure shoes.

Meanwhile, the children had been bathed and were eating breakfast.  And as I scuttle to and fro that middle son of mine has pushed off his shoes, tugged off his socks and run happily to play.

Frustrated, I demanded, "Emmett!  Stop taking off your shoes!"  Because anyone who has ever put tight shoes on a squirrely toddler will tell you, it's not fun and it's not quick.  We were behind and this shoe thing was not helping.

So, we re-locate two socks and two shoes and put them back on.  I scurry to find that third jacket.  I return to find that same boy in socks.  No shoes.  Trying to work himself out of the jacket on his arms.

"Stop taking off what I have put on!"

In this exasperated moment, I had clarity of thought to recognize these very words as ones I could just as easily have heard from God Himself - in fact, I'd dare say it was the Holy Spirit who pointed this out to me, saying, "Are you hearing yourself?  Why, then, do you continually take off what I have put on?"

And I recalled right there in the Scripture where we are commanded "to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness" (Ephesians 4:22-24, ESV).

Too often I am that child, the one God is trying to dress in the new manner, holy and righteous as He, preparing me for the tasks ahead.  And there I am, stubborn and obstinate, ripping off the new (or maybe even doing so more subtly, simply slipping off what still feels a little uncomfortable at times, what hasn't been broken in), in favor of the old, the easy - the harsh words, angry tones, bitter spirit.

And all the while He's there, pleading (in a much more patient manner than I tend to display with my own children), "Daughter, stop taking off what I have put on!"

Since that moment of epiphany as I hurried the kids to the car, I've noticed a change.  As I strive to keep on the new, the old is what suddenly feels out-dated, uncomfortable and stiff.  I find myself, after years of trying it back on to see how it fits, finally ready to throw it out - because goodness knows I don't dare desire to see my children wearing this hideous monstrosity.

I think I just might like to keep this one - this one He has put on.

1,000 Gifts:
1026. Three children in my lap for story-time
1027. Following the Spirit's leading in service
1028. Twister with my littles - this old body ain't what she used to be
1029. A refreshing time with girls
1030. Keeping on the new
1031. A sick Sunday morning which meant lunch snuggled in Mommy and Daddy's bed - for everyone!

Photos from Sunday:
Joey's baby dinosaur face.  Makes me smile every time.

Brother kisses are the best.  Especially when they're unprovoked.

Of Nine Months with Joseph

Our littlest guy celebrated nine months of living yesterday.  He celebrated in typical fashion - by living life as a nine-month-old, which is exciting enough, in itself, when there is still so much world to discover.

At this point one might normally be able to say he has been out of the womb as long as he was in it, but considering our little Joey stayed cozily tucked up inside me for a ten-day extension, we won't be able to say that until Thanksgiving (which is now nine days away, what?!).

Considering all the development which occurred in that first nine months and ten days of existence - proceeding from a tiny fertilized egg into a being with a beating heart, arms, legs, toes, fingers, eyelashes and a soft dusting of hair, 9.5 pounds of squirmy, squishy, sleepy baby - it's hard to imagine any more miracle packed into so short a time.  Yet the nine months following his exit into our world have had their fair share of milestones.

He now has two teeth to boast of and even saw the scissors to his hair for the first time this past week (just for a little over-the-ears trim, nothing major).  On top of using his hands and knees to transport himself wherever he would like to be, his new favorite is pulling up to get a closer look at all that used to be out of reach - like his brother's lollipop or Mommy's laptop.

He loves to giggle, grin, and, recently, wave "bye-bye."  His tongue is his favorite toy, as he sticks it out (and in) in rapid succession, like a giant lizard, flips it over and under and all around works it for all it's worth.  When he's sleepy, lately, he resembles a baby dinosaur, opening his mouth wide, tongue partially out, squawking for all to hear - sometimes a yawn is involved, other times not.  When he's sad or hungry and wants my attention, he cries, "Mmamamamamamamaaaa!"

He is, by far, our most exploratory baby, often getting lost in one room or another before Mommy even realizes he's missing (blame it on being the third child).  He loves finding new things and, of course, trying it all out in his mouth, feeling it out with that favored tongue.

He alternates between being a most amazing sleeper (13 hours or more) most of the time and spurts of waking Mommy at 4:30 in the morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  He is our only so far to not have completely given up that early morning feeding, but I always know when it's growing time.

Considering when we first met face to face he was capable of little more than gazing, sleeping and eating - unable, even, to support his own head - I would say he has accomplished much in his, as yet, short little life.  Looking forward to seeing what else our little Joseph Peter has in store for us.

Just to give a visual to a little of the above:



1,000 Gifts:
1018. Micaiah, picking up her baby brother
1019. Joseph investigating his sister's face while she sits placidly, watching television
1020. Emmett kneeling to kiss his sissy's face, wordlessly and randomly
1021. Watching a favorite show after a long hiatus - still a favorite
1022. Preparing for a new resident
1023. Finding just what we need at just the right time and place
1024. "Look, Mommy! He's standing on his feet!"
1025. Being pronounced "Super Mommy" by my beautiful daughter

Of Following the Rules

I have rules issues.  As in, I seriously need/like rules.

I think I don't - I like to pretend, because I am fiercely independent, that I don't like to be told what to do.

It is a lie.

I need structure.  I need guidelines.  I need painstakingly clear directions.

Lest you think I exaggerate, you need to know I have had no less than three different teachers, in three different states of our nation, in three different stages of my life who have disliked me on varying levels for my need to clarify.  One praised me the day I asked my first "smart question."  One scolded me in front of the entire class, telling me she'd put more restrictions on her open-ended project if I really wanted her to (though it was perfectly clear this would be a punishment).  One e-mailed me the Webster's definition of the project I was to complete, because I clearly didn't understand enough to not ask.

I'm not kidding.

I have a deep fear of doing something wrong, of earning disapproval, so I map out every detail of what's expected (and somehow meet disapproval anyway).

Only today did I realize this is where things work well for me in the kitchen.

After all, what is cooking but following a step-by-step guide for creating something delicious?  My obsessive need to read, re-read and then check again on each individual stage of the baking process lends itself very well to producing the desired result.

I can cook because I can follow directions.  Because I need to follow directions.

And I like to cook because it's the one thing left in my life with clear-cut instructions - and tangible evidence of my ability to follow them.

It's the one thing left, after the meaningless trophies, the cheap certificates, the cap and gown, that rewards me for following the rules and gives opportunities for open praise.  No one sees the clean bathroom, the folded laundry or the sometimes-behaved children and says, "Well done!"  But they bite into a soft chocolate chip cookie and the appreciation is lavished.

Only one more deep insight unlocked for me today into my own psyche.

I think there's something wrong with me.

1,000 Gifts:
1010. The bright orange of freshly pureed pumpkin
1011. Open windows
1012. Rewarding my children
1013. Re-living fond child-hood memories through my little ones.
1014. Preparing for a weekend of catching up
1015. The bright colors of fall leaves
1016. Pinecone turkeys
1017. A sink-full of bubbles and tiny hands to appreciate them

A product of yesterday morning's photo shoot with my lovely sister-in-law - I feel this photo captures the essence of my crazy life.

Of Potatoes

"I haven't blogged in a really long time."

"I was thinking that, but I didn't want to say anything."

"I just don't know what to blog about."

"Potatoes."

"Blog about potatoes?"

"Yeah.  Our kids seem to like them; they made a lot of jokes about them."

[Side note: the kids had been exchanging "jokes" with Daddy for the duration of dinner this evening.]

"Like what?"

"Knock. Knock."

"Who's there?"

"Potato."

"Potato who?"

"Knock. Knock."

[I was now beginning to expect an "Orange you glad I didn't say 'potato'?" ending to this saga of a joke.]

" . . . I'm not doing this. . . . sigh . . . Who's there?"

"Echo potato!"

"Echo potato who?"

"I don't know, that was Emmett's joke."

This is probably a "you had to be there" kind of moment, but the image of my two-year-old spouting out this clever joke he made up amid Daddy's knee-slappers pretty much sent me over the edge of tired hysteria this evening.  Man I love my kids (and their Daddy, too).

1,000 Gifts:
1002. Leaves of varying colors 
1003. Bubbles blown in the sunshine
1004. Tiny hands trying to catch said bubbles
1005. Cries of "Yay!" coming from their room (and for who knows what reason)
1006. Dinner-time comedy
1007. A whole weekend of just me and the kids - and enjoying every minute of it
1008. A Slumber Party 
1009. Bantering with my husband

Of the Costume Conundrum

I kind of maybe really enjoy coming up with fun Halloween costumes.  Not since the days of plastic smocks and cracking masks have I ever longed to simply purchase a costume.  The fun for me is in the creativity.  So, when Micaiah told me what she wanted to be this year, I was kind of excited about the prospect for a family costume.

True, I might have thrown together the details at the last minute, but it's because I knew we had what we needed.  Re-purposing our own clothing to create the perfect ensemble?  Priceless.

Problem?  Apparently no one knew what we were going for.  Do you?

Tromping around our church's Fall Festival on Sunday evening, beaming with pride at my old swimsuit made new as Mama Bear's dress, my spirits fell when we began hearing guesses.  Dogs?  Mice?  Farm animals?

Clearly my creative spin was not quite as clever as I had envisioned - even the well-read among us missed the Bear Family references*.

Micaiah, of course, was all too happy to remind them, "I'm a Berenstain-Berenstain Bear!" (she always says it twice and it always sounds a little more like "Bouncy, bouncy bears"), but I was taken back to my high school days (my theory was we're never too old for free candy - apparently others don't feel the same way), my face painted entirely in blue, with blue turtleneck, white skirt and white gloves and only the one inebriated door-opener who called me for what I was, "Hey, look!  A smurf!"

Really?  Am I so bad at costuming that one has to be under the influence to recognize my work?

Apparently so.

Oh well.

At the very least, Micaiah was thrilled to wander around, collecting her sugar, declaring to the world that she was Sister Bear and her parents were Mama and Papa Bear.  And that's all that really matters.

Joey, by the way, was the male version of the littlest Berenstain Bear: Honey.

*To be fair, nearly everyone who was told immediately recognized us and announced, "Of course - now it makes sense!"  I was more sad that it wasn't more obvious without a caption.

1,000 Gifts:
994. A pocket of electricity for loved ones
995. Warm days and cool nights - fall is here
996. The full moon behind hazy clouds
997. The light of the moon, orangey as it rises
998. Our children, discovering for the first time the changing colors of the "waterfall" - the wonder of the Fountain for a new generation
999. Paper airplanes - the simple joy of every day
1000. "God, I love you. . . I just told him." - Micaiah's response to being told we obey to show Him we love Him - evidence of a child-like faith
1001. Emmett's constant declaration: "A spaceman's got to do what a spaceman's got to do!" - such assertiveness from our shy one

Of Memories

I sat yesterday morning, in the coolness of the dawn, with the warmth of a fevered baby's head resting on my chest.

We sat, the two of us, in a chair settled on uneven ground in the small piece of land we call our own, the one protruding ever so slightly from behind our home.

The two of us, snuggled together, facing east as the first brilliant strokes of color emanated from the skyline just over the fence, behind a tree, still black against the dawning rays.

Slowly and ever so brilliantly our two pairs of eyes watched the colors of the morning emerge.

I thought of my camera.

Should I grab it?  Shouldn't I capture this beauty in its lens?  Because who can allow such exquisite handiwork to go to waste?

But then, is it really wasted on our two pairs of eyes?

Is not appreciating it, this one moment in time, enough?

Will God not be so good as to produce another sunrise tomorrow?  And the next day?

Are His mercies not new every morning?

And yet I strive, ever backwards, like cupped hands trying to stop the water flowing, trying to hold on to just a little, as if this will be the last sweet sip ever offered before the stream is cut off forever.

I try to capture it all, remember it all, hold on to it all.

Because each moment is precious.

But, then, if this moment is so precious, can I not trust the next to be just as precious?

Can I not trust that the moving forward will bring new beauty, new moments, new mercies?

I can get stuck in hoarding the memories rather than living the moments.

Will God not be so good as to bring another blessing tomorrow?  And if tomorrow never comes - was today wasted?

Certainly not.  Let not any day enjoyed, lived, and shared, be considered a waste - no matter the work left undone, the tasks neglected or the minutes missed.

Every day is grace.  Don't miss it.


1,000 Gifts:

989. The first blushes of pink on the morning clouds
990. The way clouds float in layers - one speeding along, the other standing still
991. A sickie baby snuggled in my arms as we watch the sunrise together
992. Children chasing after one another in joy
993. My kids, all three, giggling together

Of Saying No

I'll be honest, we are not a baby-signing family.  I kind of wish we were.  I have a book of signs for babies.  We've watched Signing Time quite a bit.  But I lack the consistency.  As in, I usually forget to accompany my words with a physical motion of any sort.

Our older two both eventually learned "More," "Food," and "Please" so we could survive feeding time.  Anyone knowing our kids wouldn't be surprised by that combination of words. (Don't worry, we did teach them "All done" too).

Otherwise, nothing.

Joseph, however, seems to have figured something out.  Even if it's not technically correct.

When he reached the age of six months, we considered this to be the appropriate age for his first swats - nothing serious, just a small slap to the back of the hand when he touches something we prefer he wouldn't or to the leg when he's heading into a room where he doesn't need to be.  A firm "No" accompanied by a little swat (not even enough to draw a whimper) are typically all it takes for him to switch directions.

Eventually, though, much as I remember his older sister doing, upon hearing the word "No" as he crawled away, he began to stop, sit up, look at me, and slap his lap.  He knew what I was saying.  And he wanted me to know it (also that he could handle the discipline himself, thankyouverymuch).

Today, though, was the first time I had noticed a similar reaction when caught touching what shouldn't be touched by baby fingers.

"Joseph, no." I stated.

He looked at me, clapped and smiled, so proud of himself.  He was slapping his own hand, his own way.  And it was darn cute.  Philip agreed when he saw the same thing later that evening.

Now, he won't clap just to clap.  Only when we say "No".  As if it's a Sign.  Clearly that's what that little two-letter word means - "Let's Clap!"

What was really great, though, was later in the evening when Philip was antagonizing his littlest son (frustrating the children seems to be one of his favorite past-times) by putting his daddy hands all in Joseph's face.  And then Joseph clapped.

"I think he's telling me no!"

I think so, my dear.  I think so.

1,000 Gifts:
975. What once was lost, now is found (My camera is back!)
976. Melting crayons into something new
977. Creating a care package - mailing love
978. Her licking a stamp - apparently the old is not lost.

After a hard-core effort this evening, my camera was finally found, after I remembered we took photos at an air show two weeks ago and I hadn't seen those pictures - erego, it was misplaced at the same time.  Sure enough, it was found in Philip's coat pocket.  That's what happens when the temperatures drop suddenly and then pick back up, leaving the coats in the closets for weeks.

At the air show, me and my boys.

Love this face.

Standing on his own for the first time!

He loves his brother.

One of the few moments they were paying attention to what was happening in the air.

Joey and I were interested, at least.