Just Some Oldest Son's Birthday Party

I just love those lashes! (Where did he get them?)

Youngest Son just loves that frosting. Every last bite.

He is totally gross...at times...but I just love that boy.

Oldest Son and Youngest Son just love Dinosaurs and the color green.

Just some Oldest Son and his missing front tooth!

Just the best 5 year old Birthday Boy around!

The Couch

Hello there void. I am feeling a bit lost again. Not the kind of lost where you can't find your way. Rather the kind of lost where you feel a bit alone on the journey. The journey from child to adult is often guided. It is protected from the real reality of life. Sure, there are bits and pieces of real life to be lived inserted here and there. Just enough to help prepare us. Then you arrive. At first the freedom mixed with responsibility is exhilarating and exciting. So much ahead. So much life to live. Then, one day you wake and you realize you are not the 20 year old you once were. (Is that really my backside in the mirror? When did it start to look so…old?) Life has come and it is here to stay. Full of so many things. Day in and day out. Take this last Sunday for example. The morning was full of the usual bed making; dressing, straightening up, breakfast. Church comes and goes. It is good. Talk of what it really means to be His. I feel moved in my soul. Worship is powerful and I feel the sacred for a moment. A jaunt to the Farmers Market is graced with a bit of rain, but to no surprise for those of us born and raised here. Home again we come. Lunch and lunch cleanup. I make my way to the couch at the kind prompting of Husband. It feels so good. It is the first time I have ACTUALLY sat on my couch in many months. (I do quite a bit of sitting on my couch during College Football season, but that is another story. I heart College Football!) Not the kind of sitting to brush hair or put on shoes, but the kind where you just sit. I sat and I sat and I sat. I watched You Got Mail and laughed and cried and remembered the first time I saw it. Of course I had photos to edit from Oldest Son's 5 year old birthday party the day before, but one cannot be idle when there are only so many hours in a day. I eventually tore myself off that couch. I helped build a LEGO Water Plane with some boys that I happened to birth. Husband made dinner and I cleaned it up. Jammies went on. Lunches were packed. Plants watered. Toys put away. Lights shut off. To bed. And we begin again in the morning. (Of course we were up multiple times in the night soothing bad dreams and scaring off monsters. The day never really ends. The responsibility never really leaves.) And so…I feel a bit alone. I know I am not. I just miss me. I miss my hobbies. My interests. My active self, not just at a gym with the masses, but out in this wonderful place we live. And every now and again. Those glimpses of me come through. Every now and again I find that time. The time to just be. Like the couch. And it all waited. It was there when I got up. Waiting. Just need to remember it is OK to sit down. OK to let go. OK to be me.

P.S. Perhaps next time we can discuss why I often wish I could scream and cry out emotions but I am simply unable? Another day. I have two boys patiently waiting to show me the "Racing Track" they built. That is my life. And if I am honest with you…with me…I really do love it.

The Siouxon

I have these two boys. Oldest Son and Youngest Son. They are quite something. I know I speak as their Mama, but the things they say and do. Examples to follow.

The other night in bed. Just as we were about to fall asleep. We heard a noise and wrote it off as not important. We went back to the business of falling asleep. (Very important business I might add.) In the morning I discovered a certain Little One was not in his crib. He was sleeping, with his feet hanging off the bed, with his Big Brother and his Pooh Bear.

Last night. Youngest Son woke up at 0543 with a bad dream. I know this by the sound he makes and the words that follow.

Youngest Son: The D (pronounced duh) Moose! The D Moose! (As he falls out of his crib and I meet him at his doorway.)

After much holding and loving and calming Youngest Son finds his place in our bed and snuggles down next to Papa. Meanwhile, Older Son has woken and I am walking him back to bed. After all, it may be light out, but that is way too early on a school morning for any 4 year old!

After Oldest Son is calm in his own bed and youngest son is babbling a mile a minute to his all too sleepy Papa, I remember Youngest Son was NAKED. In to his room I march and notice there are no jammies and no diaper there. Also, the bed happens to not be wet either. Hmm....

I am making my assumptions that Husband put Youngest Son to bed without jammies or a diaper and not sure what to think about this. Then I decide to investigate a little bit more before I jump to wife-like conclusions. I go into the Kids Bath and notice that there, by the toilet are his diaper, his jammies, and his most prized possession, Pooh Bear (which is not a Pooh Bear but just a Bear he named Pooh). Oh, and lots of yellow pee all around. That boy is off I tell you. He won't pee during the day in the toilet, but he pees during the night in the toilet.

Just today. Oldest Son is napping after being exhausted from being up so early. Youngest Son is quietly in his bed "sleeping." I hear this noise upstairs. I ignore it until I hear this.

Youngest Son: I need your help Mama.

Youngest Son: Mama!

I make my way upstairs only to discover that Youngest Son is on the toilet and all around him on the floor is clean white toilet paper.

Youngest Son: (Big Smile!) I go poop!

Mama: Lots of praise and encouragement.

Apparently he only goes poop or pee when he can use it as an excuse to get out of his crib.

On that note. Husband had a great story about Oldest Son over the weekend. Pretty funny. It goes something like this.

Oldest Son: I got an idea. (While driving in the car.)

Papa: What?

Oldest Son: No more hot sauce for older kids. Hot sauce is for younger kids. Older kids can have a time out. (Very matter of fact on this.)

Papa: What age kids can get hot sauce?

Oldest Son: 2 1/2 year olds.

Papa: Really?

Oldest Son: And adults. They like hot sauce.

I love those kids and that husband.

I Watch (A Poem I Wrote for my Grandpa)

(It has been a year since he left us last May the 12^th. One full year. We gathered at his grave. Words were spoken. Prayer was lifted. Flowers were left. It is funny how a year can come and go and even with no contact, the ones we love can still feel near to us. We can still here their voices. Still here their laughter. Still feel their presence. I miss him. Miss his advice. His comfort. His solid place in my life. The best part is yet to come though. Heaven. Glorious Heaven. I love you Grandpa. I thank God for you. I look forward to one day seeing you again in the presence of our Savior.)

I watch. Body resting on fresh white sheets. Chest rise and fall. Breath in and breath out. When did he get so frail? (I never noticed how white his hair had become. How soft.) When did time begin to move this fast?

I want to capture the moment. Take it back. A day, a week, a year. Want to hear another scripture off his tongue. Another prayer from his lips. Another moment. Any moment. I try. I will it so. I open my eyes and it is as it was before. Body still on fresh white sheets. Chest rise and fall. Breath in and breath out.

Stay. Who do I think I am to ask the God of all for such a request? Would he want it so? When he, so close to the One who made, the One who gave, the One who loves. Should I open my hands? Should I let go? Is that the real worship?

So I walk away. Whisper words of gratitude, and love, and promise. Touch warm face, hands, and feet as I pull myself towards the door. Eyes wet. Too afraid to verbalize fears that when I return warmth may be no more.

Hands open. Hands open. Hands open. (Perhaps if I say it, it will be so.)

Husband say's are you able to talk? (Soft yes in return.) Faith is the topic of night fall conversation. It has to be more than just a choosing. You have to truly BELIEVE. (Nodding on my part.) He presses further, no REALLY BELIEVE. (Yes, yes, I reply.)

Then He works. In the night. He allows lingering. He speaks not just yet. There is still work to be done, dirt to tend, ground to water, seeds to grow. It is the spring after all.

Time passes. He is home now. Adaptation. Adjustment. Things are not as they once were.

What before seemed important has moved to the side. I put off what can wait and make time for what cannot. I treasure, I cherish. Each moment forever etched in the heart.

We sit on the doorsteps of the weekend. There is sun today. Rubbing swollen feet is the order of the morning. I look around and find we are alone. I talk. He talks. I am amazed how he still ministers. Still shares truths of the One.

A shift in the sand. A crack in the earth. An opening in my heart. It is Mother's Day now.

Quick stop turns into a forever moment. He is in the chair. "Can I give him a bath?" (Of course.) Fears of him being uncomfortable or cold race through my mind and I push aside. Water filling in yellow basin. Familiar scent of soap. I use words to tell him of my plan. They seem steeped in child-like tone. (Perhaps later I will digest why?) Slowly I wash. First face. Then chest. Then back. Then arms. (Hard to not notice the frailness. I push forward.) Fingers, carefully washing each one. She brings two shirts. I pick the blue one. It is soft and he agrees that soft is what he would like. Slowly we dress. He closes eyes and returns to rest.

A day passes. So much change in so little time. Did I not think this possible? Must work. Must organize. Must keep mind occupied with tasks so that heart does not slip and fall into many pieces on the floor. Arrangements. Acceptance.

Eyes are beginning to feel as heavy as heart. It is after midnight. Must go home. Must be with husband and boys. Must let sleep find me. I kiss him softly on the forehead and mutter words of love and prayer. He purses lips and attempts kissing. I correct the error of my ways and grant him the kiss he is due.

A new day. I rise. Dress self and boys. Forego the morning routine. We leave with food in our tummy and dirty dishes scattered about. Prayer is on my lips.

He is there. In the bed. Dressed still in soft blue shirt. Breathing changed. Different now. Daughters and Sons. Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren. Surrounding. Filling home. There is prayer. There is scripture. There is song. There is sharing. There is comfort. There is love. (Oh so much love.)

Time is near now. The presence of God holding the room. More love is shared. More prayer is sent. God comes. He takes. He gently carries away the soul of the faithful one whom we have gathered to honor.

Hands open. Hands open. Hands open.

Alone now. Finding solace in the words of Psalm 103. I read. I weep. I allow the heart to feel. To open. To pour out my love in liquid.

Today I remember him. May I have the strength to go forth in worship. May hands remain open. He would want it so.