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Cry Me a Freakin’ River: Part Two

November 6, 2011 by

“It’s only hair,” I keep whispering every time this small boy comes strolling by. He glances up at me out of the corner of his eye and gives me that mischevious grin and I blink back the tears. “It’s only hair. It’s only hair. It’s only hair.”

That is my mantra.

I got Landon’s hair cut this weekend and in doing so, I went ahead and ripped my heart out and handed it to him. He’s carrying it around in his back pocket now…

Geez, Kelli.  Get a grip.  It’s only a haircut.

You’re right.  It is only a haircut.  But it also is one more step forward out of babydom and I’ve told you before, I’m not ready for these toddler years to end.  Everytime I look at Landon, I still see this kid:

And this one:

IMGP7053

But somewhere along the way, my baby with the Bieber hair turned into a boy with opinions.  He possesses clarity and wit and can connect events and moments together in a coherent manner.  He is one month from four and I am fighting off a minor panic attack.

“I wanna hab thpike haiwr,” he told me as we walked into the salon.  And I fought off tears as I watched the stylist shave off his long surfer dude locks and give him the big boy spiked haircut he desired.  I knew in doing so, we were officially saying goodbye to the baby.

I don’t know what it is about this kid, but he has had me wrapped, tied and sewn around his little finger since the day he came squalling into the world.  He is a delight and of the three, he is the one I most long to hold back…to slow down.  Sloan has always been so big and advanced that watching him grow and get older, while still emotional, has been exciting.  I can’t wait to see what he’ll do next.

Tia has developed so many interesting and beautiful traits in the last year that I am delighting in her growth.

But Landon…

Maybe it’s because he’s the baby.  Perhaps it’s due to the fact that he’s such a munchkin that I sometime forget he’s almost four.  It could be that he’s the most affectionate of the three, still wanting to snuggle close throughout the day.

Whatever the case, he’s the one that makes me long for a pause button.  I wish I could just make time stop, so I could really, truly cherish the moments when he presses his soft cheek to mine.

Before his cheeks thin out and his torso lengthens, I want to just hold him and breathe him in.  Before his muscles are defined and he develops the sinewy body of a little man, I want to tickle his Buddha belly and feel the powdery soft flesh of his arms.  I want to hear his laugh and memorize his movements.  I want to kiss his nose and feel his tiny hand pressed in mine.  I want to feel the warmth of his weight snuggled against my chest in the darkness of the early morning.

I want every one of those moments to be doubled.

He wanted to stop taking pictures. I think he's giving me the bird...

I know there are delightful days to come.  I know without a doubt that the joy and light that this child brings to our family won’t be dimmed with age.  But for now, for today, I feel a mixture of emotions.

I am sad that he is growing so fast.  I’m sad that a simple haircut changed him from a baby to a boy in an instant.

I’m excited to see what the future holds.  Because he is my third born, I know there are milestones and joys that lie ahead.  There are changes to come that are natural and good and I am anxiously awaiting the process of watching not only Landon, but all three of my children grow up.  It’s beautiful and wonderful and thrilling and exhausting and I’m overjoyed that I get to be witness to their growth.

I just wish that it didn’t have to happen so fast.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Landon, Motherhood Tagged With: , , ,

Where we were then

October 30, 2011 by

We are the World Series Champions!

Alternately titled: I didn’t know I could love baseball this much.

The St. Louis Cardinals are the World Series Champions.  You probably already knew that, but unless you’re from Missouri or Texas it likely didn’t mean much to you.  Truthfully, not that long ago it wouldn’t have mattered much to me either.  While I’ve always enjoyed sports, I have never been much of a fanatic.  I could take ’em or leave ’em.

Until this World Series.  I don’t know what came over me, honestly.  Maybe it’s the fact that we just moved away from St. Louis and I was feeling nostalgic, maybe it’s the fact that my son is finally at an age where sports are a huge deal, maybe it’s the fact that I was smack dab in the middle of a strict diet and I was delirious from hunger…

Whatever the case, I was a nut job over this World Series.  I wanted to see every game and I nervously paced and sighed and yelled and fussed over all of them.  I told you – I’m a terribly nervous sports fan.

It could be that this is the first time baseball has been really exciting.  Watching Sloan dissect each pitch and interact with Lee like a grown up made my heart turned ten shades of happy. Hearing Tia yell, “Texas, you awre goin’ down like China town,” cracked me up.

Hearing Landon declare that he was going to stay up “til the Wowrld Serious ends” and then watching him fall asleep before the first pitch was thrown made smile.

There was just something about this Championship series that was magical.  Had it been any other combination of teams, I probably wouldn’t have cared quite as much, though I would have still been excited to watch the game with my first born’s commentary running in the background.

“Oooohhh…that pitch was nasty. Did you see that nasty pitch?”

“Okay, John Jay…time to be a hitter.  Aw, man!  Jay don’t swing at the first pitch!”

“Okay guys, time to play smart.  We need smart baseball here.”

Thursday night found the kids and I at my parents condo so we could watch Game 6.  Lee was at a dinner and wouldn’t be home until late so we decided to make it a baseball night sans daddy.

It was a make or break game.  The Cardinals had to win it or I would be teaching my fiery first born the finer points of losing gracefully.  And after the sixth inning, when it appeared that all hope was lost and the game was over for the Cardinals, I prepared myself to give him the “someone’s got to win and someone’s got to lose” speech.

“That’s it,” Sloan huffed as yet another foolish error was made in the outfield.  “Texas is going to win.  I’m done watching this stupid game.” And with that, he stomped to his bed.

I, however, decided to stay up and see if maybe, just maybe, the Cards could pull off yet another miracle. And they did not disappoint. Lee and I texted back and forth until just after midnight when my phone died and the Cardinals and Rangers entered into the 11th inning tied…again.

And then…well, honestly?  I fell asleep.

Okay, so I’m not a total die hard sports fan yet.  I closed my eyes when the commercials came on with the intention of opening them again when the game started back up.  Instead, I opened them to find an elated Lance Berkman being interviewed with clips of David Freese hitting the game winning walk off home run.  (He’s an alumni from my high school, you know).

(Name dropper)

(Naw…if I was a name dropper I’d tell you about the time that Lee played basketball with Albert Pujols).

Stellar Parenting 101: Take your exhausted 3 year old to a sports bar at 10:00 at night and tell him you're sorry he's tired but you're not leaving so he better curl up on the chair. At least he slept, right?

So Friday night found us all piled up together at Buffalo Wild Wings for Game 7.  Landon fell asleep on my lap within minutes and we stayed until the beautiful, glorious end when the Cardinals defied the odds and won.

It was thrilling because it was our home team.

It was thrilling because they fought hard and beat a really good, tough team.

It was thrilling because we were together, just the five of us, making a memory with our kids to last a lifetime.

When the kids are grown and are taking their own children to baseball games, I pray they remember the night we closed down a sports bar.  I hope they remember what they were doing when the St. Louis Cardinals won their 11th World Series title.  I hope they tell their kids where they were when…

I will have the memory of that night treasured up and stored inside the most sacred sanctuary of my heart.  And every day, as I walk outside and watch Sloan reenact the moment the Cards won the game in our backyard (and reenact he does, he mimics every player’s reaction from Yadi to Pujols to Purcal to LaRussa) I’m reminded that raising kids is a series of moments pieced into the tapestry that makes up a life.

It is flashes of time, memories and laughter all strung together, that I pray leaves them with a sense of love that will be unmatched until they one day repeat the cycle with their own children.

Thank you, St. Louis Cardinals for giving our family a memory to last a lifetime.

Filed Under: Family, Heritage, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Sports Tagged With: , , , , ,

Tales from the Homefront

October 25, 2011 by

“Mom!  Hey, MOM!  Lookatthislookatthislookatthis!  It’s Ra, the Egyptian Sun god!”

Thus yelled my eight year old across the aisle of Homegoods, as he stood face to face with a life size statue of Ra. It was in the clearance aisle.

Odd.  I would think a creepy looking faux Ra would be a hot ticket item...

The gentleman sitting in the arm chair nearest Sloan looked up in surprise.  He then looked at me quizzically as I cleared my throat.

“We’ve been studying Egypt,” I said with a smile.

pause

“Why?” he asked.

“We were reading about Moses bringing the Israelites out of Egypt,” Sloan said.  “Have you heard that story?  Where Moses turned the water to blood and sent tons of frogs and parted the Red Sea and Pharoah and his people sank to the bottom.”

The man looked at Sloan with amusement, then back at me.

“We homeschool,” I said.  It’s my only defense.  Why else would we be in Homegoods at 1:00 on a Monday afternoon?

“I see,” was his reply, then he leaned back into his chair, presumably to nap since his wife was nowhere to be found.  I grabbed Tia’s hand and motioned Sloan to follow us.  As we walked away, Tia glanced back at the statue over her shoulder.

“Why would anyone want to worship that little statue?” she asked.  “It’s just made of wood.  Wood can’t help you like the one twue God.”

And as we walked away, I heard the man let out a hearty laugh.

Homeschooling is an adventure unlike any I’ve ever taken.  I’ve got a video to share with you all at some point.  I wanted to today, but my computer ate half of it and I don’t have it in me to start over now.

This past week was rough.  It was crawl into bed and lay staring comatose at the ceiling rough.  A myriad of issues led me to a bit of a low point where smiling felt like a chore and everyday tasks seemed monumental.

Make the bed?  Impossible.

Clean the dishes?  Painful.

Sweep the floor?  Everest.

It was like a marathon just getting through the basic tasks of each day.  And I just felt sad.  Even a night away generously donated by my husband couldn’t pull me out of my funk and I couldn’t figure it out.

As Lee and I talked, my eyes welling up with tears, I told him how I just feel frustrated.  There’s so much to do.  So many plates to keep spinning.  And I am overwhelmed and feeling very…alone.

It felt good to cry.  Yesterday I woke up feeling a little more refreshed and ready to tackle the day with a specific prayer on my heart – Lord, let me see You today.

About half way through my day, I received an email from a company confirming my participation in an event in St. Louis.  This company has agreed to not only fly me up to St. Louis, but also the kids.  A much needed chance to get away, take a break and be refreshed.

I saw.

Last night I attended a meeting at a local church for homeschooling moms and it did more than give me a couple of new ideas for making our school more fun – it refreshed my heart.  I met people my age, in my same boat who get it.

I saw.

The woman sharing was a veteran homeschooling mom with her oldest preparing to graduate high school.  “It goes so fast,” she said.  “You blink and they’re teenagers and it’s gone.”

I’ve heard this a thousand times, but I needed it again last night.  I really needed it.

“Soon the house will be empty,” she continued.  “It will be quiet and in order and clean…but I’d rather have the noise.”

I saw.

These were seemingly little things, but they brought a fountain of relief and rest to my soul. 

Right now, as I type this, the house is refreshingly quiet.  Blissfully so.  But I know the noise is coming and I want to greet it with a fresh perspective.  It’s hectic and chaotic and my house isn’t decorated how I want it, or painted the right colors, or even organized functionally.

But it’s full.  And that’s a good thing.  Plus I get the added perk of driving that smokin’ hot minivan for a long time to come, right?  Huh?  Huh?

I’m going to choose joy this week, because tomorrow they’ll all be one day older.  Time isn’t going to slow down so I’m just going to hang on and enjoy the ride that is this current season of my life.

Now, where to put my statue of Ra…

Filed Under: faith, Family, Homeschool, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: , , ,

Takin’ Care of Business

October 20, 2011 by

This post comes to you with a sheepish, yet polite, request for help.  I hate talkin’ shop, but wanted to just toss a few little things out there.  Don’t worry, though.  This post won’t be all dry.  I’ve got a gem of a story to tell you at the end.

It’s my dangling carrot.

So here’s the deal, friends.  I stink at self-promotion.  It makes me wildly uncomfortable.  As I told someone recently, it makes me feel a bit like the girl standing on top of a table in a crowded room and screaming LOOK AT ME!!  And I’ve never been much of a table top kind of girl.

Ahem.

But, my goal in the next few months is to beef up the readership and participation on my blog.  And to do that, I need your help.  If you read something on here that you like, would you mind forwarding it on?  You can hit the little Facebook button at the bottom of the page, or if you’re the Tweetin’ kind, you can give a little Tweet.

You know…if you want.

Also, well I don’t talk about it much and, to be quite honest, I don’t utilize it much, but I DO have a Minivans Are Hot Facebook page that you can like by clicking riiiiiiight…here.  You don’t have to drive a minivan to like the Facebook page, but I will warn you that should you choose to follow the blog AND the Facebook page, you will likely start to feel the pull of the minivan.

Because minivans are bringing sexy back.

Huh?

Whatever.

If you do read something you like and have a second or two to respond, well, I’ll confess – I’m a bit of a comment whore.  I promise I will respond to you…or you can respond to one another.  I like community so let’s build a community of minivan lovin’ (or hatin’ – you know who you are) women…and men, too.  I know you guys are reading.

Finally in the manner of business, I would like to ask if there’s anything you guys would like me to specifically write about.  Is there are particular topic you like better?  Is there something you’d like me to avoid discussing (the frequency of my childrens bowel movements?  DONE! – Look how accommodating I am)?

Seriously – let me know.

Now, on to that carrot:

The Scene:

A beautiful, sunny Florida afternoon.  The kids are playing outside while I enjoy a few quiet moments alone to do whatever I want – which means I’m cleaning the kitchen…again. The windows are open and a beautiful, cool fall breeze is drifting in.  Nothing can break the perfection of this moment.  Nothing, that is, until I hear a scream that rattles the glass throughout the house.

The back door flings open aaaaaaaaand CUE DIALOGUE!

“Mooooooooommmmm!!!” Tia shrieks, running into the house all sweaty and red-faced.  Sloan comes running after her with a tormentuous (this is my blog – if I say that’s a word…it’s a word) grin on his face.

“What in the world?” I say as she throws her arms around my waist and cries.  “What’s going on?”

“Sloan stole my gun!” She cried.  Sloan throws his hands up in mock innocence. “What’d I do?” he yells.

“What gun, Tia?” I ask, detaching her from my leg.

“My pwetend gun!  I was fightin’ the bad guys with it and Sloan took it and now the bad guys are gonna kill me!”

Pause.

Uuuuummm.

“Tia, if it’s a pretend gun, can’t you just get another one?”  I try my best to say this without rolling my eyes.

“Nope, she can’t,” Sloan says with a smirk.  “Because I destroyed all the guns in the imaginary gun shop.”

“Yeah!” Tia cries again.  “And he ate the pie I made for Justin Bieber who was gonna come over for dinner at my pwetend house!  I don’t LIKE Sloan.”  She stomps her foot and runs to her room, slamming her door.

“Whatever!” Sloan yells in return, huffing to his room.

Landon walks in at this moment and strolls past me with string and a crowbar tucked under his arms.

And this folks is why I am slowly but surely losing. my. mind.

The End.

Filed Under: Blogging, Family, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Landon, Minivans, Motherhood, shameless self-promotion, Sloan, Tia Tagged With: , , , ,

Great. Now Prove It.

October 19, 2011 by

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over again.  “Mom.  I’m sorry.”  This time his tone demands forgiveness.  I don’t doubt the sincerity of his apology, but I do doubt the sincerity of his remorse.  Because, you see, when he’s been told that Dad will have to deal with this situation, suddenly his apologies are much more fervent.

He apologizes over and over wanting an immediate and swift reply from me.  Sometimes I’m able to give it.  Other times I’m so frustrated that I can’t immediately verbalize my forgiveness.  Of course he’s forgiven, I just need a minute to mean it when I say it.

“I said I’m sorry!” His voice has raised a decibel and he’s noticeably frustrated at my silence.

“I heard you say it, son,” I respond.  “Now I want you to prove it.”

“Huh?” comes the standard reply.

“Prove to me you’re sorry.”

“How?”

“By changing your behavior.”

For the first time, he is silent.  Blissfully silent.  My firstborn’s downfall in life will be his tongue unless he finds a way to harness it.

He walks out of the room and closes himself in his homework nook.  For twenty minutes he is back there, working feverishly on something.  He comes out after a bit and hands me a piece of paper.  He’s drawn me a picture and written the words, “Mom, I love you.  I am really sory and I want your forgivness.  I will do better.”

And just like that, forgiveness granted and relationship restored.  He still had to discuss with Daddy the loss of self control that led to the altercation, but for the rest of the afternoon, he did just what I asked.  He proved himself.  He waited just a second longer before responding.  When his sister made him angry, he left the room in a huff – a grand improvement over how he normally responds.

He proved his remorse by trying to reign in his tongue.  That was all I asked.

How often do I come before the Holy of Holies with yet another, “Lord, I’m sorry!”  How often do I skip through my day uttering “Forgive me, Lord,” without a hint of weight or remorse hidden inside my words?

How often do I choose not to reign in my tongue and just expect instant acceptance despite my unwillingness to work on the behavior?

It’s heavy, when you stop and think about it.  My eight year old got the concept of proving it better than I do.  His heart is tender and precious.  Would that I possessed those same qualities.  I’m constantly working on the tenderness of my own heart.

It doesn’t really do just to say it.  We expect so much more from our young children when it comes to obedience than we do of ourselves.  But we all must operate under the same challenge.

Prove it.

This is a Walk with Him Wednesdays post, linked to Ann Vaskamp’s site.  Each week, Ann leads her readers to take their faith a step deeper.

From Ann’s website –

For one more week: … might we explore: The Practice of Hope… What does it look like to believe? How do you practice your faith day to day? How do you share that faith, deepen faith in Christ, live that faith out in the midst of fears? The whole community looks forward to your prayerful reflections stories, ideas….

For more practices of hope, visit A Holy Experience.

Filed Under: Blogging, faith, Family, Kids, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

The Field

October 17, 2011 by

He runs out the door, all red-faced and sweaty and dashes into my arms, crumbling into a heap of bitter sobs.  He who is almost to my neck still needs to be held and I realize that his size belies the fact that he is still no more than a little boy.

Our new neighborhood is teeming with boys, a posse of sweaty necked masculinity races down the street all afternoon.  My Tia, a rose among thorns, keeps up with little complaint, though I know she longs for a companion to sit on the rug in her purple room and play dolls with.

On any given afternoon, they gather in our backyard.  It is a football field, you know.  In fact, I believe my husband has promised Sloan a football birthday party, complete with striping the yard. 

Oy…

At one point, there were ten boys altogether, joined to tackle one another with max force and ample glee.  Sloan is sandwiched.  Most of the boys are 10-12 years old.  A couple are five and six.  Sloan stands the odd man out, eight years old and as tall as the bigger boys in stature, but lacking their experience and maturity.  It starts well, but then he misses the ball.

“Oh come on, dude!” they scream.  “You gotta catch those!”  He tosses the ball to them indignantly and presses on.  Then he’s tackled, he fumbles and second by second he loses control of the game that’s happening in his very own yard.  Finally the moment comes when he gets the ball and doesn’t drop it.  He makes a mad dash toward the goal line only to be clobbered by an eleven year old screaming like a starved goblin.

It’s at this moment that Sloan begins to reveal his age.

The tears and the anger are hard to suppress.  He swears off football forever, he declares his utter disdain for those boys and he sobs gut wrenching cries that break his Mama’s heart.  I’m ready to go out and full on tackle the boys myself, my mom hackles fully bared.

But Lee just sits quietly and calmly as Sloan rants on and on.  Finally, when he’s paused long enough to take a breath, Lee looks straight in his eyes.

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” he asks.

Sloan nods, his eyes shooting daggers and his cheeks flushed red.

“If you want to play with the big boys, son, you’re gonna have to toughen up.  If you can’t do that, then you just don’t need to play ball with them.”

And that’s that.  Such simple wisdom from father to son.  It’s much better than what I planned to say.  My monologue about everyone needing to respect one another and use kind words and not tackle too rough quickly escaped me and we all sat in silence for a few minutes.  Sloan’s eyes filled with giant alligator tears and his chin quivered.

“But I don’t like it when they’re mean to me,” he whimpered.

“I know,” Lee answered.  “But you can’t take it personally.  You have to get up, brush it off and get back in the game.  That’s the only way you’re going to get better.”

We left for dinner with Sloan still holding firm that he would never again play football but a seed had been planted inside the heart of my stubborn boy.

Watching my child grow and face disappointment is painful.  But it’s entirely inevitable and it’s only going to get worse as he grows older.  There is always going to be someone who is better, someone who is bigger, someone faster and stronger and smarter and…

Teaching our young ones to handle disappointment with grace is a beautiful challenge.  Letting them spread their wings and fall to the ground is extra hard on Mama Birds.  If I had my way, I’d be cradling him still, singing Disney songs and stroking his hair.

Lovely.

But with each day, he pulls away from me just a little bit more.  He challenges me harder, cuddles less and fits on my lap like a Great Dane, all spindly knees and elbows spilling this way and that.  My job now is to step back a bit and push him toward his dad more and more.  I take the back burner as the training toward manhood takes place.

Of course, I’m always ready with a cookie and a fierce hug should life’s knocks come a little too hard and fast.  But once the tears are dried and the hurt subsides, it’s time to push him back on the field and let him try to stand on his own two feet.

All I can do is watch and pray that the seeds of wisdom that have been planted begin to take root and sprout a man of character.

Whether he can play football is utterly beside the point.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Lee, Motherhood, Sloan, Sports Tagged With: , , ,

The Cheesecake Factory Girls

October 7, 2011 by

We sat outside, the twinkle of the white lights giving the night sky a blissful glow.  There were five of us, four young ones…and me.

They call me their favorite mom-friend and I take it as a great compliment. Each one of those girls holds a unique and special place in my heart.  Each one has impacted me in ways they will never fully understand.  Each one has challenged me and given me both a hope and a dream for what my daughter could someday look like.

In a world that tells you teenagers are selfish and obnoxious, these girls are proving that the world is wrong.  They are smart and funny and sensitive and sweet.  They are aware of the world around them and possess maturity beyond their years.  Come to think of it, most of the teenagers at our old church possess these qualities.  It is why we had such an amazing body of believers.  Because where there are amazing teenagers, there are more often than not amazing parents standing behind them.

This was a parting dessert.  I wanted to gather the four of them together at one time, and in one place, to tell them just how much they meant to me and just how proud I was of them.  I fumbled with my words.  I’m better with a keyboard than I am in person.  I’m all awkward and Gen X that way…

You don’t find young people like these four girls often. They are kind, considerate, thoughtful, sweet, witty, smart and they are all drop dead gorgeous on the inside and the out.  One of the four asked if she could go to China for her sixteenth birthday so that she could serve little ones in an orphanage.  And she did it.  The others have served in Haiti, in Mexico and in downtown St. Louis.  Not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

These girls have impacted my life by giving me the encouragement I needed on the hard days of parenting.  Because I know their parents.  I know that the Cheesecake Factory girls are merely a product of God’s grace and firm, loving parenting.  And the three couples who parented these four girls are some of the people we most dearly miss.  They are the three couples who were at the top of the list of reasons we should not move away.

It’s not that these are abnormal teenagers by any stretch of the imagination.  We spent a portion of our evening at the Cheesecake Factory looking for the hunky Australian waiter who worked there.  We never found him, unfortunately.  But in the looking, I fell in love with the Cheesecake Factory girls even more.

They are regular teenage girls who exhibit grace in extraordinary ways. The Cheesecake Factory girls are a picture of true beauty.

When the world says that teenagers are out of control, I always remember the Cheesecake Factory girls and I take heart.  There is hope for me and there is hope for those of you who are currently in the trenches of raising young children.

Why do people say these elementary years are the easy part of parenting?  Because they’re not!  They are fun years and I am going to miss the young years desperately, but they are not easy.  These are the years when all the battles must be won.  These years of childhood are the years when it’s the hardest.

But…

If we win the battles now, what delight awaits us!  We will raise our own Cheesecake Factory girls…and boys.  Teenagers that are fun and delightful and a joy to spend time with.  The fun years await us if we’re willing to fight the fight right now.  Join with me as we battle for the deepest parts of the souls of our children, won’t you?

This weekend I am thankful for grace, for godly examples and for the Cheesecake Factory girls.

“Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity.”  1 Timothy 4:12

Image credit

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

Swirling life in a cup of tea

October 4, 2011 by

When I made this decision, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.  Staying at home with your children full time is hard.  It’s a different kind of hard when you choose to not only be their mother, but also their full time educator.  I knew it would be hard going into this.

And I was right.

Evenings are my refuge and my respite.  They are the brief moments when all the world stills and my tea cup sings (or…you know…sometimes it’s a wine glass singin’).  Evenings are for the dishwasher humming and the stars twinkling and the melodic breathing of settled youth.  I only wish the evening lasted a little longer.

I’ve tried to make evening last too long, lately.  I’ve tried stretching it past the point of grace and peace and into fatigue.  When the tea cup cools and the dishwasher quiets and my brain forgets how to weave words into paragraphs, the evening has long since passed.

This is not wise.

Because, you see, mornings come all too quickly.  They are loud and bright and full of boisterous energy.  There once was a time when I was a morning person.  I adored the quiet sounds of the day breaking – the applause of heaven as sunlight streaked the darkened sky – the grass that stood tall beneath the drops of dew delicately placed on her blades – the birds that chirped good morning as the heat pushed the cool night air away with the moon.

I loved this time of day.

I still do.  I just can’t seem to get up early enough to meet it.  This is because I’m too busy flirting with night.  And because I spawned three who love the morning more than I and who make it their life’s mission to get up before the sun each. and every. day.

So I continue to befriend the night sky – my tea and I snuggled up inside the quiet.  And it’s here that I am trying to find the time to do…everything.

Everything, unfortunately, except the most important thing.  The thing that really does need to have its place in the morning, when my mind is most fresh and most willing to hear.  There are pictures to hang and walls to paint, books to write and boxes to move, clothes to fold and floors to mop, and all the while three little voices yelling, “Mom!”

There’s a story that my mom tells about my grandmother when she was a young mother living on the mission field with four little ones to care for and more work to do than could possibly be done.  When the moment came that she had finally reached her breaking point, she would turn to her demanding little brood and wag her finger.  “My name isn’t ‘Mom’ anymore,” she’d say.  “My name is ‘Horse’s Butt’ and you’re not aloud to say that so you can’t call me.”  And off she’d go, her silenced bunch contemplating the weight of her words.

That is the best. line. ever. Am I right?

I totally get it now. And don’t think I haven’t been tempted to bust that gem out a time or two these last few weeks.

Sometimes all the work needs to wait.

I have a friend who knows me well.  She’s one of the Ribbons. And she was knit with me in a special way long ago when we were both newly married and full of love and wonder at God and life.  Her mind, like mine, teams with creative energy.  Her heart overflows with endless desires.  Her children need her fully and her husband craves her attention, as do mine.  She knows the pull and the strain of wanting, wishing, trying…to do it all.

And failing.

We are on opposite coasts and yet she still manages to speak Truth and encouragement to me on a regular basis.  Through texts, emails and phone calls she reminds me that there is One who craves me above all others.  And that One deserves my attention first.

Her text to me today spoke grace completely:

“Take courage today and do the work God has laid before you…What does God desire from you in your heart and in your actions today?  Just a thought.”

Swirling hot tea steams before me and my Bible lays open, the magic of the Word waiting for me to dive in.  Tonight, I will.  Tomorrow, I will try again.  I’m thankful for friends from coast to coast who love me enough to keep pushing me forward to better things.

I’m thankful for the Ribbons and for the Ribbon Maker who keeps weaving my life into something grand.  I’m thankful for tea and the stillness in which to savor it.

Grant me the ears to hear.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Moving Tagged With: , , , ,

Imagination, Creativity and Flying like a Bird

September 20, 2011 by

What do you think it’s like to be a bird?

I think it must be thrilling.

Just once I’d like to feel the rush of flying, of spreading the wings and gliding on the wisp of the wind.  If I were to be a bird, though, I can’t decide where I’d like to rest my feathers.  Would I be a mountain bird, coasting from mountain top to mountain top, the valleys and peaks soaring below in harmonious rhythm?  If I were to be a mountain bird, I’d like to be one in Austria for I don’t think you will find more beautiful formations in all the world.

 

Hallstatt, Austria where one year ago today we stood atop this mountain and I longed for the freedom of flight.

But, I fear the frigid winter air would be too much for me…even as a mountain bird.  So perhaps I would be better suited as an island bird.  What must it be to glide above the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, the warm, salty air whipping over me as I coast left to right.  If I were to be an island bird, I’d like to reside over Spanish Wells, Bahamas.  Because I think that God shines His Grace upon that island in extra measures.

These are things I think about.

There are some days…many days…when I wish I could unplug from it all.  I dream of a secret garden where I could escape and get lost in the dreams of my mind.  I would wander the twisted flowers and gnarled tree trunks with only the soft padding of my feet in the grass as company.  I would lose myself in the romance of the soft setting, dreaming up far off lands where anything is possible.  My imagination would no longer be dictated and diluted but would be free to run, to fly.

I would be the bird, the free spirit who never grows up, the romantic who throws her arms around her sweaty man with abandon.

These are things I think about.

This week, the kids and I are telling stories – making them up.  We are digging into the recesses of our minds where imagination waits to be stirred.  Robots come to life and trees dance in the breeze.  The grass is purple and streams are made of chocolate.  Grand adventures lie around every corner and over every bridge.  Sometimes, when the oldest is telling his story, Bigfoot makes an appearance.  And tornados.  It’s very exciting.

When the girl tells her stories, they almost always involve a talking unicorn.  It is magical.

When the youngest tells his stories they almost always include the words “booty” and “toot.”  It’s hysterical.

Imagination is the best way to see one of the greatest traits of God Himself – creativity. For inside the mind’s eye, the creativity of the Creator indwells each one of us with the ability to see a little beyond that which is before us.  Mathematicians see formulas that take us to the moon.  Scientists see developments that allow us to see life from a different spectrum.  Poets allow us to hear nature through the fluidity of their pens.  Musicians discover harmonies that speak to our souls and take us beyond the present.

Imagination is where the Creator left His greatest imprint on us…His Image Bearers.

It is inside the recesses of our minds that God gave us a grand bit of Himself.  After all, He had the greatest imagination of them all.  And when we open kids up to this process of creativity, we let them truly come alive.  The challenge is to quiet the Earth around us.  And what a challenge it is.

Would that I could lose myself inside imagination every day where life is not confined to only that which I know but is instead wide open, limitless in reach.  Technology has dulled my imagination, and even that of my children.  But it’s always there, imagination, waiting to be tapped and used.  Imagination leads us into some place new and unknown.

Where I can fly.


These are things I think about.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Homeschool, Kids, Motherhood, Random, writing Tagged With: , , , , ,

Me them then…or is it them me now?

September 15, 2011 by

I engaged in a bit of retail therapy yesterday.  After a day on the battleground called motherhood, I escaped for a few hours into the Mecca of all home furnishing stores.  Did you know the power that four simple little letters can wield?

IKEA.

Say it slow.  Let it roll off the tongue.

I-K-E-A.

I rolled a cart through the golden aisles, little fairies giggling and blowing pixie dust on me as I danced past.  When I entered the showroom, a beam of light appeared from nowhere casting an ethereal glow across the cheap, yet terribly stylish, furnishings.

I actually think walking through there made a few of my wrinkles disappear.

I found something I loved in every room.  I bought Christmas presents for Tia and resisted the urge to grab the arm of the woman in yellow beside me and shake it in excited glee.  Oh the organizational wonderment to behold!

I ate Swedish meatballs in the silence of my reverie, all while visually digesting the wonderment that stood before me.  It was like being at the spa, only no strangers were touching me and it didn’t require the sacrifice of my first born to afford it.

I left with a few treasures in my basket and a considerable amount of satisfaction at how much I got for the amount.  I piled my treasures in the back of my (smokin’ hot) minivan and off we drive toward the glowing orange orb in the sky.

It was as beautiful an evening as one 30-something could possibly experience.

As I made my way down the road, I slowed to a stop at a red light (always a good idea).  I glanced in my side mirror to see a truck in the lane to my left stopping next to the car that was directly behind me.  Inside the rusted truck were two girls who didn’t look old enough to be wearing makeup, much less operating a vehicle.  They motioned wildly at the older gentleman in the car next to them so he rolled down his window.

“Hey there, Grandpa,” the girl in the passenger seat yelled, smacking her gum with the force of a perturbed cow.  “You’re pretty cute.”  Head thrown back.  *giggle, giggle, giggle*

The poor old man shook his head and rolled his window back up.  The girls drove forward and pulled up alongside me.  I had my window down and the radio blasted all the current Christian hits of today. I bobbed my head up and down to the beat and drummed my fingers on the side of the car.  I rarely drive with the windows down these days, but last night was so perfect I couldn’t resist.

Giggle tweeny bopper looked my way and I tried to ignore.

“Hey,” she called, still giggling uncontrollably.  It was the silly giggle that reveals complete and total immaturity.  I turned her way and smiled.

“Hey,” I said back with a grin.  “How are you guys doing tonight?”

The driver laughed.  I briefly contemplated asking her to give me proof that she was indeed old enough to drive.  “We are, like, so. great.”  She said.  Her words were emphasized with two smacks of her Hubba Bubba.  Whoa…they were doing great.

“So what are you up to?” Giggly asked. And just then the light turned green and the line of cars began to slowly move.  I waved as the Silly Mobile pulled forward with a squeal – was it the tires or the girls?

And then I laughed. It was the knowing laugh that completely solidifies you as a full blown grown up.

The total lack of respect for others aside, those girls reminded me a little bit of myself.  I remembered the day that my best friend Lindsey and I, also both barely legal to drive, made the trek from our house to a friend’s out in the sticks of St. Louis.  We had the windows down and our music blaring and we hung our heads and arms out the windows laughing uncontrollably and altogether reveling in our youth.

Life was a joyride.  It was a wind in your hair, laugh at the world adventure.  We were silly and crazy and completely free of the responsibility of adulthood.  There weren’t children or husbands or mortgages or bills.

I can honestly say that at that moment in my life, the very last thing I wanted to spend my hard earned money on was a kitchen scrub brush and a watering can.

Home furnishings weren’t exciting.  Freedom was exciting.  The wind whipping by as we headed to the Lake was exciting.  Life was a grand adventure just at the tip of our fingers.  And as those girls peeled out, shrieking with laughter at…um, nothing…I shook my head.  They are me back then.

And as I glanced at the IKEA bag glimmering in the evening sun next to me, I let out another laugh.  I am them now…or not long from now.  The wind still whips through my hair and my music is still loud.  Only, more often than not, the music is sung by talking vegetables and my minivan is loaded with practical things like kitchen scrub brushes and watering cans…and place mats.  Really, really cute place mats.

Life is still an adventure, isn’t it?  I think it might even be a little more grand.

Someday those silly little girls will understand.

Filed Under: Florida, funny stuff that happens, Life, Minivans, Motherhood, Random Tagged With: , , ,
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