April 30

It's been a heartbreaking kind of week in a lot of ways. Several people who are special to me have gotten terrible news, and it's painful to watch anyone you care about try to digest unwanted life-altering bits of information. It's hard to know that struggles loom for them. It's hard to know what to say or do.

In light of that, I was just sitting here in our family room when I became keenly aware of the sound of the clock on the wall. I don't think about that clock very often; on most days, its rhythmic tick-tock fades into obscurity amid the ongoing din of routine existence. But not tonight.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I know something about myself: time is one of the things I'm most likely to take for granted. I'm always telling the kids "okay, give me five minutes while I finish what I'm doing" and then suddenly it's 20 minutes later and I still haven't moved. I'm not as good at living in the moment as I'd like to be. So right now, in this reflective moment while I call out to God and ask Him to be with my friends who are in the midst of being pressed by some of life's more challenging ringers, I'm thankful for the tender, quiet, steady reminder to really, truly live, breathe, and exist through every second of every day.

April 29

Today, I planned to go to Children's Hospital, spend an hour or so visiting with Abby's friend (who is currently a patient there dealing with a medical issue) and her grandma, and then head home around noon. But it didn't go that way.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. When I found out last night that M was there, I texted her grandma to ask if I could visit, and she responded enthusiastically to the offer. So I made arrangements for Brady to have lunch at preschool, and hit the road at about 9:30. As I drove northward, I ruminated over the past; over the many, many times I'd made that very drive to see Logan while he was there. I wondered how it would feel to be back on the 5th floor; the floor where he'd spent so many weeks and months as his treatment protocol was carried out. A place I hadn't been since the last time he was discharged to go home with us three years ago.

But I went. After an unsuccessful effort to visit a friend in another building, I went up to her room. It was quiet and dark and M appeared to be resting, but I quickly learned that she'd just suffered a seizure -- her first ever. So I'd missed the chaos by about five minutes. (Which, incidentally, is how long I took trying to see my friend.) I talked briefly with her grandma, then sat next to M to tell her that Abby said hi and that she'd written her a long letter to read when she felt up to it. She was very out of it and tired, but she nodded.

A few minutes later, as her nurse was trying to give her a cup of medicine, she had another seizure. I hopped out of the way, and stood behind her grandma. And I prayed. I prayed for the Holy Spirit to come down. I assured her grandma that Jesus was present. I rubbed her back and just prayed.

And finally it stopped, and her grandma asked me if I could sit with M while she made some calls. So I did. The nurse turned to me, and said "you know, I think it was Providence that you showed up when you did."

Kind of a funny thing to say, but I think it's true. It was hard to see her in that moment; to see her body betraying her in such an ugly way. But I felt blessed to be there to support both of them. I felt blessed to be so familiar with the hospital that I could be calm. I felt blessed to think that Logan was there, in whatever way possible, trying to help M out (because I think --I really, really think-- that she was in the very first room that he stayed in after his very first admission).

Anyway, the second seizure earned her a ticket to the PICU. The PICU. Where Logan spent his final days on this earth. Where I hadn't been since February 11, 2012. I was a little scared to go. I'd been worried about being on the 5th floor again, where there were happy times and where I can still, on the little theater screen in my mind, see him wearing a pair of Cars pajamas and be-boppin' down the hall with his IV poll in tow and riding around in the little red and yellow car from the play room and making crafts out of pipe cleaner and glitter glue. But I knew I could handle it. I wasn't sure that I could handle the PICU.

But I did. And even though M's spot backed up to the room where Logan spent his last hours, that space didn't own me. It didn't creep me out or make my skin crawl. I didn't freak out or cry hysterically. I sat for a few hours while her grandma got some much-needed time away. And I was okay. Legitimately okay.

I think we all want to know, on some level or another, that we're okay. And I think that those unexpected experiences today proved to me that I'm okay. Life will never be perfect. It will never feel complete without my Sunshine here with me. But it can still be good, and the things that have dogged me in the past don't own my future. And knowing that is one of the biggest blessings of all.

April 28

This dude always makes my life better, but today, he managed to make it a little easier, too.

With my allergies flaring big time, I knew I had to head to the doctor's office. I'm always a little apprehensive about taking the kids with me, because medical offices are boring. (Even for me sometimes.) And wait times can be long. And boring. And tedious. (And boring.) But as it happened, I had zero reason for concern. My muffin was a model four-year old, sitting patiently in the waiting room, quietly in the exam room when I talked with the PA, and quietly again as I talked with the doctor.

Those moments when the kids are quiet and well-behaved make me heart so happy because they're huge, huge blessings.

April 27

I've had better days. Since apparently the stomach flu wasn't enough, my allergies got really, really bad today, so I wasn't spending much time concentrating on anything other than, well, breathing. But this evening, as we drove home from Costco, the lovely sunset sky caught my attention.

A fleeting but beautiful thing that gave me a moment's respite. Sometimes, that's all it takes to transform a day from "ho hum" to "wow."

April 26

When Brady first showed signs of illness last week, Abby freaked out about catching the bug. She hid in her room most of the time and even arranged a bucket system: she used a jump rope to lower a small, empty toy bin to the first floor and asked that all communication happen through said bin. (Yes, we thought it was funny.) Anyhow, more than anything, I think she was worried about being unable to take dance pictures today. Thankfully, we made it.

I felt almost normal when I got up this morning, so we got our purple-y fringed tank tops on and joined the other mommy/daughters for the photo. Then a little later, she donned her tap costume (which she confessed that despite previous protestations, she actually likes... go figure; that never happens...) and we headed back to the studio for that one, too.

Time with my one and only girl... priceless.

April 25

Much to my chagrin, I wound up catching the stomach bug that left Brady sidelined for part of Wednesday. So here's where I spent most of my day:

Not feeling so good really takes me back to the basics when it comes to gratitude. So today, I'm grateful for my bed, for layers of sheets and blankets that I can take off and re-add on a whim, for my ginger ale-and-crackers toting husband, and finally, for the blessing of down-time, even though I had to be sick to get it.

April 24

It was quite windy out today. As I walked to pick up Abby from school, I saw a butterfly (or maybe a moth; I've never been good at telling them apart) swirling and flitting in the breeze. Eventually, it came to a landing on a bush. My heart sighed a little while I took a closer look and saw that part of her wing was missing.

The poor little thing, I thought. It must be hard to get anywhere --much less stay on track-- with a broken wing and such unfriendly wind pushing her in directions she probably doesn't want to explore.

As I walked off, it came to me that I've been like that little bug. Broken --not merely broken, actually, but forever changed by my circumstances-- but still intent on flying and going about my days, doing what needs to be done. That desire --and the strength-- to keep going despite our brokenness... it definitely comes from God.

April 23

I found this on the dining room table this morning when I got home from dropping Abby and Isaac at school.

They fight like cats and dogs some days. They bicker and moan and whine and argue. Sometimes, they drive me to the very brink of insanity when their disagreements reach fever pitch. But in spite of all of that, it's a blessing to me to know that they're slowly but surely becoming friends.

April 22

I had a strange morning. After I dropped Brady in his classroom, I wandered around the campus looking for the director. As I walked by the toddler play area, a little girl called out (completely randomly, it seemed...) "hey, is your name Sherry?" I was (understandably) startled; I had no idea who she was and don't think I'd seen her before that moment. I stopped in my tracks, whirled around to be sure she was talking to me, faced her again, and said that yes, my name is Sherry. Then I paused and asked how she knew that. She shrugged. Then she told me that she has a little girl named Sherry in her class who isn't very nice sometimes. I told her that sometimes, people can have bad days and aren't as nice as they could be, but that doesn't make them bad people, per se. She said okay, and I told her to have a good day and walked on. I was kind of jarred by the strangeness of the experience, but very quickly realized that God had spoken directly to me through this little girl. No one likes to admit it, but I'm not as nice as I could be sometimes, and God called me out on it in pretty bold fashion. That's Strange Item number one.

The second unusual experience followed a few minutes later. The director finally arrived bearing trays of drinks for the teachers, and I volunteered to deliver them. The last of the bunch went to Holly, who was Logan's teacher for his final year of school. I've probably mentioned it before, but his picture is on the wall in her classroom. I said hi, handed her the drink, and turned to leave, blowing a kiss to the photo as I reached to open the door. And then I tuned in to the music playing in the background: it was "Life is a Highway" from "Cars."

I was floored, and marveled over how incredibly weird it was that that song was playing at that moment.

Two pretty bold experiences for an otherwise mundane Wednesday morning. Both blessings. Both received with appreciation and awe.

April 21

I love it when my days begin with a little bit of this.

The Little Boys have a routine on school day mornings: they run down the path toward Isaac's classroom, giggling and bobbing and weaving along the way and treating me like home base. Then they stand together in line, still laughing as they share hugs and high fives until Isaac's teacher emerges to usher her little students inside.

Mundane and very familiar, but the very familiar moments are so often the best that it would be a grievous mistake to not notice them now and again.

April 20

Our already brief scheduled stop at the playground this morning was further shortened when a big truck carrying mulch showed up to replenish the tanbark supply around the play structures. Instead of leaving, Brady and I plunked down on a nearby-but-far-enough-away bench to observe the men at work.

There's something so intrinsically rewarding about watching my kids have new and interesting experiences. It's fun to watch their eyes light up and it's even fun to try to answer their questions, even when I have no idea how to answer them. (Like how much mulch is in the truck? No idea!)

God in that smile, God in new experiences, God in every single day, even in the most trivial of moments.

April 19

Sometimes, the best moments arise out of the most mundane circumstances.

I slept in this morning and missed church, so I was feeling a little spiritually dry for most of the day.

This evening, Abby wanted to go take part in a youth group volunteer opp, so I drove her over to the church. As I was leaving, I passed a friend I hadn't seen in a while and had a little chat. I won't identify her because I don't want to cause any embarrassment, but she shared that she was in the midst of stressful times, and that she'd wanted to get prayer this morning at the service, but it didn't work out.

In that moment, I felt my hand touch her shoulder, and right then and there, I prayed for her and her situation. It's not something that I do off the cuff particularly often, but I knew it was what I should do.

She marveled over how she'd wanted that prayer, thought she wouldn't get it, but wound up getting it anyway. And it was all because I heeded God's direction.

Let me be completely clear on a point: This isn't about me; it's about how God is the author of everything, and how He finds ways to put us where we need to be, when we need to be there. That I could be a vessel to help my friend... it's a blessing.

April 18

For some reason, the coming of Spring has enveloped me with feelings of nostalgia. So many things seem to remind me of home and of simpler times. Today, naturally, brought more of the same.

By evening, my trusty Fitbit indicated a serious step deficit, so after I put Brady to bed, I headed out for a solo stroll. As I walked around a nearby cul de sac, I saw these:

Pretty pink geraniums. My childhood was, in a quite literal sense, filled with flowers. Marigolds and zinnias at the end of the driveway along the country road that bordered grandma and grandpa's parcel. African violets in pert little pots in the sewing room. Chrysanthemums and daffodils in the yard by the side of the first house I ever knew as home. Tiny purple violets dotting the nursery. Dandelions punctuating the lawn's green expanse. And of course, geraniums spilling over the edges of hanging pots.

Beautiful and so alive. It's a blessing to have been surrounded by so much loveliness, even if I didn't notice it much of the time.

April 17

Brady's class went on the school's annual nature hike today along a local creek bed. I've been on this particular trip a number of times, and it's fun to watch the kids --who by April, are pretty good buddies-- collecting rocks and wading in the water and sharing a collectively-created trail mix at snack time. After Brady took his spin on the big swing by the creek and we began the journey back to the classroom, my muffin offhandedly pointed this out:

Although it's likely just a set of knife marks on a tree, Brady saw it as a cross. And he's right: it certainly looks like one.

I love that that's where his mind goes when he sees marks on random trees; I love that God and faith and crosses are always on his mind, and that I can see his thoughts of them bubble to the surface now and then.

April 16

I found these on a clearance endcap at Target this morning. I was giddy.

Adam thinks they're totally disgusting, but I love Combos. Back when I was a kid, my mom used to buy a bag of these every now and then, and I can clearly remember eating them; how I'd slowly crunch away the pretzel, leaving just the smushy, cheesy center for last.

I guess it sounds like of gross when I put it that way, but like I've said before in other entries, those moments of childhood nostalgia mean a lot to me, if only because I don't experience them particularly often. So for the blessing of those memories of simpler times, I'm thankful.

April 15

My baby makes me smile.

We were sitting in the car waiting for his preschool class to start this morning when he suddenly patted me on the head. I looked up from my phone and asked what he was doing. He grinned and said when I do that, it means I want to take a picture.

It felt like my heart grew two sizes in that moment, and I quickly switched the phone to selfie mode before he could change his mind (as if that would ever happen; he loves selfies!).

Anyway, his enthusiasm and cheerfulness are such blessings and they make my life immeasurably better.

April 14

This morning, Brady and I went to brunch to celebrate my lovely friend Valerie's birthday. There was hot coffee, yummy food, and great conversation, which are pretty much the components of my personal Great Gathering Trifecta.

There were no specific moments that jumped out at me as especially poignant or meaningful; the entire meal was pleasant and I really had a nice time just being with friends. (And I know Brady had fun with E, too. Miraculously, they were both quite well behaved the whole time.)

Those moments --the quiet but heartfelt celebrations of life's big events-- are priceless blessings to me.

April 13

Today was one of those days. Nothing incredibly earth-shattering happened, but a few people did a few things that hurt me more than I'd like to admit. And I had a hard time coping with the emotional fallout, so I had a hard time seeing God at work. But then this evening, I saw these.

Noting that some of her friends had big 64-packs, Abby begged for these crayons for weeks. She finally asked if the Easter Bunny could bring her a package, and the Easter Bunny relented.

As I glanced at the box on the coffee table this evening, I realized that I like them quite a lot, too. I like the colors and the brightness and the vibrancy, and I like that they can be used to create something beautiful.

And after a day like the one I had, it's a blessing to realize once again that we can create beauty in this often screwed up world.

April 12

Today held another first: our first time attending Little League Day at the Oakland Coliseum with an actual little leaguer along for the ride.

Isaac and I headed in early so we could march in the parade around the warning track. I was proud of my guy for walking along, taking in the scene, and being a good friend to one of the younger kids, whose parents had gone to their seats rather than hoofing it as part of the parade.

But beyond all of that, it was our first game in a number of years, and it was a huge blessing to share the experience with the kiddos. They were, for the most part, quite well behaved. Isaac watched what was going on down on the field, while Abby occupied herself with a friend. Even Brady bought into the experience, clapping along with the drummers and responding to the rises and falls of the crowd.

But even further beyond all of that, it was pretty amazing to be back in the very stadium where Adam and I spent so much of our time before our kids were born and even before we were married. It amazed me to realize how easy it was to slip back into the tribalism of it all; the universal excitement that accompanies a game-tying rally and the equally universal disappointment of that rally not quite panning out.

It's just a blessing to be with others, immersed in an exciting event, and a blessing to share all of it with our little ones.

April 11

When I think of iconic American childhood experiences, it doesn't take long for baseball to come to mind. There's something about the air, the dirt, the sound of the bat hitting the ball, and the feel of the metal bleachers against your skin that's just so special and distinctive. Today, Isaac had a game.

It was just a run of the mill game. Nothing unusual happened, but as I watched the kiddos getting their post-game snacks, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Back when I was little, my big brother played baseball for a few seasons. I remember --rather clearly, given how many years have passed-- going to his practices and eating honeysuckle from a bush that my younger brother and I discovered. It was back behind the old elementary school. The air was sticky and a bit too warm to be comfortable, but it was all okay because we had that honeysuckle.

And baseball.

April 10

I was at Walgreens today when I just happened to glance into a random bin in the Easter clearance aisle. A small, die-cast Corvette caught my eye.

I see little (and big) Corvettes quite often, but this one was out of place. It took a few minutes of searching to find other like-cars, and even then, there were no others like it. So I bought it to add to Logan's Corvette collection.

I suspect that even when I'm very old, I'll still look at those beautiful cars and smile. I never would've guessed that Corvettes would make me think of Heaven.

April 9

One of the many blessings of parenthood is the privilege of being reminded --on a daily basis-- that even the littlest, most trivial things are worthy of enthusiastic celebration.

Brady and I went to the store early this afternoon to pick up one specific item. While there, we checked out the Easter clearance aisle, and his eye came to rest on this item. He cooed over how "cute" it was and asked if he could please, please, please have "the bird." (He wasn't sold on it being a chick, as I suggested.) I relented, and for 50 cents, it came home with us.

And Brady was thrilled with it. He went on and on about how cute is was. He introduced it to his special friends, BearBear and Beggar. Of course, he eventually ate it, but watching him enjoy it and marvel over its cuteness was worth far more than a simple pair of quarters.

April 8

We actually hired a baby-sitter and went out to dinner this evening. It's such an uncommon occurrence for us that it's a completely noteworthy occasion.

We waited longer than expected for a table and then sat in direct sunlight once we were finally seated. I may (coughcough) have complained about it a wee bit. But it was such a blessing to just be out with my hunny for a few hours.

I adore my babies, but those moments of child-free adult interaction are utterly priceless.

April 7

Some days, I'm deeply thankful for moments of extreme silliness.

We finally got a few rain showers today (and before someone says "I'll send you my snow!" I'll say "please do!" Droughts stink!). When I went out to check the mail late this morning, I came across this guy as I walked back up the path to my front door. Like any normal, sane person, I stopped to watch him.

I kid you not: this dude was the fastest snail I'd ever seen. He was like Turbo without the pimped out shell.

But jokes aside, I marveled over how hard he was clearly working to make his way across the sidewalk. Head pushed out as far as it could do, dragging that big heavy shell, I actually admired his dedication to living and moving and breathing and being. I think God intends that we all live with that kind of determined tenacity, and for the reminder --silly though it may have been!-- I'm thankful.

April 6

Today was one of those days. You know the ones I mean: when the kids are up and screaming at each other by 7 and just can't seem to get along. By the time Adam got home, I was fuming. After a trip to Costco (during which there was even more errant behavior), I went for a walk by myself to clear my head. (And honestly, to tire myself out. It's hard to be ragingly angry when I'm exhausted.)

At one point, as my feet carried me along a quiet path, I looked over at where the sunset would be, had the sky not been clouded over to signal the coming of tonight's rain (which can I just say I am so excited about!). There were no brilliant colors, but the clouds and the bright point of light there in the center of the sky looked heavenly to my eyes. In fact, the first thing I saw when I looked over were angel wings. I have no idea why; the thought just came to me.

And you know something? It helped. The walk, the sky, the solitude. And I'm thankful to end my day feeling a sense of peace.

April 5

Easter is one of those days that hurts in a good way. We miss having Logan with us; stumbling, fumbling down the stairs with his siblings to rifle through his Easter basket in the wee-ish hours of the morning, laughing as he dodges the others and jockeys for position to grab the best plastic eggs during our annual family hunt, watching the VeggieTales Easter specials before heading off to church. But in the same breath, we're deeply thankful that today means that we'll be reunited with him again someday.

When we arrived at today's service, the youth pastor was wandering around, handing out flowers that he said we'd use at the close of the gathering. Abby put hers to her face to inhale its fragrance while I looked down at mine --a deep pink daisy. Isaac clutched a stalk of tiny, delicate pink blooms, while Brady held a small green flower. But I felt a sudden jolt when I looked at what Adam held: not just one, but two flowers.

Before the thought even formed fully in my mind, I blurted out "did he give you two on purpose?!" Adam looked at me for half a second before the meaning of my words registered, and he smiled a quiet smile and said he didn't know.

An extra flower. For Logan. Maybe even from Logan, in one way or another, but most definitely from God. And most definitely a sweetly salient reminder of what Easter truly means to our family. We may be five here, physically, but we will always be six strong, and one day, we'll be six strong all together once again.

April 4

Earlier this week, we saw the Easter Bunny. Today, at pretty much the last possible minute, we finally got around to dyeing Easter eggs.

To be totally truthful, my heart wasn't really in it at first. I hit a few snags along the way --it took quite a while to figure out where I'd stashed the egg cups, then I couldn't find the dye kits that I was sure I'd bought on clearance last year, then we ran out of food coloring so I had to go through my decorating cabinet to find more... then I found the egg dye kits after all-- and I was just tired.

But once the kiddos got into it and started dipping their eggs, I remembered why we do it every single year. It's a tradition. It's fun, of course, and it lets them be creative with color, of course, but it also gives me the chance to sit back and remember them when they were younger. And those memories... they're absolutely golden to me.

April 3

Adam worked from home today. He's been extra busy with work this week, so it was a nice change of pace, even if his schedule didn't allow us to go on a Spring Break getaway.

We had lunch at Mountain Mike's this afternoon. It's not my favorite spot ever, but the kiddos always clamor over going to the all-you-can-eat buffet, so I usually relent. Afterward, a beautiful arch of delicate flowers located just outside the restaurant's front door caught Abby's eye, and she asked me to take her picture. So I did.

Abby isn't one to ask that her photo be taken particularly often, so I was secretly, silently thrilled by the request. And I was thrilled that she has an eye that lets her appreciate beauty where it lies, even if it happens to lie smack in the middle of a suburban strip mall. It's a blessing, after all, to be able to find beauty in any locale.

April 2

Brady gave me a sweet gift at bedtime.

As he often does of late, he chose Logan's old Cars look and find book as his bedtime story. I love listening to him "read" each item name because I can hear so much of Logan's timbre and expression. I think sometimes that I could listen to him say "Mouthwatering Motor Oil" and "Gripwell Tires" all night long.

Then after we were finished, I asked him for a hug before he climbed into bed. As he wrapped his arms around my neck, he did something completely unexpected: he purred "Lllll-logan" into my ear several times.

I hugged him tighter and told him that I love Logan and I love him.

To quote a Gary Allan song that I know I've quoted before, life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.

April 1

Abby is having her first sleepover at our house tonight.

She wanted to have one for her last birthday, but not all of the moms I consulted felt their girls were ready at the time so we did something else instead. Then last week, off the cuff, I decided that Spring Break was the right time, and so we invited B --her friend since the kindergarten days-- to come on over.

So far, so good. We had homemade pizza bagels, and the girls played Wii with the Little Boys until they went to bed. Then we had ice cream sundaes, and Adam set the girls up to watch "Super Buddies" on Netflix before we retired to our room.

It feels like such a rite of passage to have a friend spend the night. Sitting here in my room, I can hear them giggling in the room below, and I can smell the popcorn in the air.

My girl is growing up, and I'm so proud of the little lady she's become.