February 28

Way back when, the three of us used to see one another quite often. Now that two of us have aged out of the preschool years, we don't, but we got together for dinner tonight and had a blast catching up.

Nope, I don't see these girls often at all, but I love spending time with them when I do.

Friends --even the ones we see only so often-- are such a blessing.

February 27

Funny story.

I got the email telling me about Isaac's baseball team assignment late one night about a month ago. The coach asked for the kids' jersey number preferences and wanted them ASAP, since they needed to be ordered ASAP. Since Isaac was asleep at the time, I replied that he'd be happy with any number.

The next morning, I told Isaac about his new team and what I'd said in re: the number. He replied 'aw, I wanted to be number 10. Oh well.' (He was #10 last season.) That was that, though. I told him he'd get what he got, and it would be fine because it was just a number and the important thing is being part of the team. He agreed.

Fast forward to today. The coach handed out the jerseys at practice. And Isaac is... #10. How funny is that? The coach had NO idea that he wanted to be #10 and there were TONS of available numbers (we have a 22, a 99, and so on) yet it happened anyway.

I guess he's meant to be #10.

Oh. And Logan is... 10. I got the weirdest chill when I realized the connection there. It's kind of like Isaac will be playing with an angel on his shoulder (or perhaps more accurately, on his back) all season long.

February 26

During worship time at church this morning, the band played a slow song followed by a hymn. Then the leader said we could feel free to sit, so we did. But the next song up just wasn't a sitting song, so I did something surprising: even though everyone else was seated, I stood up. By myself.

Given my previously noted insecurities about fitting in and being judged, it was a surprising thing for me to do. But based on how my heart warmed, it was also the right thing for me to do.

I don't always listen to those prompts, but when I do, I don't regret it.

February 25

I was talking to Abby about personality characteristics this afternoon, and happened to mention the Myers-Briggs profile. Since we were in the car at the time and she had nothing else to do, she searched it up on her phone and started answering the questions.

After I parked, she began reading the questions and answering them aloud, and it was hilarious.

One of my favorite moments came when she read 'My emotions change rapidly from one moment to the next'. She guffawed and exclaimed "Uh, duh, I'm 12!" Another favorite was when she read 'I care a lot about what other people think of me' and 'I get nervous when I don't get responses to emails and assume I've done something wrong.' Her responses? A succinct 'no' to both. (I wish I could say the same; she certainly doesn't get her confidence from her mom.)

I love her candor. I love that she really does seem to know herself. And I love that even though I'm an adult, I can still learn a few things from her example.

February 24

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but Abby and I usually go shopping on Saturday afternoons. Last week, as we were headed out the door, Brady scurried into the foyer and announced that he wanted to come. I said no --given that it's become our weekly girl-time and she's almost a teenager so she's probably well on her way to disliking me for a while-- and he was absolutely crestfallen. But I promised to take him shopping at some point this week, and that seemed to make him happy enough. So today we went to Target before school.

He flitted around the nearly empty store --since apparently not a lot of folks around here go to Target at 8:30 in the morning-- looking at Tsum Tsums and cars and shoes and all sorts of interesting things.

He was just happy to be there with me. It was just a shopping trip, but he soaked in the experience, and in doing so, reminded me --as he so often does-- to fully live out each moment --even the most mundane ones-- with a joyful heart.

February 23

Between school and baseball and tball and dance and house repairs, it was a busy day that saw me running from one end of town to the other more than once. I completely forgot to take photos aside from a few during my 10 minutes at tball practice, so here's one of those to look at while I get to the point:

So, this evening. It's hard to get from one end of town to the other during the evening commute hours. It's like the city deliberately sets the stoplights to discourage folks from driving through town, but I really had no choice. So what should've been a 10-12 minute drive took 30. Four times. By the time I arrived at the ballpark to pick up Isaac from practice, I was frazzled (especially since I knew I had to turn around and race to another park to retrieve Brady). And the frazzle-ing got worse when I saw the really long line of cars waiting to get into the parking lot. In that moment, I whispered 'please God, just give me a spot!' (Okay, so I kind of said it aloud. And when I say 'said,' I mean half-yelled, half-screeched.) And then, of course, moments later, a parking space appeared out of nowhere and I took it.

It was a small thing. A very small thing. But it made my day slightly less stressful, and even better, it reminded me that God hears me -- even when I'm just begging for a place to put my car.

And if a parking spot is even a blip on the radar, just think about how much more He delights in granting some of our truly big asks.

February 22

February is complicated for me. And February 22 is one of the most complicated dates of them all.

Nine years ago, my one and only niece was born. And it was the coolest birthday, since I'm her only aunt, and my birthday is 1/11 -- exactly half of 2/22. I may not have been there, but I was thrilled when I got the news. It was a truly great day.

Then six years ago, Logan had neurosurgery. That experience concluded with the surgeon emerging from the OR, pulling up a chair, and telling us "well, I think I got it all." But of course, as we later discovered, he hadn't actually gotten it all.

So this date has been rich with meaning: it went from a joyful one that celebrated new life to a scary one that featured a risky surgery on one of my loves to a re-birthday of sorts to a day that didn't yield the outcome we so desperately desired. So... complex.

So what did I do with all of that today? Not a lot, to be honest. I think my heart rehashed it without really burdening my brain. Instead, I watched the clouds come and go, lighten and darken, form and disappear. And it --like February 22-- was beautiful, if only because God Himself made it all happen.

February 21

It rained and rained some more today. I don't like to complain about it given how long we were under drought restrictions, but it's gotten to be a bit much. Frustrations and inconveniences aside, rain can pave the way for lovely side displays like this.

I saw several rainbows today, but this one was probably my favorite. When Brady and I went to pick up Isaac this afternoon, it was merely overcast, so I left the umbrellas in the car. Of course, as soon as the bell rang, the skies let loose with a gentle rain. I lamented my damp jacket and pants as we trotted back to the car, but then I turned and saw this, and knew I had to stop to take a picture.

A rainbow is, after all, a visible reminder of God's presence and promises.

February 20

One of the bigger sacrifices I've made in my adult life involves where we live. I grew up in suburban Maryland and the great majority of my family is still there, but Adam is a lifelong California boy and loves it, so I've been here for nearly 20 years. I've established a pretty good life here over time, but a small part of me always longs for home.

We were wandering the aisles of Costco this afternoon when I saw this and got ridiculously excited:

To the uninitiated, it looks like a big container of some weird spice with an even weirder name. To a Marylander who's out of state, it's like looking at a piece of home. Old Bay is an iconic seasoning that's made in the Cheasapeake Bay area in Maryland, and it's something of a staple in pantries back home.

I have no idea how long they've carried it and how many times I've walked by without seeing it on the shelf, but I'm glad I saw it today because I needed a hug from home.

February 19

Each time I walked through the kitchen today, I saw this:

It's the image on the front of the Valentine's Day card my mom sent us. They're just hearts, but they're reminders to me to be sure to love, even when it's hard and when it would be easier to just turn around walk away.

February 18

I am a perfectionist. I could get into all of the psychological mumbo-jumbo that may help to explain why I am the way I am, but it wouldn't change the reality so I won't bother. I'll still want to cross my Ts and dot my Is.

This evening as I walked on the treadmill, Abby sat across from me on the kitchen counter working on a story she's been writing. At one point, she sighed and told me that her computer's battery was dying, so she closed up shop, pulled her knees to her chest, and just watched me. It took about 10 seconds for the staring to make me uncomfortable, so I turned to look back at her, and slowly stuck out my tongue. She responded by screwing her face into an equally ridiculous expression. We went on with our little game for a few minutes until I finally busted out with a look that made her lose her composure. As she laughed, I quickly held up my phone and snapped a pic.

This is, from a perfectionist's standpoint, a technically inferior image. It's blurry, it's too bright, and the background kind of sucks. But in spite of those aspects of composition that I'd like to call imperfect, it's still beautiful because my girl --one of the biggest, boldest reflections of God's love in my life-- is the subject.

Life never has to be perfect to be beautiful.

February 17

Mercifully, today was a better day. (It's also a Friday, which almost never hurts.) I had some solo time to decompress this morning before I picked up the kiddos up from school (since it was a minimum day, which is better known as a half day by people back home), and then we all (including Adam, who worked from home) converged at Mountain Mike's for pizza.

As we finished up, Brady abruptly jumped up from the table and started to dance. I'm not really sure what compelled his moves, given that there wasn't any music and we hadn't been talking about booty-shaking, but he did it nonetheless. And as usual, it reminded me of Logan and his carefree spirit.

It's a blessing to be on the receiving end of fun little blessings.

February 16

I had an off day. I think my heart knew it would be a challenging one when I woke up, because a few seconds after my feet hit the carpet, I flopped back down on the bed and prayed very sincerely that I would have the wherewithal to get through to the end. And I did, but it was... hard.

The thing is, nothing really bad actually happened. Sure, I began the day with a head full of self-doubt, but I quickly realized that it wasn't productive so I tried to squash the thoughts. And yes, the afternoon hours were insane: school pick-ups, followed almost immediately by Isaac's baseball practice at a park I'd never been to (and had trouble finding) across town, then Brady's t-ball practice, then Abby's dance class. At some point I realized the car was almost out of gas so I had to carve out a few minutes to take care of that, too. By the time I'd loaded the boys into the car to head to Isaac's practice, I was just done. I cried from the house to the field, and when we arrived, I was horrified when I looked in the mirror and realized that my mascara was not waterproof. I felt tired, defeated, lonely, (and stupid for looking like a raccoon in public). Still kind of do.

It just happens sometimes: I have bad days. We all do (and anyone who says otherwise is lying). We all make mistakes. We all get sad and regret doing or saying something every now and then. We all get overwhelmed. But the good news --for me, anyway-- is that tomorrow is another day. And there's also this:

This image is from Brady's practice tonight. It's hard to see, but Brady is near the center of the image. He's wearing a huge smile and is looking up toward the sky. I was a little surprised when I saw it, because I genuinely have no idea what inspired the grin and the look of wonderment. But I'm thankful for it because it's a reminder to me to just look up, smile, and bask in the rays of the sun the next time I've struggled through a day.

February 15

A beautiful (albeit overcast) day transformed into a lovely, temperate evening as Isaac began his tenure in AA baseball.

It was good to see him out there, running and fielding ground balls and beginning the season-long process of getting to know his teammates. And it was good for me to stand nearby, watching soon-to-be t-baller Brady repeatedly whacking a ball from its tee as I chatted with my friend Steph.

Calm evenings are a blessing, I think.

February 14

I had an interesting Valentine's Day. It featured flowers, a long-overdue visit with some old friends, two highly entertaining strings of text messages, compliment cards for Isaac that made my heart absolutely melt, and the revelation that somewhere in our plumbing, we have a leak. (I'm still not a big fan of the latter, but you take the not-so-good with the good, right?)

As always, these people helped to make the day great:

I am so, so blessed. I have terrific kids, a great husband, and amazing friends. What more could I ask for on a day devoted to love? Not much.

February 13

The kiddos didn't have school today, so with the exception of a trip to Black Bear for brunch and a solo venture of my own to Target, we mostly hung around the house all day. By this evening, I was pretty tired and maybe the tiniest bit frustrated, but my heart softened when I realized what Brady was carrying around after dinner.

I'd be hard-pressed to tell you exactly when he made this rock, but I know it came to be during one of his three years at preschool. As I watched him stand there proudly reading the words aloud and hugging it to his chest, I thought 'God bless that preschool.' Our family may have aged out, but I can't be more thankful for the experiences that all four of our kids had at that school -- and for the lessons they've continued to carry with them as they've grown.

February 12

I continued not feeling especially well today, but Brady had a birthday party to attend at the Oakland Zoo, so we headed off in the mid-morning hours to do that while Adam, Abby, and Isaac went off in another direction to attend our nephew's birthday party. (It was a big party day.) After the animals had been petted and the cupcakes eaten, Brady and I took a quick stroll around the zoo to check out a few animals.

I apologized to him as we headed out to the car; I said I was sorry that we were leaving so early. The maturity of his response took me by surprise: "I wanted to stay longer, but I know you don't feel good so it's okay that we're going home." My heart lurched in my chest. I turned around and patted him on the knee, and said we could go again another time.

No tantruming, no tears, no attempt at manipulation. Given the weight of this weekend, his reaction was a huge blessing that I really needed.

February 11

I'm exhausted and not feeling the best, but I made it through the day. We donated blood and lunched at Red Tractor, went for a walk and had a pair of Logan favorites --spaghetti and meatballs and chocolate cake-- for dinner as we watched Cars.

Although the sunny skies made it feel like a Logan Day, the biggest wink came early on, as Adam and I headed home from donating blood. We'd sat in silence through most of the ride, when, feeling a little too overwhelmed by the quiet, I learned forward and turned on the radio. I'd silently hoped to hear the Cars theme song, and though that didn't happen, what we did hear at that moment was almost as good.... "...Disney on Ice, starring Lightning McQueen..." Not Belle or Ariel or Elsa, but Lightning McQueen.

It was a perfectly timed nod to a precious memory.

February 10

I don't think I'm ever really ready for The Anniversary, yet here we are once again: tomorrow will mark five years since Logan departed this life. I've been trying to come up with something to write that encompasses every strand of emotion I feel, but I haven't been able to do it. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I'll keep trying because his story is worthy of being told and I want his legacy to live on in whatever way possible.

For the past four years, I've gotten together with these women --and others-- on a date in February to celebrate his life via a Moms' Coffee in his honor. Some of them knew him; some I met only after the battle concluded. Today happened to be the day of our meet-up this year.

I know that on a very basic human level, it has to be awkward to show up to a gathering like this, but it means so much to me that they do; that as moms, they're willing to confront something as horrible as child loss head-on and sacrifice a few hours of their time to just sit and be with me during the hardest time of my year. Not everyone will do that for someone else, so I am beyond blessed to have them in my life.

February 9

I'm far from a perfect parent. I try not to focus much on how often I fail my kids because if I did, I probably wouldn't be able to get up in the morning. But I'm fortunate that they extend grace to me when I do make mistakes.

Isaac had to stay up later than usual tonight working on an assignment, and since the Little Boys tend to travel in a mini-pack, Brady refused to go to bed until his bigger brother did the same. I was in full Night Mode, listening to music as I booked it on my treadmill, and I really didn't appreciate him peppering me with questions while I tried to zone.

When I finished walking, he showed me the homemade Valentine he'd made and said that he needed to make a bunch more for school next week. Enter: mom fail. I told him that it was a nice card, but that his family would probably appreciate the effort far more than his friends. His little face fell, and in that moment, I knew I'd made a mistake. I never want to discourage his creativity or hurt his feelings, so it tore at my heart to know that I'd done both of those things in one fell swoop.

I called him over and held him in my arms as I whispered an apology. He didn't say much, but a few minutes later, he gifted me by falling asleep. I can't remember the last time one of my little ones fell asleep on me, so I closed my eyes and breathed it in as I listened to the rain tap, tap, tapping at the window.

I wish I was a better person, but as the hymn sagely says, grace is amazing. And we can only feel the depth of that grace when we make mistakes -- and own them.

February 8

Yup. That's a Hostess Cupcake. I just ate it (after I spent 70 minutes on the treadmill).

So now you're probably wondering exactly why you're looking at a cupcake, and the answer is as corny as you could imagine: because today was... sweet. (And because I forgot to take other pictures.)

I woke up feeling good, and I found myself going through the day with a positive attitude. I didn't nag any kids this morning when they took their sweet time getting out the door. When someone cut me off while I was driving, I didn't cuss about it. (It's totally sad, but that's a real accomplishment for me.) I came away from Isaac's first meeting with his new baseball team this evening feeling good about the upcoming season.

The best part? None of it was hard. I felt at ease. At peace. Contented. Even happy. And I felt that way in spite of the difficult day that's on the horizon. All blessings. All sweet. All unexpected. But that's how God works sometimes.

February 7

I feel like I floated through today, buoyed by the prayers of our friends and family. I felt so high that I didn't even need to ask if prayers were being said because it was just that obvious. If you've never had a day like that, you're missing out on a big-time heavenly gift.

My human heart will always be broken over losing Logan and you all know that I'm not a shove-Christianity-down-your-throat kind of person, but it has to be said: I would not have floated through today and overcome so much of the sadness that is prevalent for me this time of year without Jesus. The fact that I laughed and smiled and lip synced to music in my living room and felt actual joy was possible only because I know that my Sunshine is safe in Heaven. So to everyone who is praying for us and to everyone who has gently pointed me in the right direction when I was on the verge of going astray... thank you. You are a blessing to me.

Of course, I can't illustrate that. (Man alive, how I wish I could). But I can share a snapshot of just a single moment of the freedom I felt.

After my deacons' meeting tonight, I drove across town to pick up Abby from her youth group gathering. As we headed home, we enjoyed our usual witty banter. She's currently obsessed with the musical Hairspray so she chattered on and on (and on and on, seriously, I have no idea how she does it) about the songs and the characters. Just when I was tempted to roll my eyes, I had a sudden flashback of myself at 12 and remembered how I'd so often peppered my own mom with endless commentary of my own. I almost laughed aloud at the revelation that she is, in many ways, me. I don't know why I thought a duckface was a good idea, but well, whoop, there it is.

Life can definitely break your heart, but don't let the hard times steal your joy. I know that every day won't be like today for me, but I'll store up the goodness like a treasure and rest on it when I feel like I can't do anything else.

February 6

It rained today, which meant rain boots and raincoats and umbrellas. (Well, an umbrella for me. The kids don't seem to share my desire to stay dry when not in a pool, shower, or bathtub. Go figure. But I digress.) As usual, Brady sought out jumpable puddles when we went to pick up Isaac. As I surveyed the path to the school, I didn't see many, and I assumed he'd be disappointed. I was wrong.

With his typically indomitable six-year old spirit on display, he went from one super shallow, virtually non-existent puddle to the next, gleefully stomping and gushing over their hugeness. And over how fun it was to splish-splash in the rain.

And I was almost instantly humbled. He found joy in what could well be described as an incredibly lame situation. I could learn from that. I think most of us could, if we're honest with ourselves. So let's just be honest.

February 5

Meeting friends for coffee has become one of my favorite weekday morning activities. Sometimes, it's merely fluff-talk that makes me laugh, or political repartee that stirs up my blood a bit. Other decidedly rarer meetings generate more serious food for thought. I had an experience of the latter variety this past week. We were talking about our challenges when with an honesty that I can muster with few people face-to-face, I made an abrupt, pride-crushing confession: I am so broken.

I think it all the time --especially this time of year, when the less pleasant memories strengthen and it feels like I'm fumbling through the hours-- but saying it aloud gave it new meaning. Less weight, somehow, but also different meaning. We're all broken in our own ways, she replied, and of course, she was right. It's the ugly truth. I wasn't sure what else to say so we moved on to a different topic. But that snippet of conversation stuck with me and the question lingered in the back of my mind: what do I do with the brokenness?

The answer isn't as easy as I want it to be. The cut-and-dried, slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am response is 'give it to Jesus and let it go' or 'be healed, in Jesus' name.' They're valid answers, but they don't provide an outlet for the all-too-real, all-too-human pain that watching Logan die and then learning to live again in the aftermath burned into my soul. Platitudes don't help with that brand of scorching, life-changing agony.

I still don't have a good answer to my own question, and that's okay. But I feel like i got a nudge in the right direction at church this morning. The visiting worship leader shared that he'd written a new chorus to go along with an old hymn. Thanks to my goldfish-style memory, I can't remember either detail, but I do remember the crux: turn your brokenness into praise. Find purpose for the pain.

I have to flesh out what that means to me, but I know there must be something in it, given the timing of the message. How can I continue to use my heartbreak in a way that both helps me to keep living and glorifies God? I don't really know. But I'm thankful for the reminders to figure it out. (Since there's not really a way to illustrate this one, the pic is of the flowers someone left on Logan's grave. As you can see, they were beautiful this afternoon, so thank you, mystery person.)

February 4

The doorbell rang this afternoon and when Adam answered it, he found a delivery man clutching a vase of buttery, sunshine-y flowers with my name on it.

Given the cockeyed look he gave me, I assumed they were from someone else, and I was right: they were from Meg, who was one of my best friends in high school. (She'll probably be embarrassed, but that's okay. I suspect she'll forgive me.) She included a sweet note letting me know that she's thinking of me. And, by extension, that she's remembering Logan.

With just a week to go before we hit that fifth anniversary, it's such a gift to know that my friends are holding me --and my family-- in their hearts. Love you, Meg, and sending hugs right backatcha.

February 3

I love Fridays. I love knowing that I can stay up late watching random reruns on TV because I don't need to get up in the morning. (Well, not until the baseball games start, anyway. Then it's just a crapshoot.) Anyway, with the stress levels down, we tend to get a little silly 'round these parts on Friday nights.

The Little Boys had already been put to bed, but they scampered down the stairs and burst into the family room where Abby and I were goofing off on the couch. A few moments later, we were all crammed together on the cushion, shifting and poking and laughing until our sides hurt.

The unstaged, spontaneous moments are some of the best life has to offer. I love these people so much and I am so blessed to have them with me.

February 2

I have thousands upon thousands of images of my kids, but these are among my favorites. They sit on the bookshelf in our family room and every now and then, I get up just to look at them and remember, as I did tonight.

When one of Adam's friends from high school got married, I doggedly insisted that I wanted to go to the wedding -- even though Logan was just a few days old at the time, I was exhausted, and I was still carrying all of the baby bloat. I've always been a sucker for photo booths, so I was tickled pink to find one at the reception and wasted little time venturing inside with my tiny baby boy. This was the result.

Attending may not have been the best idea ever, but I'm thankful that I did because the experience gave me these precious images -- and provided the perfect opportunity for us to have our first-ever mommy-Sunshine dance.

February 1

At some point late last year, one of the Little Boys learned how to make paper snowflakes at school. In a nutshell, we now have a lot of snowflakes in our house, but that didn't stop them from making even more of them this afternoon after they'd finished their homework.

I was busy when one of them thrust this into my hands, so I put it down and said I'd take a look later. When I did, I was touched to see that they'd moved from paper snowflakes to paper hearts.

This may sound hokey when it's all said and done, but I'll go there anyway: we desperately need more love in this world. Not lip service. Not "I'll love you if you agree with me" love. Not hypocritical love that demands more from someone than we're willing to give of ourselves. Not those faux loves, but the real, honest, unconditional kind that looks beyond flaws and sees the redeemable qualities in everyone -- even those we're inclined to scorn. That's what we need. And I'm praying that more people will open their hearts and accept that love, because God offers it up to all of us, every second of every minute of every hour of every single day. We just have to soak it in.