Most people have nice, cleanly painted walls that feature photos or artwork. We have a few walls like that, but not this one. This one is covered with photos and kids' artwork. It has scuffmarks from speakers and tape residue from pictures that were removed at one point or another. And it's probably my favorite wall in the entire house.
Nope, it's not clean or organized, but it's filled with memories of days gone by, and that's a blessing that I get to enjoy every single day.
A really nice thing happened as I handed out the cones there in the drive thru: the kids all said very sincere (and repeated) thank yous for the ice cream. It's nice to feel appreciated, and as a mom, it's even nicer to hear my kids express appreciation. It's one of those little big things that makes my job feel more than just worthwhile.
So yeah, he's faking here, but he did fall asleep with BearBear twice this afternoon: once on the floor while he watched Isaac playing a video game, and once on the couch next to me. I don't like that he's not feeling well, but I love how feeling under the weather makes him extra sweet. And how it makes him need me more. Given that my kiddos are growing more and more independent every single day, the "I need my mom" moments are extra specially special.
There are a couple of notable things about this regular old sight from a regular old dinner. One is that the Little Boys are chowing down on Costco cheese pizza, which was always their big brother's favorite. The other is Brady's outfit: he dressed himself today, which meant he emerged from his room decked out entirely in red. It's kind of weird since green has been his favorite color for as long as I can remember, but for some reason, he wears red whenever he gets the chance.
Regular, everyday moments and random observations: all essential but oft overlooked components of a blessed life.
It was really just Adam and I watching throughout the film; Abby was off in her room and Isaac was playing a video game he got for his birthday. Just Brady flitted in and out of the room. But somehow, it was appropriate and sweet in its own way. And I'm thankful for the memories.
The weather kept a lot of folks from venturing out, so we moved through our afternoon doing the usual activities with relative ease: checking out the animals, watching the Alaskan Racing Pigs circle their little track, completing an indoor scavenger hunt, taking part in the kids' tractor pull, visiting a photo booth to take our annual group selfies, and enjoying the general atmosphere.
I've shared this before, but my family was heavily involved in our local county fair when I was growing up, so though I live across the country now, visiting the fair here still gives me a lovely dose of nostalgia. And for all of it --the smells, the sights (even the ones that involve questionable wardrobe choices), and the memories-- I'm thankful.
A few curse words aside, it was a really good pick. Brady laughed heartily more than once, and the whole story had me hinging on tears from start to finish. It's a blessing to remember that God --and as the movie asserts, angels-- are always watching out for us.
It was another low-key day. I had a phone interview with Ian Ziering (yep, Steve Sanders himself! Eat your hearts out, 90210 devotees!), watched more Gilmore Girls with Abby, watched a repair dude fix the trash compactor for the sixth time in less than two years, and visited Logan's grave to water the flowers and plant some grass seed. And then, of course, on the way home we stopped at Starbucks.
While we were there, the kiddos played a rousing game of I Spy. There was little fighting or bickering, and I smiled as I watched their eyes flit around the room, trying to be the first to find the 'spied' items.
Just another everyday moment, not unlike other recent everyday moments I've noted. But they're the stuff of a good life, so I'm thankful to be able to share them.
They're goofy and silly and over-the-top and all too often much too loud, but they love each other like crazy, and I'm thankful that I can be a daily witness of their shared and sincere affection. (Even if some days I do have to ask them to turn down the volume every 30 minutes.)
It's a cute image --they're happy and smiling and no one's trying to beat anyone else with sticks or other blunt instruments which makes it a win in my book-- but to be honest, the first thing I noticed about it was the mistake: the fuzzy outline of my car key in the lower left-hand corner.
I hate making mistakes. I know they're a part of life and that no one who currently walks the planet is immune to making them. But I've always held myself to impossibly high standards. I am, in all likelihood, far harder on myself that anyone else would ever be. To cite a recent example, I made two very small errors during two of the three recitals this weekend, and though I'm guessing no one else noticed, I mentally berated myself for making them.
So where am I going with this? Okay, so let's get back to this image. The blurry key renders it imperfect, but you know what? It's still a good photo. And it serves as a reminder to me that despite its imperfections, life is still a good thing. Sometimes, we just need to look beyond the blemishes to see the jewels.
I love nice sunsets. I love how the late-afternoon sunlight bounces off the clouds that roll over the hills from the bay. But it's more than just that; it's kind of hard to see from this image (because it's hard to take good pictures from the car!), but some of the clouds looked like car or truck tracks, which of course made me think of my Sunshine driving around in his zoom-car in Heaven. And weird though it may be, it's always a happy thought for me.
Adam may be quiet and contemplative most of the time so it can be hard to know what he's thinking about or how he's feeling at any given moment, but our kids know --without any doubt-- that he loves them with his entire heart. And they definitely love him back! Parenthood is such a blessing.
Happy Father's Day, Hunny!
Now that Abby has formally aged out of the mother/daughter dance, I know that today may well have marked my final appearance on a stage. My mind was busy as I herded dancers to and fro throughout the day. I mused over how much fun it is to let it all go and perform with my girl and over what a gift it is to get to know other moms. As we sat in the balcony watching part of the second show, tears stung my eyes as I watched an especially talented boy perform and thought "that could've been Logan. He would be doing that. I know it." And then I paused and thought "I'm sure he is dancing. How I wish I could see him." I take the bitter with the sweet.
I'm not the best dancer ever, but the art has brought much happiness into my life. So tonight, even as I'm sad that our mother/daughter dance chapter is over, I'm thankful that my mom paved the way to tonight by signing me up for my very first dance class all those years ago.
Anyone who's known me for a while knows that Logan was (and undoubtedly still is) a dancer. Not just a casual dancer, but a "throw your entire body into it and live it" kind of dancer. I can still see him bobbing and twirling in front of the TV, right where the boys are dancing in this picture. So when the two of them broke it down to the theme music of "Madagascar," I just breathed it all in and smiled. The glimpses of Logan that I get through them are precious.
BearBear is, of course, Brady's best buddy, but Beggar (he dropped the "Little" part quite a while ago) is definitely his number two. He sleeps in the bed with BearBear and Froggy (and Brady, of course) and occasionally accompanies us on outings, like he did during our shopping trip this morning.
When I see them together, it serves as a reminder that good friends --even the fuzzy stuffed ones with fabric noses-- are priceless blessings.
Between the dirt and the poorly behaved kids and the lazy (or maybe 'nonexistent' is the word I'm looking for here) parenting, it's not exactly my favorite place, but my kiddos love it. They love the pizza, the games, and the whole experience. I wasn't in the best mood when we got there; there were few tables available and I was tired and annoyed that my attempts to try to sell him on another dinner locale had failed. But halfway through my second or third slice of pepperoni pizza, I looked around at the faces at the table and suddenly felt a deep sense of satisfaction. These are my people. These are the people in my life who know me and love me and respect me and understand me better than anyone else on the planet. And if I have to spend an evening in a place I don't really want to be, I'd rather spend it with them than anyone else.
Happy birthday, Isaac!
(I really have no idea what compelled Abby to make that face, but it's being memorialized here because Brady was blinking in the only other one I took. So that's that. Anyhow....) I remember taking all four kids out for meals now and then, and it's so different now: for the most part, they cut up their own food, they tell the server what they'd like, and they usually finish their meals. And they're quiet.
I miss having the four of them together, even when they were all essentially babies who needed constant supervision and help. But there's a blessing in being able to watch this trio be self-sufficient (and in having the opportunity to actually eat my own food at the table rather than an hour later from a take-out box).
Although the clean-up job wasn't exactly perfect, it was clear that they'd made an actual, bona fide effort to restore order. To me, starting summer break with the them actually trying to honor my request --without any prolonged nagging to make it happen-- is huge.
He only recently began walking, and he toddled to and fro, periodically tossing a squishy yellow ball to the ground with the clearly hope that someone would give it back. Isaac and Brady were almost instantly taken with the game, and both took turns returning to ball to his eager little hands. It was just a small thing, but the giggles were priceless.
A popsicle, some sunshine, and some good banter with my one and only girl. All are ingredients that help to cook up a very good life, if you ask me. And all are things for which I'm thankful.
The minutes were bittersweet for me as we sat there at a little table, watching customers bustle about, in and out (and later, watching the barista make drink after drink at the counter). I took the chance to cuddle him as he munched on his cookies; I pulled him onto my lap and smelled his hair and just breathed him in. I know that childhood is fleeting, and I'm thankful to have had these special little times together with my baby.
I was only peripherally paying attention, but he lugged Isaac's backpack into the family room and began unpacking the mound of papers inside. Once I clued in to the activity, I asked what he was doing and his response melted me.
I'm emptying his backpack so it won't remind him of second grade and make him sad.
They may fight like cats and dogs (actually more like two hungry pit bulls), but I know that they love each other. So when Brady saw the chance to try to make Isaac feel better, he took it. Of course, I made him put the papers back in the bag because I didn't want Isaac to freak out over the mess, but his heart was absolutely in the right place. And for that, I'm deeply thankful.
Isaac was a fish and I thoroughly enjoyed his time in the spotlight, but truthfully, I enjoyed the whole thing. It was so cute that tears actually stung my eyes more than once.
They grow up so fast, and as I've noted 100 times before, it's a blessing to be gifted with the opportunity to see them change and achieve every single day.
Like Logan, he identifies cars by their symbols. Also like Logan, who had a special appreciation for Corvettes, he likes finer automobiles. So when he flipped to this page --which features a shiny blue BMW, which just happens to be the kind of car he told me that he'll drive when he grows up-- he stopped to show it to me.
Those brother to brother similarities could tear away at my heart, I think, but instead, they just make me smile.
It's in my back yard, and I saw it as I sat in the family room this afternoon. I was so taken by its perfect puffiness that I actually ventured outside to get a closer look. Isn't it just amazing? Maybe it's just the allergy meds talking, but if God puts that much effort and creativity into creating something that's destined to be blown to bits by a momentary gust of wind, how much more amazing are we? Just a little perspective.
It would be easy for me to let this entry become a huge cliche (and let's be honest: that probably happens far more often than I'd like). I could say something about endings being hard or wax poetic about the pride I feel over watching him continue to grow and develop. Or I could go the totally overdone route and point out that any sadness I feel is tempered by happiness that the season happened in the first place. But I won't do those things.
Instead, I'll say that I'm thankful to live in a place where it's possible to play rec ball, and that we have the money to let him play, and that he learns new skills with relative quickness and ease. Not everyone enjoys the same opportunities we have, and I know that I'm fully guilty of taking them for granted.
Of course, it helped that the Grasshoppers won the game by a significant margin and that Isaac got a few hits. It's always nice to end a season on a high note and it certainly made for a jovial group of boys post-game. But that's not all that made it a great day. It may not have been the case during my younger days, but I think at heart, I'm a reasonably social person, so I genuinely enjoy having the chance to chat while taking in the games. It's a blessing to slow down, sit, and really enjoy the moments as they happen, and watching a baseball game lets me do just that.
He said "look mommy, it's a cross." So I looked. And sure enough, I could see a tiny cross on a hill on the screen. "Yes, I see it. It is a cross." And then he got serious. "Jesus died on a cross." I nodded. He stood there, clutching the game, as if pondering his next words, but he kept whatever he was thinking to himself. After a long pause, he headed back into the other room to continue his game.
Me? I was humbled by my five-year old, who not only saw the cross --the itty bitty cross-- but decided that he needed to show it to me because of what it means to us. If I'd been in his shoes, would I have noticed it? I don't know. Maybe so. But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have called him into the room to point it out and to remind him of Jesus' sacrifice.
I could learn a lot from my kiddos.
Then I got to watch the kiddos explore the science extravaganza before (literally) running to the parking lot at the church (which also happens to host our preschool, but that's a random side fact) to get the car to drive them back to the school. With 20 minutes to go before I needed to pick up Brady, I then decided to stop at Starbucks for a quick iced coffee. My plan was to run in, gulp it down, get a refill, and run out. But while I was there I ran into a mom from Isaac's baseball team (with whom I share a few mutual friends since her kids also went to our preschool, so I'd hoped to get a chance to connect with her at some point), so I stopped for a few minutes to say hi. At some point in the conversation, I mentioned Logan and asked if she remembered reading about him the in the preschool newsletter years ago, and her face changed, and I knew she remembered, and I could see tears as they welled up in her eyes. And as odd as it sounds, those tears were a blessing too, because knowing that on some level, others feel what I feel sometimes makes me feel less alone. Understood, even if it's just on an "I can't imagine and the idea breaks my heart to the point of tears" version of understood. Empathy is powerful.
So yeah. I know this is rambling and disjointed, but it's hard to be concise when so much of a day feels like a blessing. So there you go.
He pulled out his binder and flipped to the back page, where he could use a dry erase marker to practice writing his name. He worked diligently for quite a while, carefully writing and re-writing "Brady" until he felt that he'd done it enough times.
I love that he wants to learn and that he's a hard worker. Not having to press him to practice writing --and reading-- is a blessing.
