Happy birthday to me

Today I turned 29...again.  It is a Wednesday.  When Aaron flipped on the lights at 6:30, I pulled the covers over my head and used the birthday trump card: "Can I please just sleep in for my birthday?"  The lights went off, and I heard the door shut with a soft click.  What a man!  I fell back asleep to the sounds of the kids getting ready for school.  Ahhhh.

Before everyone left, Maddie came rushing in with the card she'd worked on last night and a gift bag.  Inside I found one of the bath bombs she'd made from the kit she received at Christmas.  She also included nail wraps from a Posh Pack her Grammy sent months ago, some perfume she'd bought on a trip, and a mood ring.  They were such sweet and thoughtful gifts.  I remembered how last night she was upset because she suddenly recalled my birthday was the next day, her dad was out of town until late in the evening, and she couldn't go out to get me a gift.  Now here she was before me with some of her most precious treasures, beaming.

It wasn't long before she was joined by her equally sweet, if less prepared brothers.  Parker offered a big hug.  Jack came in with the resin dragon he'd purchased with allowance money on Fall Break.  He also brought me "breakfast in bed" (the smoothie dad made).  Then Caleb came in with arms overflowing.  Cars, treasure boxes, a game he'd made from a Tinker Crate his Grammy had sent.  He ran out of the room, calling over his shoulder he'd be back with more presents.

I heard Jack say, "Caleb, you should lay off on giving away stuff...Some of it you might want to keep for mom's next birthday!"  That child!

All day long my phone was dinging.  Texts, emails, messages - sweet birthday wishes from friends and family.  Since I stopped posting on Facebook over a year ago, I have, at times, felt disconnected.   I get on  about once a month to read about what is going on in the lives of others, but I've decided it's best in this season of life to take a break from posting and looking at it daily.  To have so many people from all the different paths my life has taken stop and send me a message on my birthday made me feel incredibly loved.  I carried that joy throughout the day.

What a very busy day it was - volunteering at school, lunch with the kids, Valentine's Day party prep, a dental appointment for Jack, playdates.  When I went to pick up the boys from their afternoon play date, I passed Aaron coming home.  By the I arrived at the house, Maddie was busily preparing the birthday cake mix Aaron brought home.  A dozen red roses sat in a vase on the counter next to a bowl of chocolates, sparkling grape juice (as close to wine as I get these days), and a lovely birthday card.  Did I mention Aaron had been out of town this week?  He got in yesterday evening at around ten, worked a full day at the office, then rushed to the store and home to make my day special.  He even put all the kids to bed!

This is truly the best birthday I can remember.  My heart overflows with joy.  A morning under soft covers, precious gifts piled high, kisses from dear children, messages from loving friends and family, a faithful, loving husband, and of course, chocolate.  Thank you, Lord, for this happy, happy birthday!

Number 7

Dear Jack,

Did you know that the number seven is pretty important?  It signifies the number of completeness and perfection in the bible.  While we are not quite there yet, seven has been a pretty special milestone for you.

You are now seven and a few months.  I have been procrastinating.  Here's why:  I like for your birthday posts to be a neat and tidy summary of all that's happened in the previous year.  I like to tell you about yourself at the specific moment in time of your birthday.  However, as is usual for you, you confound the norm and simply defy description.  You've changed so much (and continue to change), that I struggle to put it all into words.  However, I'm going to give it my best shot.

In the last year, we began to understand what makes you you just a little bit more.  I've always known you were unique, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made you so.  I still can't pin you down (nor do I want to), but I am beginning to understand you a little more.

Last year you joined a basketball team.  You'd never played, so no one was surprised when you didn't have a plethora of basketball skills.  I dropped you off for practices and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until your game.  You are such a great kid that I was surprised when you seemed to be ignoring your coaches.  Then I realized it was as if you didn't hear them at all.  You spun in circles, hands in your mouth, eyes glazed until a ball eventually hit you in the head.  I was concerned.

You came to dread basketball.  You sobbed when we entered the gym.  The loud noises of the echoing voices, bouncing balls, and squeaking sneakers made you cover your ears and cry out as if in pain.

Then memories began to pop into my head...images of you and Caleb in the double stroller at the Chinese New Year festivals in Singapore - Caleb clapping delightedly at the dragon dancers and clanging cymbals, you crying and covering your ears.  I also thought about how you didn't seem to notice when I'd call your name if there is a lot going on.  I thought about our recent installment of the "eat belt" I'd created at the kitchen table (a scarf wrapped around a chair) just to keep you in your seat during dinner.  I remembered working with kids years ago with similar behaviors and learning a little about sensory integration.

We sought the help of Ms. Kristie, an occupational therapist.  I'll never forget the first visit when she spun you around and around on a swing in her office.  When she asked you to focus on the dot on the wall, your eyes zeroed in on the spot with ease.  Yup, we confirmed it...You had super powers.  (I knew it all along!)  Other people's pupils would have rocked from side to side for a few seconds before being able to focus.  But not yours!  She explained that it was as if your body didn't even register it had been moving.  She said that "sensory kids" [or as we prefer to call it, sensory super heroes], like you, might not hear when their name is called the first time, or second, or third...  Mornings might be tough to wake up and get going.   Sleeping might evade you.  Asking you to sit still during dinner would be akin to asking someone on a 12 hour flight not to stretch his legs.  Swinging was important [thank you, Lord, for inspiring me to hang that one in the basement last year].

Together, with your teacher and Ms. Kristie, we created plans for school and home.  And son, how you blossomed!  Your smile returned.  You creativity took off.  "I love you," was the music to my ears that I didn't even realize had been missing for months.  You see, living in Singapore was so good for you.  Being on the equator, the temperature and sunlight were constant.  You could play outside and swim every single day.  Moving back to a place where the cold and dark assaulted your senses for half the year, where playing outside all the time wasn't an option due to safety and weather, where we walk much less and are much more sedentary - all these things have been particularly hard on you.  So, slowly but surely we are making adjustments.  We are learning to appreciate your uniqueness and doing everything we can to ensure your success.  God has great plans for you, and we want to help you discover and enjoy them.

You are my sunshine.  You are the maker of games, the teller of knock-knock jokes.  You are a Minecraft architect and a math wiz.  You are big blue eyes and an even bigger smile.  You are snuggles on the couch a three squeeze [I-love-you] hand-holder.  You are a big, hard noggin covered in baby soft hair.  You are a knight defending the backyard from make-believe foes.  You are a trampoline jumper, a scooter master, an Abby-lover.  You are my Jacky-Jack, and I love you to the moon and back.

So, finally, happy birthday, special boy.  I can't wait to see what this year holds in store.  Whatever it is, if you hold my hand, we will smile and skip and swing and face it together.

Love,
Momma

Five

I held your foot in my hand.  I was tucking you into bed, marveling at marvelous little you.  I stared at that long, soft, pink foot and shook my head.  It spanned my entire palm.  I clearly remember the days I could easily cradle it in my palm like a small stone.

You grinned up at me, that devilish little toothy grin, a small gap in your two front teeth thanks to thumb-sucking.  You swear you've stopped, but I know that late at night, as your drifting through dreamland, that tiny thumb drifts into your mouth.  And that's ok.

You turned five.  You are five.  Not a baby, but not a big boy.  You are my little man.  My trusty side-kick.  You are an opinionated sous-chef, a watcher of birds, the commander of Abigail Fluffypants, a demander of snuggles, a tattler of tales, a back-seat D.J.  

You are learning to name and deal with lots of big feelings.  Sadness comes out as anger.  Joy can result in energetic gesticulations, misunderstood as aggression.  Life is tough for a five year old.  But it is also full of beauty and wonder.  Thanks to you I have never walked so slowly or listened so carefully.  You slow me down in all the best ways.  

You and I spend a lot of time together, and I LOVE it.  Many mornings, after dad has dropped the older 3 off at school, you saunter down to the kitchen, and announce your presence with a "Hey mom!"  This is quickly followed by, "I haven't had my morning snuggles yet."  We cuddle on the sofa, attempting to spot some birds outside.  Most times, though, crazy Abby jumps on our stomachs and licks our faces until we are laughing and rolling off the couch.  We read, we play, we get ready for preschool, or junior kindergarten, to be exact.  We decided to gift you with one more year of childhood.  Why rush it?  You go to school 4 days a week for 3 hours a day, and that's plenty.  In case you couldn't tell, I love having you home with me.  

I love watching you grow into a little person.  You have ideas that are all your own.  You have amazing questions and observations.  I wish I were more diligent in recording all of them.  I suppose it is part and parcel of being the fourth child; fewer pictures are taken, fewer quotes recorded.  Though they may not be written on this blog, they are written on my heart.  The exact words are gone, but the essence is there.  I love you for all those special, inexplicable, unique things that make you who you are.  No one (save God and your daddy) could ever love you more.

I also love watching you play with your siblings.  Nothing in this world brings me more joy than hearing the four of you playing and laughing together.  Our family wouldn't be complete without you, sweet boy.

I often steal your Grammy's line and ask: "Do you know what I love about you?"  You oblige and ask, "What?"

"Everything."

So, happy fifth birthday, son [late, as usual, but that's just how this momma rolls].  Love you, baby boy!


Love, Momma

I remember

I remember a blog post I wrote years ago.  We were living in Kentucky then, too.  I remember writing about a morning I had to walk the kids into preschool, in sweat pants, shoulders hunched inside a big coat (to hide the fact I hadn't been able to don the proper undergarments thanks to having had to nurse a baby all night), hair unwashed, teeth unbrushed.  I was basically a hot mess.

I remember being baffled by the moms who calmly strolled into school, wearing actual outfits, no spit up on their shoulders, hair brushed, makeup on!  Who were these people??  And how were they possibly raising preschoolers?

Now I know.  Or perhaps it's more accurate to say, now I notice.  These put-together moms are only brining in preschoolers, and usually just one.  Probably the baby of the family.  Preschoolers are somewhat self-sufficient.  Even if these moms had elementary aged students, they would be up and off to school well before the preschooler needed attention in the morning.

Now I am the mom walking calmly into school.  Now I can wear clean clothes and brush my teeth.  Oh happy days!

And yet...

There is a sort of wistfulness in my heart when I pass those young mommas.  The ones slumped in their seats just after morning drop off.  The ones with the wiggly toddler in the booster seat and the sleeping baby in the bucket carseat in the back.  Those moms' mornings last forever.  In fact, their days last forever.  Then it all starts over again tomorrow.  There is no leisurely sleeping in on Saturday.  Babies never seem to get that memo.  No, these moms just completed one lap of their morning race that likely started at 5 a.m. and won't end until after a midnight feeding.

I used to worry that the moms who seemed to have it all together at preschool might somehow be judging me.  Now I know better.  Now I know that they remembered what it was like.  That they knew how badly I just wanted a nap, a bath, an adult conversation.  Oh mommas!  I see you, friends.  This, too, shall pass.

One day, just around the corner, you will hug your little boy and be able to rest your chin on his head at the same time.  You won't be able to pick him up, but you will still cradle him in your heart.  And all these exhausting, wonderful, maddening mornings will have been worth it.

One day you'll be able to cook dinner while watching your children play together in the back yard.  You'll even be able to join in before it's time to take the food out of the oven.  There will be peace at dinner.  No one will spill their drink.  For real.

Each season is just that.  A season.  A handful of moments, soon to pass.  I know it feels like that old Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day.  Every morning feels never-ending and all too familiar.   But please hear me when I say it will pass.  I know you have dishes in the sink, clothes souring in the washer, unmade beds, crumbs on the table.  I remember.  But what I hope is that you will take just a few moments to sit and hold that baby.  Marvel at those eye lashes, kiss those toes.  This, too, shall pass, all too quickly.

Homeland

We went on a bike ride yesterday. Caleb is just shy of being too heavy for the seat strapped to the back.  I wanted to take advantage of a few more fast rides (where I wouldn't be stopping to drag his tiny but impossibly heavy training-wheel clad bike up the hills).  Jack was on his scooter.  Maddie rode her pink and purple bike.  Parker is at camp (but that's another post).

After strapping Caleb in the seat, we stuffed every nook and cranny with apples, bananas, and water bottles.  It was a short ride - just up to the school's new playground - but I knew they'd be hungry and thirsty after only a few minutes of riding.  It was hot and humid and sunny and glorious.

When we arrived, they devoured the snacks and ran to the playground.  I leaned against the school wall in the shade and slid down to sit on the ground. A brick column hid them from view, but their laughter was carried to me by the occasional gust of warm wind.  I was instantly swept back to my own childhood.  This place felt so familiar.

The familiar click-click-click-buzzzzzz of some unseen insect provided a constant, almost unnoticeable soundtrack to the day.  Birds chattered, concealed in nearby trees.  A robin landed nearby, head erect, hopping along with his little red chest puffed out arrogantly.  Tree branches hung heavy in the heat under the weight of thick, dark green leaves.   Clouds so round and white you could almost convince yourself they were made of cotton drifted slowly across a royal blue sky.  A tiny yellow moth flitted through the grass and weeds.  Even the weeds looked lacy and pretty here in the shade.

I was looking at a scene from my childhood (one county over and decades later).  It felt magical.  I wondered, is it more than just familiarity that makes it special?  Would a stranger to the region feel the same love for this land?  I honestly didn't know.

I thought of my grandma's garden on Griffiths Avenue.  Behind her tidy little house a well-tended garden bursted with reds and purples, pinks and yellows.  Many hours were spent enjoying that garden in the back.  She certainly loved this land.  Then I thought of the little old women I saw walking down the streets of Singapore or practicing Tai Chi in the park near my favorite cafe.  Did their hearts swell when they looked at the flowers in their own gardens?  I imagine they did.

What a beautiful gift - homeland.  What a gift that we all have precious homelands.

The kids returned from the playground.  I was glad they didn't see the tears in my eyes.  I didn't want to have to explain.  I just tucked the gift into my heart and lifted Caleb into his seat.

God's Favorite

I feel rusty, sitting here, trying to tap away these thoughts quickly before I'll need to start making dinner.  How did I do this when my littles were little?  How did I blog so freely between diaper changes, and naps, and building block towers?

Oh well.  I will try again.  Because it is important.  It's important for my soul to record these beautiful glimpses.  

Today at the pool, Caleb was lamenting the fact that Maddie was "Grammy's favorite" because she'd received a special gift.  We all rolled our eyes, knowing, of course, that Grammy doesn't have favorites.  I reminded him his birthday was next month, and he was certain to receive a special present from Grammy.

I grinned as I remembered all the times this summer the kids would whine, "Why does so-and-so get such-and-such?!  It's not fair!"  In response I would look at them with wide eyes, brows raised, and state simply: "Because he/she is my favorite."  This was always followed by a stunned silence.  You could almost see the wheels turning.  Then a smile and groan, "Mo-om.  I'm serious!"

I love that response.  I love that they know me so very well believing I would have a favorite is completely impossible.  They are right, of course.  There is absolutely no way I could even consider one child more dear than another.  Of course there are times when the company of one is more enjoyable than another.  Perhaps they are choosing joyful obedience or are sharing without being asked or helping around the house.  However, mere behavior does not have the power to create a favorite.  They are all my favorites.  They are inherently special - because they are mine.  When I look into their blue eyes, I see my own.  How could I not love them?

I was reading my favorite book again: A Thousand Gifts.  The author speaks of years of Bible study and how she was always focused on what she thought of God.  More recently she has focused on what God thinks of her.  Of course it made me wonder: What does God think of me?

Oh how my heart swells.  I am His favorite.  He looks at me and sees Himself.  The beautiful (and sometimes confounding) truth is this: we are all His favorites - special and unique and capable of making Him smile.  I hope that reading this will spread a little joy in your life today.  You (and I) are so loved!


For the LORD your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.                   Zephaniah 3:17 NLT

Happy Birthday, Big Guy

Dear Parker,

As I type this post, I am looking at the photo of the four of you kids taken before Caleb could even crawl.  You are lined up on your bellies, staring at the camera.  Caleb is drooling, Jack is grinning, Maddie is cupping both cheeks with her hands like an angel, and you?  You look as you always do, as if the the wheels in your head are turning, but your lips are sealed.  You are always thinking, considering and considerate.

In the 11 years you've been on this earth, much has changed in your life, but much about you has remained consistent.  You are so brave, son.  I think of the way you jumped right into baseball this season.  It may not seem like a big deal to some, but it really is.  You might have played tee ball once when we lived in Texas years ago.  We didn't play in Singapore because the only league was just too far north (where most Americans lived).  When we got back here and you expressed an interest, your dad and I were on the fence.  We didn't want to quash your dreams, but let's face it, most kids your age have been playing for nearly a decade, and it's a pretty technical sport.  We talked to you and each other and God, finally deciding to let you play.  I was more nervous than you.  Kids can be cruel.  Would they make fun of you?  Would they be put out by the kid on the team who might not even hit the ball?

You went to the evaluations and were placed on a team.  After the first few practices, the coach talked to us about placing you with a younger age group due to your skill level.  The league decided to evaluate you again.  The coach, league leaders, and dad were all there.  They were all so impressed with your coachability.  [Yes, I know that's not a word, but it's my blog, and it should be.]   It's one of the things I love most about you.  It is a skill most do not possess.  I certainly don't.  You have this ability to really listen to others when receiving feedback, positive or negative.  You absorb the information, process it, and make changes.  Son, seriously, this skill is going to help carry you through some rough stuff and leave you all the better for it.

The way you've handled yourself in baseball is just one of the many ways you've amazed me during this year of transitioning back to the U.S.  It has been tough.  You have missed your friends and the familiarity of Singapore.  The differences between east and west are still great even in our very connected world.  I know it's been challenging for you to assimilate all the aspects of your life, and sweetie, I'm so proud of you and how you've handled it.  You are an amazing kid.

You are humble, quick to admit your weaknesses.  You are bold, always willing to try new things.  You are inclusive, never wanting others to feel left out.  You are multifaceted, are able to juggle your varied hobbies and roles (athlete, fantasy battler, video gamer, outdoorsman, friend, brother).   Best of all, you are mine.

Parker, dear, I thank God all the time for making you my son.  I love you, sweet boy.  Happy, happy, happiest 11th birthday.

Love,
Momma