Seven

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Tomorrow morning, July 10, at 6:21 am will mark seven years since I first became a mother.  It is hard to express in words exactly how proud I am of this child and the young man he is growing into. 

He is tenderhearted and caring. 

He is funny and expressive. 

 He is smart and thoughtful. 

He is spunky and outgoing. 

He is quick to anger (we’re working on this) but also quick to ask for forgiveness. 

He aches when he knows he’s hurt somone’s feelings and will swiftly work to make things right.

He is also quick to offer forgiveness.

He’s loyal and will be a friend for life.

He is a remarkable little boy who grew from a brute of a baby (9 lbs 3oz – no drugs…Oy):

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Into a beast of a toddler:

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Into an adorable preschooler:

Sloan 3yrs

Into the handsome little boy he is today:

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He’s athletic, able to smack a baseball and golfball with the savvy of someone twice his age.

He can speak and read in two languages.  This blows my mind.

He harbors a minor obssession with Star Wars and can rattle off a web of details that I find rather shocking.  It’s terribly adorable to hear him school his brother and sister on the ins and out of the Jedi Order.

Sloan is accutely aware of the suffering of others and desperately wants to help.  Currently he is raising money for Haiti and he is passionate about earning enough to help the kids there who are suffering.

Sloan prays with a boldness that I admire and love.  Listening to him pray is like being in a tent revival.  He brings the fire in his prayers and it’s hard not to jump up and shout “Halleljah!” 

In seven years, Sloan has taught me so many things.  He’s taught me to love people, to smile more, to forgive others swiftly, to trust in the Lord’s protection without question, to take a deep breath before speaking, to pray passionately, to care for others, and so much more…

But mostly, he’s taught me that I have the capability to love far more deeply and powerfully than I ever thought possible.  I didn’t know I could feel such a depth of emotion for one tiny person until Sloan came along.  He is more than I could have ever asked or imagined in a son and I am abundantly grateful to be called his mom.

Happy Birthday, Sloan.

A Girly Girl, She is Not

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She is sugar and spice and everything nice, but she also has a bit of frogs, snails and puppy dog tails in her.

Or, you know, night crawlers.

Ugh…

Let Freedom Ring

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Trying to stay dry from the rain that fell for about ten minutes before the fireworks started.

Trying to stay dry from the rain that fell for about ten minutes before the fireworks started.

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The Great Camping Trip of 2010

We did it!  We conquered the great outdoors.  We survived the big woods back woods of Missouri.  We lived off the land.  We were pioneers – FTW!

Actually, if we want to get technical, we lived off of Walmart brand boxed foods and our minivan served as our trusty wagon, faithfully toting our belongings into the very accomodating land of shaded camp grounds.  We are quite the mountaineers.

Aside from the obvious fact that we weren’t totally roughing, we did indeed sleep in the great outdoors, enduring the elements, cooking over a fire and exploring the natural wonders of the land around us.  And we had a blast!

First things first – we pitched the tent.  This was Landon’s first time to sleep in a tent.  Sloan and Tia slept outside several times last year in the back yard.  Landon was so excited to be included in this family excursion that he was literally bouncing off the walls before we left.  He wouldn’t even nap.

Fun…

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Sloan was a huge help.  He’s quite the outdoorsmen.

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After the tent was up, we let the kids roll around for a bit before setting up the beds.  Sloan and Tia slept on the hard ground because they’re bones were made for that sort of adventure.  Lee and I slept on an air mattress as did Landon.  Because I know better than to think I would survive sleeping on the hard earth.

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We were joined by four other families on our weekend trip.  Since we were the first to arrive we decided to explore a bit.  We hiked up a nearby trail.  The hike didn’t last long because my daughter was apparently created with the smallest bladder known to womankind and she’s yet to learn the art of squatting the the trees.  So we quickly found ourselves heading back down the path to the shower house where we would make frequent runs throughout the weekend.  Thank God it was fairly clean.

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Before leaving on our trip, I worried most about the sleeping arangements.  Landon still sleeps in a crib so I was concerned about how he would do in the tent.  I didn’t need to worry.  He was so exhausted that he passed out the second his head hit the pillow both nights, as did the other two.

Lee and I on the other hand…we struggled.  We didn’t plan on it being quite so cold in July.  The weather could not have been more perfect for our weekend trip, but with a low Friday night of 60 degrees, Lee and I nearly froze under our tiny little blanket.  Couple that with a rowdy group of college kids next door and the first night was rough.  In fact, I made a hasty retreat to the minivan in the hopes of finding a little warmth.

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Thank God for coffee and caffinated tea.

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And a husband who is chipper despite a long, cold night of little sleep.

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And a minivan that provided a safe haven for naps the next day when the kids couldn’t fall asleep in the tent.  Not only are minivans hot, but they are extremely functional.  Like a modern day covered wagon, they are.

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We explored a local cave where our tour guide taught us all about dolomite and calcite and a bunch of other “mites.”  The quote of the weekend came when the guide was explaining the drastic decline in grey bats due to a rather unfortunate virus.  “We have only 35 bats who call this cave home,” she said to our group.  And bursting through the silence was Sloan who piped up, “Hey!  My dad’s 35!”  Isn’t it nice to know that kids will always be there to keep you humble?

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Saturday night, the grown ups snuck away for a little zip line excursion.  Zooming off a platform 90 feet in the air at sunset and zipping over 1200 feet is a good time.  Just sayin’… 

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And Sunday we all gathered together for a feast fit for kings.

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We ate bacon (and lots of it), hash browns, eggs, donuts and so much more…

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Because we forgot towels and because it was a little too involved for our taste, we did not bathe or shower all weekend.  Which means we brought home dirty, dirty children.  My bath tub has the largest, nastiest ring of dirt around it now.  The shower upon returning home was perhaps the most glorious moment of all my life.  I’ve never felt more clean.

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In all, the weekend was a smashing success.  The kids did amazing – better than I could have imagined.  We were surrounded by sweet friends.  We laughed a lot, slept a little and made memories that will last for a lifetime.

Now, off to tackle the last three loads of approximately 452 loads of laundry that we brought home…

Kids Say the Darndest Things

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Sloan: “Hey Mom!  What if I had a fire bootie?”

Me: “Um…what?”

S: “What if I had a fire bootie?  Then, if a dinosaur started chasing me, I could just toot and it would be like a rocket and I could get away.”

Me: *silence*  There’s really no way to respond to that.

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Sloan: “Tia!  Stop copying me.”

Tia: “Stop copying me.”

S: “Tia, stooooop.

T: “Tia, stooooop.”

S: “Mom, Tia is copying me.”

T: “Mom, Tia is copying me.”

Me: “Tia please stop copying Sloan.  That bothers him.”

Tia: “Well I can’t help it.  My bwain tells me to copy and I can’t say no to my bwain.”

Me: “Well, you’re gonna have to learn to say no to your brain, honey, or you’re gonna have a lot of trouble in life.”

Sloan: “Yeah.  And some of that trouble will be with me.”

Someone tell me again…how long until school starts back up?

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Me to Landon: “What’s your name?”

Landon: “Bubba.”

Me: “No, what’s your real name.”

Landon: “Uuuhhh…Hey you Bubba?”

I swear we don’t go around calling that child ‘Hey You.’  Just want to make that clear.

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Tia: “Mom!  Sloan called me a wowyer.”

Me: “A what?”

Tia: “A wowyer.”

Me: “What’s a wowyer?”

Sloan: “A lawyer, mom.  I called her a lawyer.”

Me: “Oh.  That’s not a bad name, Tia.”

Tia: “Yuh-huh.  He said it mean and he said I’m a big, fat wowyer.”

Me: *sigh* “Sloan, don’t call your sister a lawyer, please.”

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Tia: “Mom, I weawy, weawy, weawy wish I was a boy.”

Me: “Why?”

T: “So I can stand up to go potty and so I can carry guns.”

Me: “Well I can’t help you with the potty thing – that’s just how you were made.  But girls can carry guns just like boys.”

Tia: “They can?”

Me: “Sure.”

Tia: “Can I have a gun for my birfday?  A weal one?”

Me: “No.”

Tia: “But I fought you said girls tan carry guns?”

Me: “Pretend guns, honey.  Sloan doesn’t even have a real gun.”

Tia: “Yuh-huh.  He said he could shoot me dead wif it.”

Me: “Sloan!  Come here please.”

It only took me 20 years

I have lived in St. Louis since I was 12 years old, minus the six years during and after college when I lived in Texas.  And in all that time, I never once visited the Missouri Botanical Gardens.  I’ve seen pictures and heard people rave about what a great place it was, but for some reason, I had just never gone.

Until yesterday.  When I found out how beautiful the weather would be, I quickly packed up the kiddos and headed out the door.  I have since found out that it would have been wiser to wait until today as admittance is free on Wednesday mornings, but other than that little misstep, it was the perfect day to go.  With a high of 84, it was very pleasant.  The kids had a blast looking at all the different flowers and exploring the rocky paths that crossed babbling brooks and quaint bridges.

“It feels like Narnia!” Sloan yelled at one point.  And it kind of did.  You know, minus the giant talking Lion…

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We saw the dinosaur exhibit. Landon wasn't sure about the T-Rex...

So he roared at it.

So he roared at it.

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I'm fairly certain those fish were large enough to swallow Landon whole - maybe even Tia.

I'm not sure if this was allowed, but my kids can hardly resist climbing a tree.

I'm not sure if this was allowed, but my kids can hardly resist climbing a tree.

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Landon with his Justin Bieber hair.

Girl and Boy Climb a Mountain…Barely

Our wedding reception was a heck of a party.  If I had to do my wedding over again, there are only two things I’d change.  Number one – the videographer.  They edited a bunch of footage out (who edits out footage of someone’s WEDDING!) and included some seriously cheesy background effects.

Seriously.

When Lee and I kissed after cutting the cake, they freeze framed us and the background turns to fireworks with wonky elevater music playing.

Ser.i.ous.ly.

Number two – I’d have an evening wedding.  We scheduled our wedding for 2:00, which means that people began leaving the reception way before I was ready to leave.  I wanted to keep dancing, keep partying, keep enjoying all of my very favorite people gathered in one place.

But as the crowd began to dwindle, Lee and I realized we needed to make our grand exit or there would be no one left to see us off.  Except, of course, for our wedding party of eighteen (who were contractually bound to do our bidding for however long we deemed it necessary).

So we prepared to leave.  But not, of course, before deciding to head outside to see what kind of damage had been done to our getaway car.  It was at that moment that my dad pulled us aside and told us to look outside the picture window at the Country Club grounds.

“That’s how you’ll be leaving today,” he said with a wicked little grin.  Our reaction?

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Sitting 100 hundred yards out on the expansive green lawn was a helicopter waiting to whisk us around the Arch and drop us off downtown.  That…was a good surprise.

So we prepared to leave.  But I didn’t want to leave.  So instead of running through the crowd of bubble blowing guests, we slowly meandered our way down, hugging everyone along the way, me crying like an ugly gopher…again.  I was terribly, terribly emotional.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about the helicopter ride.  Again because I was crying!  Sheesh.  Poor, sweet Lee.  I managed to pull myself together by the time we got to the Arch though and my new husband no longer had a look of panic on his face as my tears subsided.

We headed out to the San Juan islands the next day for our honeymoon where we kayaked, sailed and hiked for a week.  The hiking would prove to be one of our first memory moments together as man and wife.

Our resort was nestled roughly a mile from the base of Mt. Constitution.  Three days into our trip, we decided to hike Mt. Constitution.  So we called the concierge and set everything up.  They would drop us off at the base and we’d make the trek up the hill moutain.  Our driver asked us, before dropping us off, if we were sure we wanted to hike the mountain.  We smiled and thanked him for his concern and assured him that we were indeed able bodied adults who were capable of climbing a little moutain.

His concern should have been our first red flag.  The second red flag came about twenty minutes into the hike, when we were still making our way to the actual base of the mountain (turns out he dropped us off about a mile away…nice) and a camper asked us what our plans were for the day.

“Oh, we’re going to hike Mt. Constitution,” we replied, all bright eyed.

“Wow,” she said.  “That’s ambitious.”

We rolled our eyes and went on our merry way.  See?  Look how happy I was.

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One hour into the hike, I started to get a little tired.  “I didn’t realize we’d be walking at a 90 degree angle the whole time,” I huffed to Lee. 

“It’s a mountain!” he responded.  “What did you think?”

“I dunno.  I guess I just thought it’s be a leisurely stroll.”

Two hours into the hike we ran out of water.  And pretzels.  Because we’d only packed one bottle and a small baggie.  Because we’re from the midwest.  It honestly never occurred to us that climbing a mountain would be difficult.  Not once.

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Three hours into the hike we were starting to get angry.  Surely we had to be close to the top.  We finally saw more human life coming down the hill mountain – it was our first human contact since “ambitious” woman.

“Are we close to the top?” I asked, trying not to look like I was dying, though indeed, I was.

The guy laughed.  He laughed.

“You’ve got another mile and a half at least,” he said with a grin, drinking his bottle of Evian.  Punk hiker with his punk water…

And so on we hiked, and we hiked and we hiked.  And just when we didn’t think we could take another step there was a clearing in the trees.  With a surge of energy, we powered forward and burst through as if we were charging the gates of heaven itself.  And we found ourselves looking over a breathtaking scene.  We had done it.  We were 400 yards from the summit. 

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We reveled in the beauty for a few minutes before turning and walking to the viewing area at the top of the mountain.  As we rounded the corner, I gasped.

“There is a parking lot up here!” I exclaimed.  “And cars are in it!”

“You can drive up here?” Lee asked.  “Why didn’t anyone tell us this?!”  It took several minutes for us to get over the fact that we could have just had the driver drop us off at the top rather than go through the pain and toil of hiking the 4.5 miles.  I imagine the driver laughed all the way back to the resort.

We looked over the edge of the viewing platform for a few minutes, then I turned to Lee and informed him that I would not be walking back down the hill mountain.  We had dinner plans in three hours and I knew there was no way we’d make it in time.  So Lee did what any respectable new husband would do.

He hitched us a ride.

We hopped in the back of a pick up filled with retirees who were beyond thrilled to help out a couple of naive newlyweds.  And we did indeed make our dinner reservation on time.

And that, my friends, was the last time Lee and I climbed a mountain.

To read the rest of our love story, click here.

Where Two Or More Are Gathered

10I was fifteen years old.  A sophomore coming out of a time of rebellion.  I was dealing with a lot of questions and deep hurts.  Some of the questions are still unanswered, some were the creation of youthful immaturity.  But the fact remains, my soul was ripe for harvest.

I was approached one Sunday afternoon about an upcoming mission trip to the former Soviet union with an organization called Student Venture.  “Would you like to come?” he asked.

I blinked.

“Let me ask my parents,” I replied.

How does one ask her parents if she can go to the former USSR for Spring Break? 

Turns out, I didn’t have to do much convincing.  My parents were not only supportive but were quite excited for me to take this trip.  I am indebted to them for their willingness to push my brother and I to experience life to the full. 

And so it came that in March of 1994, I embarked on a journey that would forever alter the course of my life.  And the man who led me on that journey was Gary Varner.  For two weeks, Gary led our team through the streets of Belarus, and on a side trip to Moscow.  Because we were not that far removed from the dismantling of the Iron Curtain, we were treated like rock stars.  It was baffling and exhilerating to be followed and clung to.  We visited schools and shared the Gospel of Christ, we put on night time events, we made friends, we traveled on public trams and buses, we visited Lenin’s tomb and stood before St. Basil’s cathedral, we played wicked April Fool’s day pranks and we laughed much but slept little.

I came home a changed young woman.  Suddenly life was no longer about me.  And I knew I would be back.  Not just because I felt an odd kinship to that area of the world, but because I couldn’t imagine a better way to serve, learn and grow than under Gary’s leadership.

Two more times, I returned to the former USSR with Gary and his wife Carol.  They became a guiding force in my life, pouring countless hours into my development as a young woman.  They prayed for me and with me.  They held me accountable and challenged me.  And they were a grand example of living out the calling of God with passion and zeal. 

I grew such a passion for that area of the world, in fact, that I decided to minor in Russian in college.  I even lived in Ukraine for a time, studying the language and reveling in a culture that has become like a second home to me.  Today, my children are learning Russian.

All of this because Gary took notice of my yearning heart and poured into me as a fifteen year old.  He didn’t have to.  He could have passed me over, assuming me too spiritually immature for such a trip.  But he didn’t.  He believed in me and he continued to encourage me throughout those very confusing years called adolescence.

Over the years, as life ebbed and flowed, I lost contact with Gary and Carol on a regular basis.  We kept up via the cyber world and through mutual friends and I learned how Gary’s ministry in Russia grew and expanded.  For some reason, the door never really opened for me to go on another trip with Gary.  Part of that was my fault – I let the business of life convince me that taking off on a mission trip for two weeks was simply too difficult.  Part of it was simply circumstances.

This past November, Gary was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer.  And he has been in a fight for his life since that moment.  A few weeks ago, I had the privilege to see my former mentor again – to soak up his wisdom and wit in person once more.  And I realized how much I had missed him.  And in the three hours that I spent sitting in Gary’s living room, he blessed me in a most profound way.

The cancer, and the treatment required to fight this particular brand of disease, has left him in a lot of pain and with little ability to do much other than sit, think and pray.  And, of course, pour into the hearts of those who come to see him.

When my friend Lindsey, who was with me visiting Gary, asked him what his times with the Lord have been like he stopped and thought.  “I can tell you what they haven’t been,” he said with a smile.  “I determined from the moment I heard the diagnosis that I would not ask God ‘Why.‘  It’s not my position to question the Sovereignty of the God of the Universe.  And to be quite honest, God doesn’t owe me any explanation.”

I’ve mulled over Gary’s words quite a bit in the last couple of months.  And I have fought the urge to ask the question myself.  But Gary is right.  God is Sovereign.  I don’t understand Him.  I’ll never understand Him.  For all of eternity, I will be in awe of Him.  So who am I to question His Sovereignty?

This Sunday, June 27  has been deemed an International Day of prayer for Gary Varner.  For over twenty years, Gary served overseas, working with orphans, teenagers, newlyweds, and the elderly.  He has been the hands and feet of Christ and the thousands who have directly benefited from his sacrificial love want to gather now on his behalf.

Would you consider joining with us in prayer for Gary this Sunday? 

Here are a few ways you can pray:

  • Pray for a miraculous healing of Gary’s body.  Medically speaking, the kind of cancer that Gary has doesn’t look good.  But we serve a God who is the Great Physician – the Gentle Healer.  May we pray with boldness, placing our urgent request before Him.
  • Pray for Gary and his wife Carol as they deal with the stresses of chemotherapy.  The regiment Gary is on now is brutal – pray for strength to endure.
  • Pray for Gary’s children.  His son, Lt Clayton Varner is currently stationed in Iraq.  Pray for his safety and return to the US in August.  Gary’s daughter, Jessica, is currently serving in Athens, Greece with Campus Crusade for Christ.  Pray for her safety and protection in that unstable environment.
  • Pray that Gary, who is also an accomplished writer and author, would be able to finish the second installment of his popular novel.  Outside of missions, Gary has a deep love for writing, but the chemo has left him unable to finish his book.  Pray that he would have miraculous moments of clarity throughout his days to be able to release the creative giant inside.  As a writer myself, I know and understand how desperate it feels to have pent up creativity and no way to release it.

I’m sorry this post was so long, but my urgent and desperate hope is that thousands of people would unite and lift this man up on Sunday and that together we would all be partakers in God’s unfailing miracles.

If you would like to join the thousands who will be praying for the Varners, would you do me a favor and leave a comment letting me know?  I’d like Gary and Carol to have tangible evidence of the working and moving of the Spirit through the faithful prayers of many. 

Thanks everyone!

One Year

One year ago I was doing a bunch of this on the beaches of Turks and Caicos:

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I’m not going to lie to you.  I wish I was back there right now…

Toy Story 3: Better Titled “Let’s Tear Mom’s Heart From Her Chest and Stomp On It”

Thank you, Pixar and Disney, for making me a blubbery, sobby mess.  Thank you for gently forcefully ripping my heart from my chest and using it to play ball for 109 minutes.  Thank you for making me so emotional that my husband, when asking what I thought about the movie, had to make a hasty retreat as tears shot out of the corners of my eyes like daggers. 

Thank you, Pixar and Disney, for Toy Story 3.

I took my kids yesterday to see the final installment of the Toy Story saga.  It’s been 15 years since I saw the first Toy Story.  I was a senior in high school.  Now I’m a mom of three.  And the message of this movie was not at all lost on me.  Especially given the fact that Tia sat on one side of me clutching her beloved Lovey Bear and Landon sat on the other, his Sock Monkey nestled snug beneath his arm.  I couldn’t help but look at those two little toys, both so loved and content at this moment.  What will it be like in fifteen years when they are cast off – no longer needed for comfort and companionship?

Excuse me for a moment while I go sob in the bathroom…

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It didn’t even dawn on me when we left the house that they were carrying those toys with them to the theater to see a movie about the fate of beloved toys.  But looking at my babies as Andy drove away on the big screen with his faithful companions left to watch his tail lights fade in the distance, I got so terribly emotional.  It doesn’t help that I’m slightly hormonal, or that it’s been a tough week parenting.

As we drove home after the movie, I glanced in the rearview mirror at these children of mine – children who I love desperately.  Time goes by so quickly.  Yesterday (or so it seems) I married Lee.  And then I blinked and it’s suddenly ten years later.  If I weren’t such a prim and proper lady I’d let out an expletive.  Instead I’ll settle for a simple, WTHHow does it move so quickly?

I read this on Nicole’s blog yesterday:

“When you’re holding your baby and he’s falling asleep in your arms slowly and the evening is slipping away and your mind is racing through the thousand things at the top of your list, and you begin to feel – as all fathers and mothers inevitably feel from time to time – that you’re wasting your time taking care of this little kid, try to remember that next year you won’t be able to hold him in the same way, he won’t go to sleep in your arms, and after a few more years, you’ll be happy to get a hug on the run. Our children are here to stay, but our babies and toddlers and preschoolers are gone as fast as they can grow up – and we have only a short moment with each. When you see a grandfather take a baby in his arms, you see that the moment hasn’t always been long enough.” S. Adams Sullivan, The Father’s Almanac

This parenting thing is hard.  “Enjoy it,” everyone tells you, “Because it goes by so fast.”  Even a bunch of animated toys told me the very same thing yesterday.  What no one tells you, though, is that sometimes you have to work really, really hard to enjoy it.  And that is, perhaps, what had me most emotional.  I know it goes by fast, I know I need to enjoy it, I know I need to cherish the moments because they’re over in the blink of an eye – but to be quite honest, I don’t always enjoy being a mom.  I love my kids, of course.  They are so much a piece of me that I hardly remember life without them.  But raising them…it’s hard.

Of course, it’s supposed to be hard now.  “Put in the hard work when they’re young so that when they grow into teenagers you can reap the rewards of that hard work.”  This is another piece of sage advice I cling to.  On the days when it feels like all I do is battle, I remember that it’s better to battle them now when the environment is controlled than to battle them as teenagers when the battlefield is full of hidden mines and has a much larger scope.

But I would be lying if I said that I enjoy every moment of every day.  Because I don’t. 

I do, however, enjoy more than I don’t enjoy.  Stay with me…Yesterday, and the few days leading up to it, was a hard day.  There were many battles, many fights, many tears.  And I was battle weary.  Today, this morning, has been filled with sweetness.  The kids have played together this morning without argument (and when I say argument, I mean screaming bloody murder at one another – sorry to any neighbors who were awakened by Sloan and Tia’s death match on the front porch Sunday morning).  They’ve been pleasant and sweet, obedient even.  And it hasn’t been a stretch to enjoy them.  Yesterday, I had to search a couple of times for ways to like them.

So I was partly grateful to Toy Story for reminding me, yet again, that the time I have with my children when they’re young is fleeting.  Yesterday was one day.  There will be more days like it – days when loving my children is easy but liking them is hard.  But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I dread this time in our lives coming to an end.  There are sweet days to come, moments to celebrate, birthdays to rejoice in, milestones to accomplish – but the days of them sitting in my lap, a stuffed animal tucked beneath their arms…those days won’t last forever.  And it’s those moments that I cherish the most.  I tuck each one away in the crevices of my heart.

And I will now commence to crying once more.  Dumb cartoon movie…