January 31

I felt Logan's presence more keenly than usual today. During dinner, I looked over at the big photos that grace our dining room wall --including this one, which depicts him at about 21 months-- and suddenly realized why. Today is his half-birthday; he should be exactly 7 1/2 years old.

It all happened this morning after I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot to get my morning coffee fix. I was zoned out and not really listening to the radio, but shortly before I parked, I recognized Carrie Underwood's "See You Again". When I got back into the car to head home, I looked over and saw a Corvette waiting to turn into the parking lot. I smiled as it rolled by. Then, as I cranked the engine, Mark Wills' "Nineteen Something" began. And I smiled again, because "Nineteen Something" is one of my favorite feel-good songs. It was almost as if that five-minute segment in time gave me a cheat sheet for coping with my lot in this life... remember, smile, keep living.

It was just a small set of otherwise mostly unremarkable occurrences, but strung together, they meant a lot to me.

Happy half birthday, Logan.

January 30

This is a wee bit pun-y, but indulge me for a sec.

It actually rained overnight, so the morning pavement was dotted with an assortment of splishy-sploshy puddles. As Brady and I headed back to the car after drop-off, I felt compelled to take a picture of a few of them. I was trying to capture reflections of the patches of blue sky and clouds overhead.

But I didn't get why until just now: I was taking a photo of the heavens on earth. Get it? Heaven on earth?

I don't know how Heaven-heaven exists; I don't know where or when it is. But I know that we could all benefit from a whole lot more of it on this earth.

January 29

This is a picture of optimism.

Our rainy season has lacked rain. But that didn't stop the Little Boys from taking their umbrellas to pick-up this afternoon. They whirled them and twirled them and walked along like it was indeed pouring down rain. That kind of imagination inspires me.

But that wasn't the only reason this came across as a God wink to me. As we walked across the pavement back toward the car, I paused when I heard music coming from underneath Brady's Dusty Crophopper canopy. I bent over for a stolen listen, and recognized the words to The B-I-B-L-E.

I love it when they sing, especially when they don't know I can hear them.

Small things, but they're everything.

January 28

Isaac decided this afternoon --completely on his own-- that he wanted to help clean up the living room. So he did just that. After he'd finished, he asked me to come look at his work, and very proudly drew my attention to the couch.

Once you get beyond the artwork on the wall and the general disarray, you'll notice the pillows. Isaac very happily explained that he'd arranged them in the correct order of the kids' ages, with Abby's on the left, followed by Logan's, his own, and Brady's.

I love that he helped clean up. I love that he was so happy with his effort. And most of all, I love how much he loves ALL of his siblings. It's a blessing.

January 27

I'm generally very focused on my family and friends. But I'd be completely remiss if I failed to talk a little about the great professional opportunities I've enjoyed of late.

Most folks are already aware, but for anyone who isn't, I'm a freelance writer on the side. I usually write about reality TV competitions, but for the past few months, my focus has shifted to the upcoming Olympic Games in Sochi. There's something so romantic about seeing someone beat odds and succeed when the stakes are high.

I've been blessed with the opportunity to conduct one-on-one interviews with a small handful of athletes, and have taken part in live media phone conferences with several members of the U.S. figure skating team. Just today, I spoke with Polina Edmunds and listened in on a call with Maia and Alex Shibutani.

(Just to explain the photo... when I record my calls, I use my old iPhone because I've not yet chosen a recording program, so all of my chats are tucked behind that little triangle play button.)

It's been such a huge blessing to me to go back to my journalistic roots and to brush the cobwebs from my interviewing skills. It's been fun. It's opened a few doors. It's been good to feel like my writing doesn't stink, because I've often felt like it does in recent history.

And the experience is making my life just a bit richer, as I get to know some of these amazing people on a more personal level. I can't wait to watch them go after their dreams on the world's biggest sporting stage.

January 26

Isaac has bronchitis. Brady has bronchitis and an ear infection. Abby is fine for the most part, but cranky. I'm popping cold medicine on a strict schedule.

But we're okay, at least in part because the sickies mean lots of good cuddles among the infected folk.

And there's really nothing like a good cuddle to make the bad feelings seem a little less... well, bad.

January 25

We've been hit with the sick stick.

Isaac and Brady both have fevers, Abby is cranky and I'm still coping with this rather unpleasant cold.

Still, looking at this thermometer, I'm grateful.

When Logan was undergoing treatment, this reading on a thermometer triggered a trip to the hospital and a few days or more away from home. By contrast, we can treat Isaac and Brady with Tylenol, water and cuddles.

Of course, I wish we were all well and that my now-cancelled birthday celebration at Adam's parents' house was still on the schedule for tomorrow. And I wish every single second of every single day that Logan was here with us. But I'm thankful that the Little Boys will feel better in a few days without the aid of IVs and heavy-hitting antibiotics.

It's all about perspective, I guess.

January 24

Brady shared his horrible cold with me, but I sucked it up, took some meds, and went on Abby's class field trip to The Exploratorium in the city anyway. Even though I felt terrible, I was still able to find amusement in moments like this:

Abby and her friends were fascinated by the BART rides, especially when we passed through the tunnel under the bay. They glued themselves to the window in search of... well, I don't know what it was they were looking for the in the darkness. But they were amused. And their amusement and enthusiasm made an otherwise tedious ride much more palatable. And it reminded me again of the importance of finding (and appreciating) moments of child-like contentment in this life.

January 23

I let the kids play at the park after school today. Isaac had fun running around with his buddy Jake, and with Thomas, who's in his class and is pictured here with Isaac:

To be honest, I was a little worried about how Isaac would do in kindergarten. His speech isn't the greatest, and I worried he'd have trouble as a result. Would he fit in? Would he make friends? Would he learn and be happy and grow in positive ways?

Although I still worry about my sensitive boy, I know the answer to those questions is yes. And watching him run and play and have fun with his friends this afternoon --and overhearing Thomas tell him wait! We have to do our secret handshake! before we left-- served as excellent confirmation.

January 22

Yep, a night light.

This particular night light is located in the hallway upstairs. I passed it as I was going to check on Brady --who unfortunately came home this afternoon from grandma's house feverish and coughing-- this evening. And I stopped to look at it. And I realized how grateful I am for both the literal and the figurative little lights in the darkness.

January 21

Isaac decided today that he wanted to make a sheet of homework for Brady. Abby's been making homework pages for Isaac --featuring basic spelling, math and coloring-- for several months now, but it was the first time Isaac had done the same for his little brother.

He spent a good half an hour asking me to spell out each word as he painstakingly --and lovingly-- put together the worksheet. When Adam's mom arrived to take Brady for his occasional Tuesday night at grandma's house, Isaac tucked the page into his backpack.

Then this evening, when we called to say good-night, Brady had a message for Isaac:

Isaac, I did my homework!

I don't know why, but it got me. I love the way they love and care for each other. They fight like most kids do, but they love just as hard as they fight. And for that, I feel tremendously blessed.

January 20

The kids had the day off. Adam did not. Facing an extra 12 hours with just me at the helm of the family ship, I wanted to put something different on the roster. So, we made cake pops.

To be honest, they were the ugliest cake pops I'd ever seen. And I burnt the second batch after I went upstairs to call my mom and forgot I'd put them in the oven.

But Brady had fun watching me spoon the battle into the pan. And Abby and Isaac had fun dipping the cooled pops into red candy melts.

And we had a new experience, together.

And that is a million dollar blessing.

January 19

Today, we planted new flowers on Logan's grave. Well, Adam planted them while I directed, Abby visited the horses that live nearby and Isaac and Brady watched. Afterward, Brady lumbered up the hill to fill a watering can.

Although this scene will forever break my heart a little, it's touching to see the littlest brother helping to take care of the biggest brother's memorial. Brady is, of course, too young to understand the weight that our family carries, so it's beautifully ironic that his actions make it feel just a wee bit lighter.

January 18

We walked Abby to her best friend's birthday party this afternoon and then took our customary walk. It was an absolutely beautiful day: clear, sunny and an unseasonably warm 70-some degrees. As we walked along a path, my eyes were drawn upward to this sight:

It's a little hard to see, but the photo shows a flock of white birds, probably gulls. Instead of traveling together in sync, each one rolled and soared and changed direction at will. It could've been viewed as cacophonous, but it was beautiful to me. The disjointed movement created a lovely visual spectacle, and it was hard to look away and continue walking.

Life is like that: full of disharmony. But when we step back and look at the really big picture, there's beauty to be found.

January 17

Sometimes, I like to be silly. And when I'm silly, the silliness often involves Pusheen the Cat:

I first 'met' Pusheen via Facebook. When you private message someone, you can insert one (or more) of several animated Pusheens. They're funny, whimsical, cute, and just the perfect thing to lighten an otherwise stressful day.

To my first Pusheen buddy, Michelle: happy birthday! I'm thankful for you and our strings of Pusheen-laden messages. ;)

January 16

After I dropped Brady at preschool this morning, I headed to Main Street to have breakfast with my friends Michelle, Amy and Valerie. We're connected by the friendship that our sons share, so it was great to get together with them to celebrate not just one but three of our birthdays.

I may have been the only one who finished her entire meal (which made me feel a little bit like Miss Piggy because dude, the portions were big), but I had a wonderful hour and a half chatting about the everyday details of life and just being comfortable while surrounded by familiar faces.

Moments of celebration like these make life more fun and relieve stress. And that's a big blessing to me.

January 15

It's been a really strange week. Not bad-strange. Just... unusual-strange.

First there was the conversation with Diane yesterday.

Then today, I had yet another conversation --at Starbucks-- with a woman who had experienced a loss. And to make it doubly-odd, it was a woman whose daughter was in Isaac's dance class last year. She didn't know about Logan, and I didn't know about her husband. I'd seen her sitting at the counter several times, but today was the first time we'd spoken. And our stories tumbled out. Another opportunity for me to feel... not so alone in my ongoing grief.

Then this morning, I was given the opportunity to interview an Olympian, which I did via phone a few hours later. I'm enthralled with the Olympics and with writing and with telling stories of people chasing their dreams, so it was a wonderful blessing.

But even though I keep saying it's been a weird week, I shouldn't be surprised, because what it's been is an answer to a very quiet prayer. On my birthday, I prayed that Logan would please show himself to me. That he'd find a way --or that God would find a way, on his behalf-- to be present. And he has. In Diane, in Jen, in the unexpected interview, and in this very simple moment:

Brady isn't generally a lovey-dovey child. He can be sweet, but he's not a big cuddler. This morning, however, he was. When we got home from Starbucks, he asked me to turn on Paw Patrol. And then he sat on the couch, patted the cushion next to himself, and asked me to please come sit with him. It was a sweet set of moments to me, sitting next to my baby, my eyes closed as I smelled his hair and hugged him close to my side.

It's all a gift. All of it. And I'm glad that this week, this very strange, special week, I'm realizing the weight of those very true words.

January 14

I had a lovely chat with Diane this morning, which was funny because I'd never seen her before in my life.

As I was leaving Starbucks, I noticed a silver-haired lady sitting outside at a table knitting.

Talk to her.

I paused, but continued on to my car and got in. And then...

Go talk to her.

I sighed. Although I'm a healthy mix of introverted and extroverted, I still had zero desire to strike up a conversation with a stranger. After all, who does that? What if she thought I was a nutjob? What if she was mean? What if...

GO TALK TO HER.

I had my key poised by the ignition. But I knew I'd regret not heeding the voice; after all, it was a pretty harmless task. So I got out of the car. And I walked over to her. And I said hi and introduced myself and told her I felt like I needed to come chat with her.

And then I saw her necklace:

And in an instant --a tiny, crystallized, perfect moment in time, I knew why I was sitting there talking to a complete stranger.

I asked about the ring. And she told me about her husband, Chuck, who died of cancer in 2012.

Logan died of cancer in 2012.

And she told me that wearing his ring around her neck helps keep him close to her heart.

Just like I wear necklaces to keep Logan close to my own heart.

I told her about Logan. She surmised that he and Chuck were in Heaven, wherever and whenever Heaven is. We wondered what they were both doing. She wondered if Chuck misses her or if time just works differently there. I've wondered the same thing, but she was the one who spoke the words.

At some point, she took off her sunglasses and looked me right in the eye. And I felt a real connection.

I thanked her for talking to a random stranger. And for sharing.

She gave me a hug.

And I drove home.

It was a surreal experience, and I'm so thankful that I was open to doing something a little bit crazy. I know that for those 15 minutes, I felt like someone else really understood my co-mingled feelings of loss and hope for the future.

And I hope that she shared the sentiment.

January 13

Brady isn't particularly into meals, but we make him sit at the table with us at dinnertime anyway. We eat, he doesn't eat. (Dinner, of course. He likes breakfast, so he's a situational eater. But I digress.)

Tonight, he joined Isaac in his chair. And we decided not to make him move:

The Little Boys may fight, but they love each other so much. And the way they laugh together... it's music in its purest form.

So yes: we were blessed with some live music with dinner tonight. And it was a lovely thing.

January 12

Isaac gave me a sweet, spontaneous gift yesterday during our walk:

It was damp thanks to the light rain that fell as we strolled, so I carefully placed it on the windowsill before coming inside. Then today when I went outside, I spied it, looking fluffy and dry, just where I left it.

And I marveled again over the sweetness of Isaac's gesture, and mulled over what I should wish with my wisher.

The whole experience made me grateful that we're always free to pray whenever we have wishes that we'd like to see come true. Because after all, even though they feel secular in nature, wishes really are prayers, too.

January 11

I had a really hard time picking today's photo. How do I encapsulate my 36th birthday in a single image? After much mulling, I went back to the basics. Adam took this after lunch at CPK:

It's just me and my little birthday sundae. I shared it with Abby, Isaac and Brady, and then we headed home. It's just a little mundane, run of the mill birthday snapshot because there was nothing HUGE that jumped out at me.

I looked for Logan today. A lot. As I was driving to dance this morning, the sun broke through the clouds for a moment and I felt like he was saying hello, but there was no grand statement like last year's yellow GTO.

Anyway, new years represent new opportunity and growth. And for this coming year of life, I'm grateful.

January 10

I was trolling my Facebook feed this morning when I came across today's wink. I didn't even have to think about it; the message was right there for the taking:

You'll have to click the picture to read the full text, but in short, a friend posted about an encounter with an older woman who told her about a son she lost more than 50 years ago. She talked about him because he matters and because he'll always count as a member of her family.

I don't need reminders that Logan will always count. He will always be a member of our family. But I store them up in my heart when I get them anyway, especially on days like today, which happens to be the eve of my 36th birthday. I may be on the verge of adding another year to my lifetime total, but my Sunshine will always be a part of me, even when I'm old and gray and talking to someone I don't know in a checkout line at the Dollar Store.

January 9

I remember when little girls were allowed to be little girls. When we could play with dollies and giggle and sing silly songs and be, well, innocent, well past kindergarten age.

The modern marriage of increased academic load and this strange, frenetic need that girls grow up faster changed things significantly. That's why I see so much of God in sights like this:

Abby took a long while getting dressed this morning. I was chomping at the bit to get out the door so we could get to school on time, but I smiled when she came downstairs wearing one of her dolly and me outfits. I'm so glad that despite influences that might push her in another direction, she still, at 9 years of age, likes playing with her dolls and she still, at 9 years of age, asks me to take her picture with said dolls.

It's precious, and there simply aren't enough precious things in this world.

January 8

I was surprised to find the ground wet when I woke up this morning. It hasn't rained here --at least not an appreciable amount-- since the first half of 2013. Although there were no additional cloudbursts during the daytime hours, the sky threatened to let loose more than once:

Cloudy skies have such a poetic kind of beauty, if you ask me. The way the light bends and reflects is stunning and mysterious all at once, but at the same time, I know the atmosphere above the clouds is still unchanged.

The whole scene reminded me of a few truths. For one, what we can see --our experiences-- change and morph like the clouds, and sometimes those circumstances include storms or the threat of storms. But fortunately, I was also reminded that though things may seem uncertain, God is still above it all, just like the blue sky beyond those clouds.

January 7

This caught my eye as I was walking the kiddos home from school this afternoon:

It's just a small, bright red feather. It probably fell off of someone's jacket or shirt.

But it's still eye-catching and pretty and vibrant.

It's precisely the kind of thing that I often look at but don't really see. So I'm thankful that today, I saw it and took a minute to appreciate its generally un-noteworthy beauty.

It was quite literally a bright spot in my day.

January 6

I'm sure I've mentioned that I'm not a morning person. Even back in high school when I was trucking it to school at 6 in the morning, I wasn't a morning person. Nope: I was a bleary-eyed crankpot. But even in my most bleary-eyed, most crankpotish state, I'll admit that there are advantages to being up when the sun rises. And this is one of them:

I took this picture of the sky as I walked from the car to the school this morning to drop the kids off for their first post-break day. It was so stunning that I had to stop and take a long look at it (even though I could feel the gaggle of teenage girls across the street looking at me curiously).

It reminded me that every day is a new day ripe with opportunity and potential; a chance for something new and better dawns with every new sunrise. And that's a very big blessing.

January 5

It's important to laugh now and then. It's especially important to laugh when life isn't funny. Luckily for us, it's easy to have a good laugh when we're hanging out with these people, Adam's extended family in the Bay Area:

We had a belated Christmas party with them early this afternoon. This particular photo was taken during the annual white elephant gift exchange. While some of us emerged with actual useful items, there were plenty of gut-busters in the mix, including animal butt magnets, a ginormous wine glass and a copy of Sharknado.

I'm thankful for the healing power of humor, and for time with family.

January 4

One of the remarkable things about this blog is how it's allowed me to share vignettes from my children's lives. It's totally appropriate that they be featured prominently in these entries, since they are, after all, my greatest gifts.

With that said, we went out to lunch today. The Little Boys were off. Abby was disagreeable. The restaurant was packed so we had to settle for a small pair of tables in a corner. It was a decidedly frustrating experience watching (and listening to) them bicker about everything. When we'd all finished eating, Adam got up to use the restroom and Isaac finally settled enough to color quietly on his placement. As I relished the silence in a sort of stunned, slow-mo kind of way, I became aware of this scene across the table:

Abby sat cradling Brady's upper body in her lap, gently singing to him.

I don't remember what song she was singing, but it was quiet and soothing.

And the whole experience made me remember the importance --no, the sheer necessity-- of identifying and relishing those moments of calm in the eye of the storm of human life.

January 3

It was a long day, but at least it started off right with some serious dance moves by Brady:

I took the kiddos to Starbucks this morning so I could fill up my January coffee mug. Instead of immediately heading back home, I opted to sit for a few minutes (mainly for some sanity). While I sipped my blonde roast and Abby and Isaac lounged in a pair of big, comfy chairs (wearing, yes, their pajamas... I don't fight it some days), Brady alternately danced, drank ice water and offered up big hugs. It was a very Brady thing to do, and of course, it was also a very Logan thing to do, too. So I soaked it up with a grateful heart, fully aware that my muffin may be a little nutty, but he won't be like this for long. And some day, when fear of judgment kicks in, I'll miss his joyful exuberance.

January 2

I peeked in on Brady during his nap this afternoon and saw this:

Bear Bear is a good friend to my little muffin. I know I've mentioned it before, but Logan gave Brady Bear Bear for Christmas in 2011, and Brady just adores his fuzzy friend.

This sight reminded me of the blessing of friendship, and of how much comfort we can derive from friends if we're open to receiving it. A happy thought indeed.

January 1

I hoped to have something truly, amazingly spectacular for today's entry. After all, today begins the second year of this God wink-seeking escapade of mine. But nothing really blew me away... at least, not at first glance.

When I saw this during our walk this afternoon, I was immediately struck by the obvious (albeit unintentional) symbolism:

It felt a little lackluster as far as first-posts-of-new-years go, but it felt like the right choice. So I stuck with it. And then, a few hours later, I got it.

It's not just a heart on a tree. Nope. It's a reminder that love is literally everywhere. This world was created by love. And the good things in it exist because of love. So I think it's beautifully poetic that the new year should begin with a visual representation of that all-encompassing affection that is, at its most basic level, rooted in God Himself.