September 30

After waffling for a day and receiving plenty of assurances that all would be fine in my absence, I made an eleventh hour decision --at literally 11 o'clock last night-- to fly back east for my Grandma D's funeral on Monday. So after Adam bought me tickets and secured a rental car at 11 PM, I hurriedly threw a few days' worth of clothes and other necessities into a carry-on, went to bed, didn't sleep, and got up at 7 to head out for my 10 AM flight out of Oakland. From there I had a quick stop in St. Louis and eventually arrived in Baltimore at about 8 PM.

A vaguely terrifying drive in an unfamiliar car along winding, pitch-black country roads later, I arrived at my home for the next few days: my other grandma's house.

I guess, in a weird way, I could call it a grandma-fest: I'm staying with one --who seemed to be pretty pleased to see me, since I haven't been home in nearly two years-- while remembering the other.

At the end of the day, I know I'm blessed to have had --and to still have-- these two strong women in my life. I think I inherited some of my more distinctive qualities from each of them: my sense of humor, and definitely my blunt, to-the-point approach to oh so many different things, people, situations... if you know me at all in real life, you may well be laughing by now.

Anyway, although today definitely confirmed that I'm a planner and not really big on spontaneity, I'm glad that I'm here, because it was simply the right thing to do.

September 29

I've gotten really, really bad at taking pictures. I'm not sure why, since I've always been a ginormous shutterbug, but somehow, the click-click compulsion has eluded me of late. Of course, that means when I get to the end of the day, it can be hard to pinpoint a moment. So today I'll just touch on lunchtime.

It doesn't happen every week, but Adam likes to work from home some Fridays. And today, he managed to make it happen. And on his home-days, we try to go to lunch together, so that's what we did today.

Between a late-morning meeting for him and a 1:55 pickup time for me, we didn't have a lot of time, but we squeezed in a visit to Baja Fresh, and sat outside under an umbrella while we chatted and ate.

Just a relatively short set of moments, but a nice time to reconnect and check in nonetheless. And the refillable cup pictured? Well, it's just a reminder that though daily life can tax our reserves --and drain our cups, to be punny-- God's always around to provide refills of grace and mercy.

September 28

I often spend my mornings sipping coffee at Starbucks. Sometimes, I'm working on my computer while I'm there. Others, I'm chatting with a friend. Today, I had my cuppa, but just sitting there didn't feel right, so I packed up my machine and went for a very long walk around the big park in the middle of town.

It was a lovely morning --not cool and not yet warm-- and there were plenty of people traversing the path, mostly in chatty groups of two or three. A few, like me, walked alone, lost in their own thoughts. Most, like me, worse sunglasses to shield their eyes from the bright sun, or, like me, to hide them from passersby.

I can't say that I felt perfect by the time I got back into my car, but at least I had the chance to feel the sun on my face for a while.

September 27

A largely uneventful day began with a mundane little moment that meant a whole lot to me.

I was standing at the counter at Starbucks talking to the manager when a woman approached and asked if I was Sherry. I said yes, and since she's a friend of a friend, I said I knew her name and said hello. After a pause, she smiled and told me that she still thinks of Logan. And that she was thinking of him the other day and decided to take her kids out for ice cream. Just because of Logan.

She looked like she might cry so I said a very sincere thank you and she was off.

The whole exchange lasted less than 30 seconds, but it made my day exponentially more beautiful. And it made me wonder how *I* could make someone else's day more beautiful.

Thanks Kim. It meant so much more than you'll ever know.

September 26

My dad called me this evening, and since he almost never does that, I knew something was amiss. And I was right, because he was calling to tell me that my grandmother died this afternoon. She lived a good, long life and was ready to go, but still, that kind of news is always a little... shocking. Death is very much part of human life, but that doesn't make it easy.

Since she's now moved on to Heaven, it feels like a good time to reflect a little on her life here.

I don't have a lot of photos of her, but this is probably my favorite. It's from Christmas of 2006, and the baby on her lap is Logan.

For me, she was a calming influence. She had a way of living in the moment that made it easy to be around her; someone could be screaming in another room, and she'd quietly excuse herself to attend to the problem, and return with no trace of annoyance on her face. (She probably fine-tuned that ability as the mom of six kids.) She always did whatever she could to be a good host, and I always felt comfortable and welcome when she was around.

Rest well, Grandma D.

September 25

I was going to write about something entirely different, but then Abby was just so full-on Abby that I had to change it up last-minute.

She was sitting next to me in a chair doing her Language Arts homework. When she finished, she popped open her laptop, looked up "The Raven," and began a dramatic reading. Each time she finished a stanza, she looked up at me, raised her eyebrows, grinned, and waved her hand in the air. (I asked about the waving and she said it was supposed to be a 'creepy flourish.')

I just watched her as she read, and realized that she was being so... Abby: the big bow, the sparkly shirt, the intense focus on what she was reading. And I felt a sense of thankfulness that she's comfortable being who she is, because that's a big deal for someone who's almost 13.

September 24

I've always suffered from really bad seasonal allergies, so it was surprising that I managed to get through the spring and summer without any issues. (Like none. When everyone else was saying "I don't even have allergies and my allergies are bad" this spring, I was over in the corner whistling and hoping The Allergens wouldn't notice and strike me down.) Anyhow, either that luck ran out or I contracted a cold from The Little Boys (who've taken turns being congested since school started last month), because I've felt yucky most of the weekend: Headache, congestion, achy teeth, the works.

So yeah. Today, I'm just thankful for over the counter meds that actually make the symptoms a little more bearable.

And I'm also thankful that tomorrow, I'll be a day closer to being over whatever it is that ails me.

September 23

Isaac has been unusually emotional lately. He gets frustrated easily, loses his cool, and cries over what are, on the surface, extraordinarily insignificant things. (No lie: being told to get dressed can --and often will-- send him into a tailspin.) This morning was no different, and he pitched a fit all the way to lunch, and then continued complaining and whining and dragging his feet as we walked into Red Tractor. Adam was mad. I was mad. But just before I yelled at him, I had a moment of clarity: getting mad at him hasn't historically helped at all. In fact, it's like throwing gas on a raging fire. So I tried something entirely different. While Adam ordered, I had him sit on my knee and we had a little chat.

I don't really remember what we talked about, but that dose of close, one-on-one contact had an instant impact on his mood. The tears stopped, he leaned his head against my shoulder, and seemed to just... relax. We looked through pictures of potential Halloween costumes on my phone, he pointed out a few he liked, and by the time the food came, he was back to being Sweet Isaac. He even finished all of his food in record time and walked peacefully back to the car.

Almost 13 full years into this parenting-thing, I can say with complete conviction that it's hard. Actually, hard isn't a strong enough word: it's a blend of gut-wrenching, painful, frustrating, and difficult that I couldn't even come close to imagining until we welcomed Abby to the outside world. But those rare moments when I'm sure I've done the right thing --like I did this afternoon by keeping my cool-- it's also an amazing, wonderful, and deeply fulfilling gift. Of course I'm thankful for the hallelujah moments, but I'm thankful for the harder ones, too. It's painfully cliche (and I'm cringing even writing it out), but it's so true that the difficult times magnify the greatness of the good ones.

September 22

This is a pretty lousy rendering (since that's what you get when you take a pic through a half-clean windshield), but the post-sunset sky this evening was a stunner:

When so many things in this world seem so broken, lost, and downright irredeemable, it's a comfort to me to look out at that sky and remember the oft-forgotten truth that God is indeed still driving the bus.

September 21

Brady had a play date with his friends A and B after school today. And since A and B's mom is a good friend of mine, I guess you could say that I had a play date, too, right there at the picnic table at the park.

Said play dates happened on the heels of helping to set up for the school's book fair, which left me tired (from standing) and hungry (from not having eaten since 8 AM). But you know something? It was really good for my soul to sit and talk with my friend, because friends are some of God's biggest blessings.

September 20

I remember the excitement of going to the library when I was an early elementary schooler (even if the librarian, Mr. Clingerman, did once make a stinker of a joke when he quipped that we had a very alcoholic class with Sherry and Brandy on the roster. But I digress). Anyhow, Brady was quite pleased to show me his books when we got home this afternoon:

He was particularly tickled that he was able to check out not just one but two books today.

As I've said many, many times (exhaustively, really), little, seemingly inconsequential things can so often be big blessings. And today, I'm thankful that Brady was as delighted as he was to bring home a pair of books.

September 19

I already posted about this on Facebook, but it's so amusing to me --and such a testament to how well I know my daughter-- that I had to memorialize it here, too.

This is a text exchange I had with Abby earlier today:

To give a little background, she recently began watching "Malcolm in the Middle" reruns, so when "Dancing with the Stars" premiered last night, I knew who'd be getting her votes: the former Malcolm himself, Frankie Muniz. She insisted on staying up and watching the entire show (and I let her, since I knew she'd just be awake in her room anyway), and then insisted on phoning in all 13 of her votes. Amused, I hit Twitter to share her great dedication. I was a little surprised when, this morning, I noticed that Muniz himself had liked the tweet. I knew she'd be completely starstruck, so I dropped her a text to tell her, and the above conversation was born.

She can definitely be sassy and feisty and, like other members of our family, she can be a wee bit stubborn when something burns her butter. But given that I wasn't sure if she'd ever be truly happy again after Logan died, these bursts of pre-teen exuberance are a sweet, sweet blessing.

September 18

It was a nice enough day, as far as Mondays go. I started by taking kids to school, and then met up with a trio of friends to catch up over coffee. After I picked Brady up, I watched him as he --and a handful of kids I didn't really recognize-- played at the park.

At one point, he ran over and told me --excitedly-- that I had to come see what they'd done. I complied, and found that they'd dug through the tan bark to the concrete platform below. I gave them the thumbs' up, reminded them to fill it in before they headed off so no unsuspecting victim would fall in and die, and wandered back to my observation perch until the second bell rang and we had to go.

I love how Brady gets along with other kids. He may not be the very first to say hello, but once he's comfy, he's all-in.

P.S. I think he's probably swallowed the potato now. I hope.

September 17

The discontent began over dinner. My children are notoriously picky eaters, but we're firmly in the you're-going-to-eat-what's-put-in-front-of-you-or-you-won't-eat camp so sometimes, we have a stand-off. Usually, Brady is the instigator. Tonight, Brady and Isaac got in on the protest against scalloped potatoes that Adam prepared from scratch. (No Betty Crocker for my man.) In addition to the aforementioned policy, we also have a one-bite policy, and needless to say, neither wanted to take that one bite.

Eventually, Isaac gave in (and I think he liked it, though he wouldn't admit defeat). Brady, however. Oh, Brady. Adam and I are both stubborn people, and I think Brady got both sets of super stubborn genes because he's a master. He wound up with a bite of potato in his mouth, but he quickly tucked it into his cheek (imagine a squirrel with a nut he's going to bury) and lamented our meanness; cried, pouted, kicked, shouted, threw himself on the carpet, and bemoaned his horribly mean parents. (But still refused to chew.) We ignored the show. Then we went for a walk.

We walked for a good 40 minutes, and that kid kept that potato tucked away in his cheek the entire time. Every now and then I heard him make a slurping sound (probably as the potato slowly dissolved and slid down his throat in its liquefied state), but he absolutely would. Not. Chew. When we got home, it was still buried in his cheek. When Adam took the Little Boys up to bed... still had it squirreled away. We finished dinner two hours ago, and it wouldn't surprise me if he still hasn't swallowed that one lowly morsel.

Parenting is freaking hard. I know I feel like I'm doing it wrong all the time, especially when I'm in the ring with the master of stubbornness. But even on an evening as frustrating as this one has been, I'm thankful to be a mom because there are few greater gifts given to us in this life.

And that stubbornness? I'm trying to be patient, because there's no way he'd be that good at it if God didn't have a big plan for it down the line. (At least that's what I tell myself as I sit in the corner deliriously half-laughing and half-eating my own hair.)

September 16

The weather was finally pleasant enough this evening for a stroll around the neighborhood, so that's just what we did after dinner. As is their years-long custom, the kiddos stopped for a photo on this bench:

I'm not sure exactly when the tradition began, but they've been doing it for so long that they just automatically sit and pose while Adam and/or I take out our phones to snap a shot. And then, without even commenting, they pick up their scooters or bikes and we resume our walk.

Life is full of twists and turns, so there's a bit of comfort in this kind of predictable routine. (And it doesn't hurt that I wind up with cute photos, too.)

September 15

All in all, I had a very full, very nice day. I'm not entirely sure how to explain what I mean here, but I feel like I got to take a lot of deep breaths, which is something I haven't done particularly often of late.

I saw this rose as I was getting out of the car for the Little Boys' swim lessons this evening. I was struck by the vibrancy of the pink and of the crispness of each petal. And beyond that, I was struck by the simple fact that I actually noticed it at all, because I feel like a lot of really obvious, really lovely things have escaped me in recent days.

So tonight, I'm thankful that I'm once again noticing --and appreciating-- the details.

September 14

It's been... a week. For many different reasons. But this is what I keep coming back to:

These are two of Brady's rocks from preschool. They sit on the bookcase in our family room, so I walk by them several times each day. I rarely notice them, but this evening I deliberately stopped, held each one in my hand for a moment, and then said a prayer expressing thanks for the truth of the message written on them. Because without that truth, this world would be truly lost.

September 13

I was sitting at home alone this morning just thinking (and organizing) when my doorbell rang. I wasn't particularly excited to find out who was there, but I peered outside anyway and found one of my neighbors waiting for me. This particular person is an older lady who recently lost her husband, and she's also something of a chatterbox, so I wasn't entirely sure what I was in for. But I opened the door anyway. And I'm really glad I did.

She had just come by to ask a question, but the conversation went on for 15 or 20 minutes and meandered across several topics: dealing with loss, neighborhood happenings, and figuring out how to interact with people who approach living differently. It occurred to me while we were chatting that she and I may be separated by a number of years, but we're really not all that different: we both want to feel appreciated and we both care --maybe too much sometimes-- about others. At one point, she made a specific, off-handed remark that lodged itself in my heart and cast a different light on a thought I'd had earlier in the day. (And I have to apologize for being vague here; I'm very open by nature, but this time, I want to keep it close to my vest.)

Anyway, today, I'm glad that God sent her my way and gave her some wise words to share with me. Clarity can come from unexpected sources, so be sure to keep your eyes, ears, and heart open.

September 12

Abby went to school today dressed like a big red cupcake.

Okay, so that's not exactly true. She donned red, white, and blue --including her big, poofy red skirt from Halloween a few years ago-- for Patriotic Day. (Or whatever they called it.) She was a tiny bit anxious that she'd be the only kid who would dress up --and indeed it seemed at drop-off that she was one of precious few-- but still, she got out of the car and marched up to the school like a boss.

I can't tell you how much I love that she's liking eighth grade. She's always been a really, really (really) good student, but she's also always complained about going. But not this year: this year she likes her classes and her teachers and is genuinely enjoying herself with friends. (Even the boys. In fact, some of the kids she talks the most about are boys. Talk about a 180.)

Seeing my girl happy makes my heart smile. (And if he can see her, I bet it makes Logan smile, too.)

September 11

I went foraging in the garage freezer a little while ago in search of dessert and was pleased to find this:

I bought a box of these at Costco quite a while ago, so I was surprised to find that I had one left. 'twas a sweet treat to close out the day that most definitely could've been sweeter than it was.

September 10

This is Isaac's betta fish, Jake.

Truth be told, I wasn't thrilled when Isaac "won" Jake at the end of third grade; said-fish was one of his class pets, and I was apparently one of (very) few parents who okay'ed the idea of her child bringing home a class pet.

Anyway, fortunately, Jake grew on me over time, and now I rather like the little guy. I like how he gets excited and swims back and forth when I peer into his bowl. In a weird way, he makes me feel appreciated. And though feeling important certainly isn't the end-all, be-all of human existence, I appreciate that he makes me feel that way -- even if he is just a fish.

September 9

Today, my friend Jamie celebrated her 40th birthday. We met back when Abby and her oldest son were in preschool together, and we've been friends ever since.

I was having something of a low-key day and didn't feel much like being social so I didn't stick around for the evening activities, but it was nice to be able to touch base, hug her, and say happy birthday in person.

Age really is just a number, though I like to think that with each year that passes, I gain an ounce or two of additional wisdom. But the one thing I know without a doubt is that every birthday is a blessing worthy of celebration.

September 8

The kid wearing the #3 shirt is my son, the peacemaker.

It makes me laugh a little to say that, since Heaven knows Brady can be quite the drama king -- as the youngest child, he doesn't back down from a "fight" with a sibling and is always the first one to hit the floor in flopper-fashion when he feels he's been cheated or victimized by some form of injustice. But when it comes to working with other, non-family kids, a switch flips and a different part of his persona takes control.

And that's what happened this afternoon after school. He and a group of fellow six and seven-year olds decided to play soccer at the park, but they couldn't agree on who would be goalie and who would be a ref and who would be on which team. (So yeah. They agreed on nothing at all.) Finally, Brady stepped up and said "let's play rock-paper-scissors to decide who does what." And they did just that. And voila, a (granted short-lived) game followed.

The world needs peacemakers, and it's a blessing to have (at least) one under my own roof.

September 7

We went to Costco this evening. When I finally got around to distributing the drink cups around the table, I was a wee bit surprised to find that instead of five, we had six.

Every time we wind up with an extra cup or plate or seat at the table or whatever it may be, my heart stores up the moment like a treasure. Because although Logan isn't physically here, in those moments, it feels like he's a little less gone. I'm sure that doesn't make a lot of sense and I can't really explain what I mean, so you'll have to take my word for it.

September 6

One of the most important realizations that's come to me over the course of the past seven years is that it's good to have a soft, open heart -- even when it means people will hurt you now and again. That doesn't have much to do with today's actual entry, but I felt compelled to throw it out there. So there you go.

Onto today's reflection. I was going through Brady's backpack this evening when I found this:

These 'about me' pages are always among my very favorite bits of school work because I love the windows they give me into their little minds. Once I got over the inventive spelling and started to read his answers, I couldn't help but smile. Some of the answers --mac and cheese, "Paw Patrol"-- were delightfully predictable. But when I got to the bottom, I almost lost it, because apparently, he wants to be a miner.

I showed it to Adam who, rather remarkably, was not only unsurprised by the revelation but was able to explain why our youngest wants to venture along that particular career path. Apparently, Brady wants to become a miner so he can dig for gold, strike it rich, and support Isaac's quest to become a major league baseball player. We joked that we should just teach him how to play scratch-off lottery tickets and then the conversation stalled, but in hindsight, I have more to say. I love that Brady wants to support his bigger brother's dreams. Imagine for a sec what it would be like if we all wanted to live in a way that could somehow bring hope or healing or happiness to someone else.

It'd be a Jesus-kind of world, I think. And though the idea of Brady becoming a miner is quite far-fetched, his heart --his soft, open heart (see what I just did there?) is in the right place.

September 5

We opted to escape our non-air conditioned house this evening for dinner. As we chatted over Chick fil A, Abby did something that made me laugh. Again.

She's studying the colonies in History, so she decided to come up with cheesy jokes for each one. (Seriously. She made up colony jokes for fun.) Anyway, the jokes were extremely cheesy and they made me laugh in spite of myself. And truthfully, they were also extremely clever; so much so that I silently marveled over her quick wit (and lamented the deterioration of my own).

There's not much about the past few days that's been particularly funny, but this girl managed to make it much more palatable with her goofy sense of humor.

That, my friends, is a blessing that's all too easy to overlook.

September 4

Our air conditioner went out yesterday and Adam and I spent most of yesterday and today jawing at each other. It's been a crappy long weekend: I'm tired, I'm incredibly hot, I'm sad, I'm frustrated, and I want to cry because I hate it when we don't get along. But I'm trying to find something, so there's this:

When I got home from the store a little while ago, I looked up at the sky and paused when I saw the moon peeking through the clouds. I thought it a lovely sight. On a day like this one, something lovely --even a very small thing like this-- is a welcome distraction.

September 3

It's been something of a bum-around kind of weekend, just because it's been so hot outside. We did go to church this morning, and then this afternoon, I took a quick trip to Target for some taco shells for dinner. While I was there, I found these:

I feel a little silly about it, but I still collect these cars. I'm sure that if he were here, Logan would've long-since moved on from the "Cars" franchise, but since he's frozen in time as a 5 1/2 year old for me, I gravitate to what I remember. And that will forever be "Cars."

Anyway, these particular cars were meaningful to me for an extra reason. They're from the demolition derby scene in "Cars 3." They're beaten and battered and just physically-speaking, complete wrecks. But they keep going anyway, and they seem to enjoy themselves. And I feel like that describes me much of the time: I'm a wreck, but I still keep going. And most of the time, I try to smile while I'm doing what I'm doing because I know I still have a purpose here.

September 2

It was ridiculously hot out today --and by ridiculous, I mean 114 degrees-- so after lunch, we hit Coldstone for some ice cream. Abby and Brady went with non-surprising picks: pink lemonade for Abby, cotton candy for Brady, and both with Gummi-Bears mixed in. Isaac, however, chose mint ice cream with peanut butter cups.

Truthfully, I had to stop myself from grimacing when he told me what was in his little paper cup because to me, the idea of mint and peanut butter together is gag-inducing. (Separately, sure, but together? Just no.) But that kid of mine ate the entire cup and seemed to think it was quite tasty, so I'm glad I didn't inadvertently extinguish his enthusiasm with my opinion.

I want my kids to be happy. Given what they've already had to endure, I wish I could insulate them from every bit of hurt that this world will throw at them. But I know I can't do that. What I can do, however, is remind them that it's wonderful to be precisely who God created them to be, idiosyncrasies and all. That doesn't mean that I'll stand back and be silent while they make terrible choices, but on days like today... I'll celebrate mint and peanut butter and Gummi Bears and whatever else it is that they want to throw in their cups.

September 1

Brady's laugh is lyrical.

He starts off with a quick, twittering giggle that morphs into breathless heaves and usually concludes with tiny tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Then, when conditions are just so, something will rile him up again and the process will start over from the beginning. I tried to just observe him laughing this afternoon, but the emotion was so infectious that I found myself joining in.

A good laugh is a blessed thing. And this little boy of mine knows how to deliver one of the best.