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here’s to you, fancy new year.

11 Jan

Well hello there, 2013. I expected your arrival and yet, here we are, eleven days into the new year and I’m only just now offering a proper greeting. If time’s passing over these past few weeks is any indication, you’ll be over just as quickly as you came. I’m not one for wishing days away though…perhaps we can settle on some sort of agreement–January speeds by, February passes through on its heels, and when March arrives, you slow things down just a bit. Sound ok?

A lot has already filled the contents of this first glimpse at 2013, and I’m just trying to keep up. Travels home to see family, an exciting new writing project, being on call for doula work, Henry’s first swimming lesson, a work trip for JMK, Christmas teardown, and the rearranging of our living room. Add in the daily routine and a very busy and energetic almost-two year old, and things around here are bustling. January always seems like a quiet month to me, but not so thus far. I know I’ll blink and it will be gone. Maybe this is what people have always meant when they advise that time goes faster as we age. I’m 30. Should I understand this concept yet?

At any rate, I’ve been remiss in paying tribute to 2012 in the shuffle–a year with as many ups and downs as I personally feel able to handle. There were high points, certainly, and some of the lowest points to date as well. I almost always feel a little twinkle of sadness as the New Year’s Eve countdown begins, but as we looked toward a fresh start (over games and popcorn and camaraderie with my sister, brother-in-law, and two sleeping(ish) kiddos in Chicago) this year, I wasn’t terribly sad to close the door. We’ve grown, changed, adjusted, loved, ached, taken pause, celebrated, hoped, ached a little more, tried to pick up our boot straps and move along…all in a year’s time. And a new year means even more fresh hope, a resetting of our systems, a new lease on what life might offer our little family. I can certainly toast to that!

So, here’s to you, fancy new year, with all of your bells and whistles (at least, I imagine you must have them. I’m a glass half full kind of girl, you know.) Here’s to turning new pages and finding great new reasons to celebrate. Here’s to anniversaries and memories and birthdays and (hopefully) little getaways that allow us to refresh with one another. And here’s to 2012 and the ways it stretched us and challenged and pushed back and bristled, even in and amongst some of the most beautiful moments we’ve shared as a family (1st birthdays, gatherings to honor Gramma, my niece’s sweet arrival this Summer). Eleven days in, I’m embracing the chance to wipe the slate clean and to move on in great anticipation for what God will do throughout 2013. It is always a marvelous wonder to be along for the ride!

cheers!

mm

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so this is Christmas…

25 Dec

(Disclaimer: I always aim to commemorate every 25th, but in the midst of holiday celebrating and traveling, I didn’t post this to you on time, HD. I love you six days more as a result;)

Henry David,

It’s Christmas Day and you are dressed in little red pajamas with petite Christmas light bulbs scattered all over your pants. Your shirt made you take three steps back in excitement when you opened it up this morning: all red with a bright orange pickup truck toting a gigantic, lit up Christmas tree in the back. You love pickup trucks, and I love you. You can be confident that this is true, because I would never have fathomed buying you pickup truck pajamas for Christmas otherwise. Somehow, you make them darling, as you do with most things.

This time last year, you were a mere eight months old and wearing your first Christmas jammies: red and white velour stripes with a reindeer on the behind. In my heart it was the best Christmas ever–our first Christmas with you, your aunt and uncle visiting, all of us tucked warmly into the little blue house and celebrating so much love…

And then this year rolled around. It’s true it’s not the same without Auntie B, Uncle Teddy and your sweet cousin Emmelia here, but it’s equally as good in a different way. (Doesn’t hurt that we’ll get to see them in a mere TWO days!) We’re celebrating Christmas somewhat quietly, with Grammy Susan visiting, our usual brunch and dinner on the menu, and a mostly modest exchange of gifts that we’ve hoped will delight you (and one another). We barricaded you from the living room this morning so we could all go in together–daddy with the camera rolling to capture your little face as you noticed the presents waiting. Your big gift from us this year is a play kitchen. I am probably the most excited of all about this particular gift…so much of our world is cars and trucks and things that go, and I just know you’ll grow into your imagination as you create and cook and bake us through the coming winter months at home. In true Henry fashion, you’ve already declared the oven a garage for your newest matchbox cars, and I’m good with that. At twenty months old (today!) you’re a stinking riot to watch.

When you discovered the pile of gifts this morning your shouted, “robot!” as you ran towards the stuffed character we’ve been eyeing for weeks at the toy store. It took you mere seconds to come up with a name for him (“Moses!”) and to declare yourselves fast friends. It is a joy to see you come into your own, and to discover that your opinions are pronounced, decided, consistent. In moments like these, we best realize that your busy mind never stops–you are always processing something, and certainly soaking everything in. We consider it sheer luck to have landed you, not-so-little one. As your parents, we get as much out of loving you as we possibly could out of any other endeavor.

I don’t know whether this will be a Christmas you remember, or if it might be one that’s tucked into the hazy recesses of your toddler years. If you do remember it, I trust you’ll recall all of the fun we had–cozying up in the house, munching on Christmas cookies, and watching The Snowman before tucking you in for a nap. And if not, well, we’ll certainly remember it…the way you stayed in your jammies and played and played for hours with all of your new things, the way you loved the washcloth I pulled out of the kitchen drawer just as much as all of your wrapped up gifts, the way we prayed over Christmas dinner and talked about baby Jesus while the music played quietly and the candles burned bright.

So this is Christmas, my little love. Baby Jesus has been born in a stable and He is lighting up every corner of the world. Mary and Joseph take Him in in wonder, pondering the Miracle of His coming and not yet knowing the impact of His presence here on earth. Watching you, I understand this sense of marvel–this reverence for the unknown and the beauty of it all in the making. You are filling up our own little Bethlehem on this Christmas night, warming a space in our hearts that means more than we could comprehend, bringing joy and hope to our corner of the world.

praying you’ll always know, deep in your heart, the reason for all of this holiday pomp and circumstance.

love you forever,
your mama

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the beat goes on.

25 Nov

Dear Henry,

Earlier this week, I shared something hard here–one of the darker parts of this year and certainly an experience that has colored our lives (and our life with you) over the past number of months. I want you to know that in the midst of hard things, you have been the shiniest light.

Today marks nineteen months since our family grew to have you in it on this planet, gracing this world. I thumbed through a photo album of your first eight months earlier this afternoon, and I can’t believe how much you’ve changed from that little person we brought home and hardly knew. It’s honestly a challenge to throw back to days without you in them–while life was sweet in many ways before you came, it is that much more rich and textured with you here.

At nineteen months old, you are steady, strong, still resilient. As you gain your sense of self and determination in this season, we are both active participants and bystanders to your precocious, humorous, stubborn, steadfast, and loving ways. You have us laughing one minute and bracing ourselves the next–just as you should as a toddler on the verge of two, with every bit of *both of* your parents in him. “Run for our money” doesn’t describe every moment with you, but more and more of them all of the time. You are witty and quippy and discerning, capturing the joy of circumstances in perfect ways and seeing through our attempts to tag team your discipline when your two-some side reveals itself. We are constantly on our toes with you, and yet, I think we’re learning you well. You have given us much to discover.

My favorite Henry-isms these days are both actions and words. Today, for example, you showed immediate remorse when you did something wrong, and did your best to correct the issue by hugging me tightly and patting my back with your chubby little hand. It’s terribly hard to stay stern for very long when you understand consequences and communicate that understanding with a loving, gentle action. Even when you’re in “trouble,” you’re our little buddy–we know there’s a sweet spirit behind your personality, and it blesses us as your mama and daddy.

More actions?

You get right down to eye level with all of the pups in your life to say hello… “Hi! Hi Kruger!” you exclaim like his very best friend in the world. “Hi Rika!” you say as you lay down on the floor to get close to her face. “Hi Peyton! Hi Callie! Hi! Hello!” You are impossibly friendly and darling in your efforts.

You wake up in the morning with a whole list of things you’ve dreamt about or are thinking about that must. be. discussed. right. now. Goats! Pigs! Cows! Tractor! Wagon! Engine! Traaaaaaain! Thunder…Boom! Boom! Raining! Cars! Downstairs…Kruger…Water! Your morning train of thought is a far better wake up call than coffee.

You see everything from your backseat, rear-facing view. And I do mean everything. There is chatter from the car seat for miles as we pass cranes, ambulances, police cars, pick up trucks, flags, kids, bicycles, trees, clouds, the moon, sunshine, lights, animals, COLORS! Who needs the news when they can have the Henry Report? I am taken with your little voice and the way you notice the important things, distracting me from the unimportant and causing me to appreciate the world right where I am. Right where we are.

You tell me things. More than just words, you’ve begun to truly articulate your thoughts and needs and wants, and it’s so beautiful. As your mama, I love knowing what you’re thinking. Today you’ve said things like, “Mommy do it.” “Henry do it.” “Kruger did it.” (Uh, oh. How did you figure that one out so fast?) “Henry tired.” “Henry’s water.” “Funny.” “Laughing.” “Go get it.” “I need it.” And so forth. As your ideas string together and your words develop into sentences, I’m watching you become so self-sufficient in ways I never expected at this stage. I love how bold you are, but I wish the clock would stop advancing so quickly at the same time. Keeping up is an adventure.

Anything else that’s changed over the past month? You’ve gained two new teeth this week, bringing the grand total to eight. It’s amazing what you can manage to eat in one sitting with just eight front teeth, but you let little get in your way, and your pearly whites have been no exception. You LOVE to color. You liked it before, but it’s a daily activity now. That, along with lining up your cars, playing trains, running through the house chasing Kruger in hysterics, and reading your favorite books (Paint Pig, Construction Sites, Pantone Colors, your children’s Bibles, Dr. Seuss’ ABCs, Moo Ba La La La (still:), Little Blue Truck, and Let’s Go) a dozen times a day. You like to sleep with two blankets as of late, cuddle up with Giraffe-y to sleep, and often pray for our meals and at bedtime when you’re in the mood. You love going on a “hike!” and checking out all things in nature. Whew! You are a busy and growing boy.

And we love you like crazy. Oh, man, do we ever! You will never have any idea how fortunate and blessed and lucky we feel to be your parents (at least until you have a little buddy of your own). We thank God for you a million times over and we pray to honor Him as your mommy and daddy. All of this time with you is a taste of Heaven on earth–even on the hard days.

Keep being you, and keep acting two (if you must;), and keep chasing after everything good.

you heal my heart, Henry David. it’s true. xo.

mommy

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i have something to say.

16 Nov

I’d had a hunch amidst party-planning and birthday chatter, but decided to wait. If I was right, I wanted the celebrations to be separate–each their own wonderful expression of our life at this stage. We wrapped up a weekend honoring Henry’s first year in our world, and when the dust settled, I snuck quietly away that Monday morning to take the test. Two lines. Inside, I was beaming. Life felt rich, full, incredibly good as I whispered the secret to Henry that morning. “You’re going to be a big brother!” I told him, as quietly as I could. I laughed as the words became real in my mouth–he smiled at me as Henry would, as if to say he was celebrating right along. That day, we wandered downtown to find the perfect memento, and I carefully wrapped our selection–a soft, giraffe-shaped rattle for Henry to give to his daddy that night at dinner. We were sorry for the early Father’s Day present, we wrote on the card, but we thought he might need this new toy to ring in the New Year. A baby brother or sister was on the way!

For a short time, we exchanged knowing looks as we encountered friends–too early to share of course, but oh how we loved the secret! We talked about baby at the dinner table, both quietly pondered necessary changes to the house, a second nursery, holidays with a little one due in the midst of them. A New Year’s baby! January 2nd was the bullseye on the calendar. Not quite eight months away. Our chatter was pure bliss to my mama heart.

And then what you never want to have happen, happened. And what you dread as an expectant parent became tangible. We didn’t have to wonder what it felt like anymore. We knew. We weren’t having a baby, and it was raw and hard and heart-wrenching and terrible. We called our parents to tell them two sets of news: “We were pregnant yesterday, but today, we aren’t.” We sat on the couch and looked at each other and wondered how in the world we were going to come to terms–with this outcome, with our sadness, with the days ahead.

It really does feel this bleak with you’re in the midst of it because a child–your child, is no longer going to born to you a living, breathing, beautiful soul. Still beautiful, yes. But in an entirely different way than you ever imagined, and when it happens, you don’t want to think of all of the beautiful right away. You just want to grieve. To throw in the towel. To know that it’s all going to be over. And that’s exactly how we were left processing that day.

Millions of families go through it, and far fewer of us believe it’s ok to talk about it, and far fewer of us still actually do talk about it. It’s not easy in the least bit–not for a moment. I’ve never wanted to pretend that it was, and so this story has had to unravel itself slowly, until it was ready, six months down the line. We had a miscarriage and lost a baby, and some days, it is still hard and raw and painful to think about. But now I can see some of the beautiful in it, too, and I’m here telling the story because I think it’s important to share our aches as much as our joys. Our life is so full of joys. This year, it has been riddled with its share of heartache, as well. And God has been generous and faithful and abundantly gracious in the midst of the ache.

By now, I would be seven and half months pregnant, seven weeks from my due date, taking weekly photos of my exponentially growing bump. We would probably have the tree up, envisioning a shorter-lived holiday stretch in anticipation of baby #2, hustling around putting finishing touches on a new space for the little one–another re-working of our cozy home to make room for more cuddling and cozy. Instead, we are fully embracing the growth of a gentle-spirited and chatty eighteen month old who reminds us daily that life is still blessed, beautiful, essential. Our days as parents remind us that it is also challenging, wearing, imperfect. We don’t have any more figured out than we did six months ago, but we’re weathering it better and we’re expectant for God to move in His timing. There are plenty of days when this knowledge of God’s sovereignty doesn’t make our humanity feel any easier.

(I know that for a dad, losing a pregnancy has its own set of emotions. I respect them, pray for them, grieve them alongside Jason. But I won’t pretend here to know entirely how he feels or what he thinks about in this strange season of our lives. I say this just to recognize that I’d be remiss to attempt classifying his thoughts on this subject here in a blog. And I want to honor his privacy here, so to speak. Where I have said, “we” I mean we. And from here, the rest is me, knowing that our hearts are similar, but not the same…)

Since May, my world has often been consumed by my own thoughts, riddled with broken and pleading prayers, and compounded by everyone else’s questions. I don’t say this to offend, but perhaps to create an awareness if it isn’t already there. When someone isn’t pregnant, you never know the circumstance. Maybe they don’t want to be, and that’s ok. Maybe they desperately want to be and aren’t. Maybe they were, and they’re not anymore, and there’s no easy way to say it, so they just answer as politely as possible and add the question to the pile. I would put myself in categories two and three. And some days I weather it better than others.

When you’ve had a miscarriage, I’m not sure you want to explain to everyone in the world that you’ve had one. You don’t necessarily want anyone’s pity–although you might require a few amazing friends and family members to be lifting you up, encouraging you, and praying for you on a more than regular basis. This was me, and still is to a great degree. We shared our news with a handful of trusted prayer warriors and loved ones. I leaned harder into those relationships, drew away from others, avoided some social settings because I knew it would just plain be too hard. I challenged myself to still show up to moms groups and play dates and baby showers and church events for two reasons: first, because I needed to feel normal, and second, because I still wanted to celebrate the good in the lives of people around me. It’s been a harder fight than I’d like to admit, but God’s grace over me still swoops in at every exact right moment. I still assist births in this season with great joy, as though there is a protective shield guarding that part of my life. I still delight in new babies being born, new pregnancies announced. I just wish that mine was among the bellies gaining momentum in my life, and I have to slay my dragons as they appear. It’s a very ragged-edged kind of healing that I don’t understand.

But I don’t need to.

God is crafting my story–our story, out of the good and the bad, and still making all things new. I have faith that our family will be added to in God’s timing (which I confess to questioning somedays, even though I somewhat grasp the process). When we want things, we want them now. We can only see a small, narrow field of the greater picture He is crafting for us. It promotes us to fight impatience and to trust more than we are humanly capable of. It urges a sense in us that we didn’t know before great pain, and strengthens our muscle to hope when we apply the hurt as it fits with faith and our knowledge of a Savior. At least, at this stage of life, it does for me. I am learning to get a little better at this “peace in the midst of suffering” business, although I don’t pretend to want to. Not really one bit…

more to share…

mm

But with you there is forgiveness,
    so that we can, with reverence, serve you.

I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning…
Ps. 130.4-6

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i owe you one.

22 Oct

Hank,

A note to you is long past due. You’ll be getting another before the week is out, but in the meantime, it would do my mama heart some good to tell you what’s on my mind.

Life has been quite busy lately, and I’m hopeful that you haven’t felt the brunt of it in our days together. This is the first in many days that I feel like I can breathe (and blog)–I’ve had a big goal on my plate with a deadline I couldn’t ignore, and balance has been trickier than I wanted it to be for your sake. I’ve been crunching tasks into every spare minute, using nap times as battleground for paperwork and essays, and juggling every other responsibility into the midst of your playtimes, mealtimes, routines.

I’ve tried to make sure we’re still carving out time for all of the important stuff: cuddling up with a stack of books, sharing a bagel at the coffee shop, choosing the perfect matchbox car to take along each day, and picking out veggies at the market mid-week. And yet, our usual pace together has been different–me always checking the clock and thinking about what’s next, while dying to be present and appreciative of the way you eat your breakfast at your own speed, savoring and sticking to every bite. I want you to know that I love our time together, and I’m asking your forgiveness now if I haven’t honored all of the seconds we’re blessed to share. As always, you are still gracious and persistent–still asking to climb into my lap without reservation, still cuddly, still with that look in your eye as though your mama could do no wrong in this world. It isn’t true, darling. But you can know at this moment and forever that my intention is to do right by you at every turn. I’m offering you my best, in other words, and when I get it wrong, the heart behind it is still intended for good.

You are so young and small in the grand scheme, but your ability to forgive and love and run at something unabashedly is changing my world every day. You are a constant reminder that I am called to something far bigger than myself. All of my hopes and dreams have you in them–wrapped up and intertwined in the very best ways, all of my intentions and actions with you in mind. I pray that we will do life like this for a very long time, learning from and spurring each other on as we are called to do, honing our spirits and our love for each other as mother and child with every step. You amaze me. Amaze, amaze, amaze. I’ve never deserved you, but entrusted into my care, I will do my best to serve you well in every moment offered.

This morning, we wandered to the post office together (police car and tractor in hand) and put a weighty, beautiful, bloodsweatandtears packet of documents in the mail and sent it far away. To me, it represented perseverance, passion, calling, diligence, grace. To you, it means your mama is a little more free to just be–to take our days in stride and to pour time into you more fully in the days ahead. We left the post office with a new lease on the day and a very fancy “I visited the post office today” sticker on your jacket. Indeed you did, bug of mine. Thank you for going with the flow, for reminding me to take time outs for playing and getting dirty and snuggling up, and for flexibly and breezily coming along for the ride!

love you more than ever,
mommy

520 wondrous days later.

25 Sep

520 days. 17 months. Today’s milestone and a little bit of my own disbelief, all at the same time. You are growing, growing, growing, my dear boy, with no sign of slowing any time soon. I knew this was the risk we’d inherit; having you of course meant watching you take flight from day one, just the same as it means 519 days later. I cringe at this a little bit sometimes, but I love being your mama so much that it hurts, and I’d take the growing pains over anything else, any day.

I’m not so much “Mama” these days as, “Mommeeee!”, and oh, how you squeal my name with such energy and delight, it’s contagious. I liked being, “Mama,” for certain, but “Mommeeee!” comes with a sense of intention–a need expressed, attention wanted, sheer joy at the discovery of something new, love for this person who loves you more than anyone else ever could (although I’m sure if you checked with your dad on this one, he might argue, and that’s fair.) Your shift from mama and dada to mommy and daddy comes at the exact same time as a verbal explosion under our roof and you, Henry D, are at the helm. Your little voice fills up the empty spaces and wafts over and under our daily everything, heightening our senses to the sweetness that you are and the enjoyment you have always been. “Flower,” “hop top,” “bippo,” “Elmo!” “Go, Go, Go!” “Kwoo-guh (Kruger),” “Pease!” “Emma!” “Amen!” You are abuzz with chatter.

This past month cradles so many firsts…your first sentence (“That’s a cow!”), your first gondola ride in the mountains, your very first and oh-so-adorable cousin, Emmelia! Not the best month yet health-wise, your first split lip, hospital visit, CT scan, and tummy bug, along with new bumps and bruises from all of the running around you’re doing at this adventurous stage. You’ve taken two airplane rides, traveled to Chicago, Milwaukee, Denver, Breckenridge, Boulder, and back, and you’ve mastered the art of art-viewing at ArtPrize 2012. As of late, you’ve taken to leaf picking and rock collecting and Kruger chasing, too…all of the things I’d expect from a boy and all of the dirt and scrapes to go with them ;) You are so very good for my soul!

Henry, as I watch you grow, I’m reminded over and over how our Great God knows exactly what we need, when we need it–and how He meets us there in all of His power and love and gentle compassion at every turn. We are so small, Henry, but the God we serve is Mighty and Big and Powerful and Attentive, and He will always guide us on the path He has set for our lives if we seek Him and desire His presence in the daily. I pray this for you, sweet child. That you will seek Him in the daily. Being your mama has taught me this–more than anything else ever did before you came. I need God so that I can be the best mama I’m able, for you. And I need God so that I can love and serve your daddy well, and so that I can continue to become the woman that God intends for me to be. I hope that as you grow even more, this will be apparent and encouraging to you. God has amazing plans for your life, and I get to watch them unfold every day. Even now, while you’re still so small, His hand upon you is evident in every bit of who you are.

I loved you before I knew you, and today I love you 520 times more. I pray that my longings–to keep you small and to protect you always, never get in the way of your growing and changing and adventuring in all of the ways that God will call you to on this earth. You are a miracle in our world, Henry David. Nothing will ever change that, I am sure.

to infinity and beyond,

mommeeeeee!

 

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thoughts from a mama on a monday morning.

6 Aug

Hello, Monday. I’m sorry to say it, but we’ve not been the best of friends as of late. It isn’t you. It’s me. I just so love the weekend and hate to see it end. Time together as a family, Summer adventures in the beautiful weather, friendships, celebrations…they all seem to quiet down and settle into the week when you arrive. Honestly, you kind of get the raw end of the deal, coming right after Sunday and all. Not your fault, but a bummer. That being said, I’m trying to make my peace with you. There’s something about the hush of Monday morning that isn’t terrible at all, especially if I put in a little extra effort to appreciate it. Today is one of those days.

Getting ready for the day, my mind raced with things I wanted to remember from the weekend, this morning, life in general. And then there was the list of “todos” and “I should really…s” and all the other jazz that comes after taking a mental hiatus for a few days while I’ve been milking the marrow out of life. You’re good for that, Monday, and I should really give you more credit. For clearing the space enough that I can think through all of these things, that is. I have a lot on my mind, and in my head, it sounds like this:

-I really wanted to go the gym this morning, but I will make my peace with a sleepy tired boy and his impromptu nap time, instead. He’s extra tired because we had such a busy and beautiful weekend, and that’s a good thing…

-Actually, maybe I’m glad to have this time to think and not be rushing around. It really was a lovely weekend. Of course, I’ll have to find a time later to make up the workout, but perhaps staying home and letting the little one get rest was the better choice. I’ll never know. I should blog. Squirrel!…

-I don’t think I draw enough of the miraculous from my days when I hurry. I’m certain I don’t. Good thing it’s Monday…pace is slower, and it gives me room to process all that is good. I just peeked through the keyhole of the nursery door in time to catch H as he nodded off, his hand, drooping away from his face, his little eyes slipping shut ever-so-peacefully. I sure do love being his mama. I could have missed this this morning. What was I thinking?…

-Ok. So I’ll finish getting ready, head downstairs. Blog. Clean up the few dishes in the sink from breakfast. Vacuum? Maybe later. Do I have emails to send? I’m sure I do, and I’m probably forgetting a few. Thank you notes? Always. Maybe I should write a couple before this nap time gets away from me…

-I’m hearing myself in my head, and I sure do say, “I should…” an awful lot. I do, and probably every other mother on the planet. Who’s with me? And why do we do this to ourselves? Aren’t we instructed to take time to rest and reflect? Will I be any good in the rest of it if I don’t? This past minute or so of thinking has been helpful. Blogging it is, then. And after that, we’ll see about the dishes…

-Oh, but yesterday was just truly so lovely. There’s nothing much better than watching my boys (big and little) interact and have fun together. We all let our hair down a little. We do what actually matters. We love better. We love well. How cool is it that H and J got in a kayak together yesterday, and we all paddled on down the lake as a family?! H’s first kayak experience, and a red letter moment for J. I love that. Not to mention those perfect clouds and the blue, blue sky behind them, the sun glistening off the water, the duck swimming by. Really? Does it get much better than that? Nope. Decidedly, nope…

-But then back to the “I shoulds.” And you know what, I think “I should” and I should take a break from each other. And there I go again. What I mean is, I think we WILL take a break from one another. There. That’s better. This week, I’m going to practice intention and direction. Purposeful acting for the sake of my family, my household, my relationships, and myself. No “I should’s,” but instead, “I will’s,” and “I am’s,” and “I choose to’s.” I think that will help…

-A girl just rode past the house on a bicycle, texting as she went. Does this constitute texting and driving? She did not look safe. She looked silly. I have become such a mom. Oh, Monday. Do you see what you do to me?

Really, I should thank you. In a way, this low key, change of plans Monday morning is exactly what I needed. Me, at my computer with a cup of tea, and you, making space for me to do so when I least expected it. It’s possible that we could be friends, and perhaps, we should. Of course by should, I mean…I’m going to give it my best shot.

to the start of the week. let’s make it a good one!

mm

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fifteen going on sixteen.

25 Jul

Henry D,

Fifteen. My darling boy, how did we get fifteen whole months away from that first day I laid eyes on you? I never imagined we’d be here so quickly–you filling up every day with a crazy kind of newness and excitement we couldn’t have fathomed before you arrived. No, really. How is your 1st birthday three whole months behind us now? It’s so hard to comprehend the pace at which you’re learning, absorbing, connecting, remembering, and changing, but it’s the most incredible thing to witness. If you’ve ever been a sponge, it’s now.

A few months back, we were exchanging words like “mama” and “dada,” “ka-gah” (Kruger), “baw” (ball), “ca!” (car), and the like. Now we’re talking about every animal under the sun, household items, things in nature, cars!, trucks!, tractors!, the beach, your story books, family members, and so much more. Where did you find all of your words, my love? You’re doing an amazing job of keeping up with all of the new things we throw at you on a daily basis. By now, we shouldn’t be surprised when you parrot a word right back us me with careful pronunciation, but your precision somehow takes us aback anyway. I know we’re not giving you enough credit, bug. We keep trying, but then you delight us with something else that’s new and exciting. I am always amazed to watch you, and can’t help but think, “Wow, I get to be his mama!” every time.

So what are you up to these days? Besides teaching us a thing or two about the smarts of a fifteen month old kiddo? Running, for one. Splashing around at the pool and learning how to kick, hold your breath, wade through the water without mom or dad’s hands for balance. Chasing the dog. Sharing opinions about food (and eating mostly everything, anyway. Thank you for that!) Playing games on the iPad and learning how to use your Tag Junior to follow along in a story. Filling in the blanks of a few books that have become your favorites (Hello, memory!) Laughing up a storm and hamming it up for the camera. Reminding me where your elbows are…your nostrils…your knees, and your eyebrows. (You asked, so we told you ;) Showing your very literal, linear side one minute, then your creative, imaginative side the next. Offering us pretend soup, apples, drinks. Blowing pretend bubbles and gum. Laughing some more. Loving your friends and learning how to play with them (and actually, play with them!)…this is too much fun to watch! Blowing kisses. Snuggling up with the best of them. Sucking your thumb when you’re tired or uncomfortable. Signing words like please, thank you, more, all done, milk, etc. Perfecting the sound effects for anything and everything on wheels. Growing out of all your clothes.

You are one busy and happy boy!

And we are so incredibly thankful. God knew we needed a Henry exactly when we did, and you bring a light into our lives that nothing else could hold a candle to, little man. You are our buddy, our munchkin, our timely blessing. Fifteen months in, we have never loved you more…and it just keeps getting better!

Happy 15 months, Hanker Tank. You are our BIG little boy, and one marvelous little man in the making!

oh-so-gratefully,

your mama

to blog or…

21 Jun

…not to blog. That sure seems the question lately. In truth, I miss being here, and yet a part of me has felt the need to close off–if only a little. There is just so much sharing that can (or perhaps, should) be done with the world, you know? And sometimes there are seasons when life feels almost wholeheartedly introspective. My life, as it goes, has wandered down this kind of path as of late.

I am not trying to be distant, of course. Nor do I want to avoid one of the things I most emphatically love–putting pen to the page. But I am processing in a different kind of way, mostly as I wander through the farmer’s market and as I drag my toes through the sand at the beach with our little boy. Some days, I find a pinch of time for a cup of coffee, at an outside table, on my own, and then I process a little bit more there. From our front step to the store and back. From our back patio to a play date and then home again. Life has been busy with the things that Summer should be–many of them filling up the cracks and spaces of a previously dormant-ish and sort of gloomy Spring for my soul.

You could say I’ve been attempting to take a little bit of an emotional vacation.

And for the most part, it is working. This is not to say that I don’t want and or need to be honest and open and real with myself or those who love and understand me best. Just simply to reflect that in times, the quiet of saying nothing feels healthier than the loud of saying much. There is a learning curve involved here for a chatterboxy type like yours truly. I am ever-increasingly OK with that.

Now it is nearly July, and I have been making the most of tracking my soon-to-be fourteen month old’s little pitter-pattery foot steps all throughout the little blue house. Oh, have we discovered our freedom–and in it, I have discovered even more and more of a beautiful friend in this petite person who is half me and half my first (and other) love. It is no surprise, really, that we get along so well. I just never imagined exactly how delightful I would find a smallish boy named Henry at this age. He is the sunshiniest joy on most every occasion, and when he isn’t, he teaches me the most important things about loving and patience and perseverance and all of qualities I long and strive to possess as a mom (and person). On a daily basis, we read stacks of books and take lazy strolls to the park and downtown and anywhere we want to go. We explore food, notice every (and I mean, every) flower, absorb the sunshine and splash at the pool. And when we aren’t doing those things we (read: Henry) nap and we (read: mommy) work and pick up and take a short rest and make phone calls and pay bills and cook meals and schedule visits, until we’re ready to engage in more Summer activity and merriment.

Children are the best medicine. Yep, I think this is positively true.

Today we played I Spy in the grocery store, planned party details for a summery, baby soiree, crunched on snow peas and fed food to the dog from our high chair. For the rest of the day, we will likely make easy dinner (because it’s just the two of us tonight) and mosey downtown to watch jugglers and guitarists and possibly bring home a balloon animal. How does life become this, and where do I get more of it?

I haven’t been blogging much because life was feeling inconveniently uncomfortable for a while, and in the midst of that, I gathered up one hundred and one other things to do. Not to be so busy that I would ignore the rest, but just to find joy in the middle of the ache–to make sweet lemonade from sour grapes.

And that is what we are doing. Moving forward. Attempting to fill our days with goodnesses and grace and all the rest that a loving God can offer our lives–even when we hurt and need time for healing. I am finding joy in smaller things that add up to lovely measurements of healthy, daily living. I am hugging my Henry with a good, tight squeeze. I am soaking up the Summertime, for certain, and filling up the empty spaces with words where I can.

today, i can.

mm

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twenty nine year salute.

1 Jun

Tonight feels monumental. Not just because I’m closing in on the eleventh hour before another birthday, but because I’m saying goodbye to an entire decade. When I wake up in the morning, I will be thirty. Thirty. I’ve been rolling that number around in my head for the past week or so, unsure of what to do with it or think of it. Every year, I tell myself that a birthday is really just 24 hours different from the day before it, but there’s something to the marking of another calendar gone by, and I can’t deny it. A lot can happen from June 2nd of one year to the same date in the next.

The past 366 days have run the gamut. Some have gone on without much instance, but certainly not all. My thirtieth year (age 29) has been a roller coaster of grand proportions–incredible highs and heartbreaking lows and everything in between. I can’t say this about every age (and for this, I’m thankful), but 29 has had its impact. I have watched my baby grow from 11 lbs. to 23 since my last birthday. This time one year ago, he was cooing and starting to smile, but still just a peanut of a babe who needed his mama at every turn. I was dizzy with exhaustion, sometimes overwhelmed, and making a career out of nursing. Today, I am chasing a daring toddler all over town. Occasionally I’m still exhausted, and different things overwhelm, but I am sure as Henry’s mama. I know him inside and out. We have learned each other to a beautiful degree, and I am comfortable in my own skin in this arena of my life. I celebrate, with joy, that I’ll enter my thirties as a blossoming mom–the very best thing that happened to me at 29!

With as much delight as I embrace the good that this past year has had to offer (the above, my sister getting married, anticipating becoming an aunt, our 5th anniversary, celebrating ONE!), I mourn deep losses and still seek to process the hard things that have come–unexpected and utterly challenging to my spirit as I’ve crept ever nearer to the turn of this page. In a way, I am thankful to be drawing closed the chapter that contains them, but in some regard, it’s still hard to see it go. When you lose someone who loves you immeasurably–and who you loved the same, days and months and years passing can be hard; you know you’ll never get them back, and time feels like a reminder that they are gone. I’ve never had a birthday without a card or call from Gramma, and I never wanted this day to come, but it’s here. I know that she is near in many ways, and still, it will never be the same…

Then, there are other things that have both wrecked me and made me more resilient, and 29 seems to be a fairly robust vessel for these. I know that God is working in my life to strengthen me for times to come, yet in the moments, this is never perfectly clear to see. As I rapidly approach a significant and new day tomorrow, I am cognizant that I am the sum of my experiences and whatever God will do with them. If this is a blessing (and I know somehow it is), then 29 has been full and productive. A milestone among milestones. A jumping off point for the decade ahead.

I have been straining a little over the past several days to remember myself an entire ten years ago. I know I could pull out old photos or re-read old journals to get a better picture, but the truth is, I’m ok with the fact that 20, 21, 22…are a slight bit hazier than I expected them to be. I have done a lot of growing in my twenties–or rather, God has done an awful lot of growing me, and the person I was ten years ago is not the same. For this I am most thankful. Closing this segment of my life to enter another feels appropriate, and suddenly (if only in the past 24 hours), even welcome. I have been blessed beyond measure and spared beyond reason.

A friend reminded me today that tomorrow, I will become the age that Jesus was when He started His ministry. Surely, that is something to consider–and to consider well. What will God want to do with me at this age that He has not called me to before now? Somehow, the thought that Christ was most impacting in his life on earth at my age? This could be intimidating, but instead it feels encouraging. God knows what we need, when we need it, and I know He will provide!

Tonight, I’m going to wrap up one heck of a year on the couch with a good (I hope) movie, Jason, and a sleeping babe upstairs. Low key, reflective, and kind of the way my last day of 29 feels like it should be. Tomorrow, as every day, is a new beginning. A glimmering sense of hope and anticipation for what is to come. Goodbye twenty-something, and hello Thirty!

for all that You have given, and all that You have taken away. blessed.

mm

turning thirty. and learning more about love every, single day.

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