Something in the Way

 There is something in the way a child sleeps...

James Taylor's song "Something in the Way She Moves" is playing in the back of my mind as I stare at Caleb.  I would rewrite the song..."there's something in the way he sleeps..."

There is a magic there.  There is a feeling that catches in my throat and stings the backs of my eyes.  There is an involuntary tenderness that wells up, washing over any arguments or negativity of the day before.  

I remember when the kids were younger, I would watch them sleep and just cry.  I would cry over how much I loved them.  I would cry over their future and fears that the world may not cherish them or be kind to them.  I would cry over parenting missteps, regretting harsh words.  

I don't think I am alone.  I suspect these intense feelings hit every caregiver.  Maybe the underlying thoughts or concerns are different, but the feelings are the same.  I would argue they are there for a reason - that young children nap often for just this reason: so their parents may fall in love with them over and over again.

These moments happen less often as they grow.  This is mostly because I don't witness their sleep very often.  I still tuck the younger boys into bed, but I am often asleep before Parker and Maddie.  Mornings are busy, and I simply pop my head in the doors to announce, "It's wake-up time!"  Parker even uses his own alarm clock now.  And I find life is just "too busy" now to stop and take the time to observe and to document my darling, sleeping babies.  It makes me a little sad.

When I do catch them sleeping, it is usually on vacation.  I stand over them, creepily taking a million photos, trying to capture that innocence, that sweetness, until they inevitably wake and groan, "Mom!  No!" slipping under the covers again, elusive as unicorns.

But today Caleb is sick.  He has a cough (which sounded like croup the other night when he woke me, gasping for breath and barking like a seal).  He has a headache and sore throat.  He is staying home (much to the dismay of his older siblings who would also like "a day off").  Aaron is in India, so when it was time to drive everyone else to school, I whispered to Caleb that I would return soon and left him buried in covers on the couch.

He is sleeping on the couch because there is mould in the basement (where he normally sleeps).  He and Jack were arguing, and slamming the sliding door down there a few weeks ago, when it fell off its tracks - inside the wall.  I have been asking the landlord to fix it (along with the leak in the ceiling) for weeks.  They finally sent a repairman yesterday who removed a wall panel and found...you guessed it...mould.  While the repairman insisted it wasn't dangerous, I didn't think it a good idea for Caleb to breathe it in, given he already has quite a cough.  (The silver lining is that the boys won't be blamed for breaking the door, since it was likely the water damage that caused the door to fall off the tracks.)

So Aaron is gone, Caleb is sick, the basement is torn apart, I have left today's Welcome Club outing I planned for new parents at the school in the capable hands of my friend, Niamh, and I am free this morning.  I am free to take pictures of my sleeping angel on the couch.  I am free to take the time to breathe and remember all the moments of sitting and staring at sleeping babies and feel all the feels.  I am free to write and observe the beautiful rainbow that arcs over our village today, reminding me of God's promises.

I am not alone.  I will not be given more than I can handle.  I am the keeper of very precious gifts, and I will enjoy them today.  

A break

You'll notice a break.  A lapse in the birthday posts.  I told myself...when the school year starts and the house is quiet...that's when I'll "catch up."  Well, school started months ago, and here we are.

I'm not so sure I will catch up now.  Caleb turned 8, then 9, and we are well into his 9th year.  Jack turned 10, then 11.  Parker is 15, and Maddie will soon be 14.  And the sun rises and sets, the clothes turn in the washer, the finger nails grow and are trimmed.  

There was a break in the recording but not in the life.  Though I suppose you could say there was a break in that, too, depending on your definition of "break."  There was COVID.  There was my breakdown/awakening.  There was an international move.  There were a lot of disruptions to our daily lives.  

But isn't that exactly how life works?  I don't know.  I just know it's how our lives seem to work.  Nothing is stagnant.  We move a lot.  We find new spots for all the things...the beach towels and backpacks, the Q-tips and screwdriver, the stuff of life.  We don't have a junk drawer.  Because our "junk" is ever changing, constantly being recycled or given away.  I like to know where things go - a place for everything and everything in its place.

So when I have a mental junk drawer, a to-do list that has gone too long undone, I have trouble finding rest.  And my self-imposed pressure to make annual birthday posts has created enough unrest in me that I find myself trying to find a solution.  So this is it.  This is my catch-up.  I will not attempt to go back and recreate the years I've missed, but instead, I'll offer a snapshot of now.

Caleb.  Where to begin?  When I wake you in the morning with a kiss on your cheek, you immediately throw an arm around my neck, holding me close, pinning me to your soft cheek.  And I breathe you in -all of lovely little you.  Your tousled dirty-blond hair and twinkling blue eyes.  You dance with abandon, tell terrible "dad" jokes, love your video games and best friend, Henrique.  You are always up for going out, trying new foods, doing new things.  You have a strong sense of justice and become upset quickly when things seem unfair, which they often do, as you are the youngest.  You love to play pingpong with dad and card games with mom.  You are super-smart and incredibly loving.  You miss your TX friends but were very open-minded about the move.  It was tough, but I'd say you're settling in quite well.  You are my joy.

Jacky-Jack.  You are still the most creative person I've ever met.  You play "imaginary" and host your own private dance parties in your room, running and jumping, and battling creatures only you can see.  Transitioning into middle school has not been easy, but you are putting forth all the effort we could ever hope for.  You are so smart and witty and have made some very special friends.  I know it was hard for you when Zach moved away.  You had a special bond, like the one you had with your friend, Graham, in Kentucky and Maddie in Texas.  Sometimes I worry that people won't understand or appreciate your uniqueness, but you have proven time and time again that my fears are unfounded.  You always find your tribe.  You had a lovely 11th birthday party at the house and invited girls and boys, all of whom love you.  You continually try to convince me to let you "go bald."  One day you got your wish when dad was trimming your hair and the guard slipped off.  Your soft, short hair is so fun to rub that it has even caused some problems (since everyone wants to rub it).  I'm glad I still hold that special place in your life where I can rub it as much as I want.  You curl up into my lap, I rub your head and read the Dragon Assassin series to you.  Holding you is still one of my favourite pastimes.  You are my heart.

Maddie-Claire.  Baby girl.  You are so not a baby anymore.  As tall as I am with flowing wavy hair and a gorgeous, brace-free smile, you seem to be so much older than 13.  You didn't just come out of your shell, you shot out of it like a rocket.  You made a conscious decision to make more friends during this move.  Your best friend, Julia, moved to a new school this year.  It was painful but you rallied yet again and have become a friend to many more people this year, including upperclassmen.  You are in Mama Mia and have even helped to teach the choreography to the the newer students.  You excel in school and have discovered your own funny, sassy side.  No longer a people-pleaser, you are thoughtful about others' feelings while still honoring your own needs.  This is a huge strength and will serve you well in life.  You are your own person.  I love that you are exploring your spirituality and asking big questions, studying the Bible but not taking it at face value.  You have so many thoughts and opinions and feelings, and it's a blessing to have a front row seat as I watch your life unfold.  You are my treasure.

Parker.  Fourteen is not an easy age to make an international move.  Though exciting at first, we were quickly slapped with the realities of culture shock, language barriers, and a whole new way of life.  Leaving TX as the top of your game, voted VIP in the school's athletic program, surrounded by friends and adoring teachers, you sailed into Switzerland on a cloud.  Then came the storm.  You were (are) so so brave.  You are so good, down to your core.  You found it baffling that people could be mean or cold or rude, and it ripped my heart out to see you struggle through it.  You pinned your hopes on summer and a month "home" in Texas with friends, all the while dutifully, diligently building relationships here.  You tried and excelled at rugby, learning the French-speaking coach's commands.  You created friend groups based on mutual interests, resisting the drinking and drug culture that is so pervasive here.  You met a sweet girl.  Summer meant fun times with old friends and an awesome church camp, but by the end of it you were actually ready to return to your life here.  You see the beauty in the mountains, you have become a leader in your school, you are thoughtful, respectful, and kind.  Ever-changing, out of my control, wonderful to watch and to love - You are my dream.

Words will never capture you kids.  They are simply inadequate.  I hope one day reading these posts will bring back fond memories for you...that you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are fully loved, and not just by dad and me but by the One who created you.  Not a single tear goes unnoticed.  No small act of kindness is overlooked.  You are seen and known and completely cherished.  

Love, 

Mom

And Just Like That...

They were gone.  The front door closed with a hesitant, soft click.  I stood on one leg, my broken ankle cradled in the cushion of my scooter.  Too stunned to even shake my head.  I was staring up at the closed front door, the last words I'd spoken, ringing in my ears: "I love you."  

My eyes panned across the living room to the mirror behind the couch.  I was staring at myself, at the white streaks in my hair that weren't there a decade ago.  I imagine in one more decade, when that door closes for good, when my youngest is 18 and will walk away into his new life, there may only be some streaks of brown left.  But who knows.

I rolled over to the stairs and grabbed my crutches, slowly making my way up to my room, determined to tap and type until I could restore some order in my brain.  As if the clicks and pauses, if played long enough, would drum out a familiar melody, a song and a story that my mother's heart craved.  How do I make sense of this rapidly changing life?

I almost wish whoever might be reading this could see all the drafts, all the rabbit holes.  The comparisons between the U.S. and Singapore and Switzerland.  The complaints about COVID.  The marvel of watching the kids grow.  And that's it.  That's the elusive melody that began this journey, so that will be my focus.

But first, allow me a brief trip down memory lane...Seven years ago we arrived on a dark, balmy night.  The floors were marble, the palm trees swayed.  Staff fluttered around the children, whose tired heads lolled as they piled onto plush couches.  Bag after bag was unloaded, papers were signed.  As we wiped our faces with cool, lemongrass scented towels, we had no idea of the adventure that awaited.  Life in Singapore with 4 children ages 7, 5, 3, and 1 was just beginning.

That is how I remember life there, in strange and vivid snapshots.  Moments in time where senses were heightened and emotions were high.  Experiences that were so foreign and bizarre, they simply burned into my brain.  And if Singapore has anything in common with Switzerland, that's it.  That strange, choppy picture show quality of memories forged by jarring experiences.

So for today's strange experience...I put my kids on public transport.  It wasn't the first time.  The circumstances were just really strange today.  In the States, I would have piled them into the mini-van and taken them where they needed to go.  They might even walk to school or ride their bikes.  They might catch a ride with a friend.  They would not have gone far.  If they had gone far, they certainly would have been accompanied by an adult.

In Europe, much as in Singapore, public transportation is amazing.  It is clean, affordable, efficient, and safe.  We took it several times while we were waiting to get the lease approved for our station wagon.  Though the 10 minute walk to the bus stop is picturesque, it can be hard to appreciate the beauty when it is dark and cold, as it is on school mornings.  Once at the stop, it takes another 10 minutes to reach a train station.  It's not bad, just different from what we were used to in the States.  So, usually, I drive the kids everywhere, including school.

A few weeks ago, I broke my ankle while skiing.  My right ankle.  No walking and certainly no driving.  Aaron jumped in, and thanks to the work-from-home COVID mandates, he was able to drive the kids to and from school.  He had several trips scheduled, but then our youngest contracted COVID.  Then I did.  Then Parker.  Then Maddie.  It was like the plague, but in some ways it was a blessing, because it meant Aaron stayed home.  

Fast forward to today.  Everyone has recovered from COVID.  Aaron flew to Madrid.  It happens to be the "ski day" for Parker's class.  They are loading onto a bus and heading for the mountains.  He would need to be at school 30 minutes earlier than usual.  What was normally a 15 minute car ride became a 35 minute walk-bus-train-bus trip.  Alone.

This also meant Maddie would have to take her younger brothers on the same walk-bus-train-bus journey, departing 30 minutes after Parker.  Now, I know what I said about the Swiss public transport being safe and efficient yada, yada, yada.  All of a sudden, it wasn't feeling like the best option anymore.  Was it really fair to ask our kids to do this?  How would they cope?  The same way European kids who did this all the time do, I supposed.

So this morning was one of those bizarre, notice the details, kind of mornings.  A few minutes after my alarm went off, I heard Parker silence his own alarm and begin moving around his room.  Let's just stop right there.  For over a decade, I was the one waking everyone.  Suddenly, I found myself meeting this taller-than-me young man in the kitchen.  I made some eggs and toast, as he purchased his tickets on his phone.  Okay, can we stop again?  He was navigating his own way, without my help.  So weird.  He pulled on his mid layer coat, gathered his gloves and shoved some granola bars into his pockets.  I had to silence that voice in my brain that told me to write his name on the wrappers.  Good moms remember to label everything.  What if he lost them?  What if they got mixed in with his friends' snacks?  Hush, momma.  He's 14, not 4.  He zipped into his out layer coat and told me goodbye.  I asked for a kiss, and he obliged.  Then he made his way out the door.

After icing my leg, I called up to Maddie.  Without complaint, she made her way downstairs and proceeded all the way to the basement where she woke her brothers.  I heard her reminding them to pack their snacks as they ascended.  Caleb stopped by the couch where I was sitting with my leg propped up on a pillow.  He snuggled with me for a moment then followed Maddie and Jack into the kitchen where they began to make breakfast.  We made a game of racing to put on socks and shoes.  Caleb beat the timer I set by a mere 2 seconds with a victorious grin.  I reminded Jack today was swim day (aka super-random, ever- changing, make-parents-insane, don't-forget-to-bring-the-necessary-labelled-towel-suit-cap-to-school-or-you-will-have-to-drive-it there-later day).  Needless to say, I found swim days a tad stressful on a good day.  I would not drop that ball today.  

Jack assured me his bag was by the door.  

Can you just put it inside your regular backpack, please?  

No, mom.  It's fine.  

But Jack, I can't bring it up there today.  What I didn't say was, "Jack, please let me control this one little thing during this completely uncontrollable day.  Please let me feel like I'm helping somehow.  Please let me feel like I'm doing something to parent you." 

I've got it mom.

Meanwhile, Maddie and Caleb were donning their coats and moving toward the door.  

Jack, just put it in your bag.

Bye mom.   The front door closed with a hesitant, soft click.

I love you.

I stood there.  Not mad.  Just a little helpless.  Not in the normal sense of the word.  No, I had simply helped-less.  They didn't need me to remind and pester and badger.  Because they had it.  They had it covered.  

And it was weird and good and perplexing.  It was the paradox of parenthood - the mixture of joy and sadness and surprise when you have made yourself obsolete.  Now, I'm not saying they don't need me anymore at all, but it was a little shocking to realize just how self-sufficient these little humans had become.  

I opened my phone and checked the Life360 app I'd set up years ago.  Immediately, the sweet little faces of their outdated pictures appeared, moving slowly across the map, away from me, even more jarring given their youthful appearance.  Noticing his battery was low, I quickly texted Parker and surprised myself by asking him to turn off location services on his app.  If his battery died, he wouldn't be able to buy a train ticket home.  

I had to let him go if I wanted him to come home.  

And just like that, he was gone.

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6