Covered

As I walk through the house these days, I notice that every surface is covered.

In the living room, the entire coffee table is covered in Axis and Allies.  Grandpa got us this game a few years ago.  There are approximately 2.5 billion little plastic pieces including planes, soldiers, anti aircraft guns, tanks, etc.  We are apparently not going to change the course of history during this game, as the Allies (Parker's team) are still winning. 

In the dining room, the table is covered in a puzzle (left on our porch by a kind neighborhood friend) and in home school and craft supplies.  Maddie works on the puzzle a little each day.  Caleb uses the sight words and fine motor skills buckets to practice his home school assignments.  Jack creates comic books with paper and markers.  Parker practices his cursive writing to earn extra screen time. 

When we moved here, I remember cramming my stockpiles of paper, markers, crayons, glue, scissors, stickers, play dough, paint and all kinds of other junk into an upstairs closet.  I wondered if and when we'd ever really use the stuff.  These days, I'm so thankful I didn't "Marie Kondo" my stash!

The upstairs playroom table, desks, and floor are covered in Legos.  4 kids, 32 collective birthdays, and untold Lego sets have resulted in buckets and buckets of Legos.  Yes, I step on them daily, but the pain is worth it.  The kids spend HOURS building elaborate play scenarios together.

The media room is covered in blankets and pillows.  Since the start of our "shelter in place" order, we decided to institute new, fun family traditions.  "Fort Night Fridays" mean all the blankets and pillows in the house are dragged into the media room.  Complex tunnels are created and crammed with flashlights, toys, snacks, books, you name it.  The kids are allowed to eat dinner in there while watching a family movie.  Then everyone sleeps in there.  At least, that was the plan.  As it turns out, it's not so easy to watch a movie from inside a fort.  We built the fort then watched the movie downstairs.  The kids attempted to sleep in the fort, but then the blanket ceiling collapsed.  Some migrated, tearful, to our room.  Others wandered to their own rooms.  No one had the heart to tear it down the next day.  So, it remains, most likely gathering vermin, waiting for this Friday.

Our floors are covered in muddy prints and a fine layer of dog hair.  Though I sweep daily, our dog sheds profusely.  The kids and dog are in and out of the house all day, running through a yard that never quite dries out between rain storms.  I hear them shrieking as they all jump on the trampoline together.  A little mud is a small price to pay for sweaty, smiling kids.

[I am not including a picture because it's just, well, gross.]

Covered.  Our home covered in love and grace.  We are called to love each other with the kind of love that blankets, the kind of love that suffocates selfishness and annoyance and fear and hatred.  That is the kind of covering I am praying for for our home and for our country and for our world right now.  I hope and pray that you are covered, too.

Above all, have fervent and unfailing love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins [it overlooks unkindness and unselfishly seeks the best for others]. 1 Peter 4:8 AMP

Perspective

I couldn't catch my breath.  I had been on this walk for nearly twenty minutes.  I wasn't walking quickly.  Why couldn't I catch my breath?  Why were tears pricking my eyes?

It was Monday, the start of the first full week of the kids' eLearning.  We had been at it all morning.  Mom, Mom, Mom, MOM.  I wanted to change my name.  I couldn't stop reading the news stories.  The major cities were being told to "shelter in place" (no leaving home unless you were getting groceries, going to the doctor, or going to work, etc.).  Would we be next?  My mind was racing.

Aaron encouraged me to get some fresh air.  He could take his calls [he's working from home now] and keep an eye on the kids.  I started out thinking I would jog, but I just couldn't muster the strength or desire to move at more than a slow lumber.

I tried tuning into my church's daily devotional on YouTube.  Somehow I was redirected to a different  preacher.  I'd heard him before.  This time it was different, though.  He wasn't in a suit standing behind a pulpit.  He was in casual clothes, sitting on a stool, looking downright haggard.  He'd just lost his niece.  A few months prior, he'd lost his brother.  This recording must have been taped some time ago, because I know since then he's lost his wife.  At any rate, his daughter, also a preacher, was tearfully interviewing him, trying to make sense of what seemed like such a senseless tragedy.

My mind wandered to all the deaths in Italy right now.  To all the deaths here.  To all the heart wrenching, sudden, excruciating goodbyes.  Tears pooled in my eyes.  I came to the tunnel that runs under the main road between our neighborhood and a green space.  I don't know why, but I wanted to take a picture.  So I did.

I noticed as I captured the shot, the brightness obscured the details.  When I tapped my screen, I could make the puddle in the middle visible, the walls darker, the path at the end a little clearer.   I took a second picture.

As I continued the walk, I realized I liked the first perspective better.  I liked the light at the end of the tunnel.  I could choose to focus on the puddle and darkness and winding road or simply on the light.  I realized I was okay with ambiguity as long as I knew I was walking into the light.  The path wasn't perfectly clear, but my next few steps were.  I decided to choose light.

I emerged from the tunnel and noticed another thing.  My gait felt odd, off somehow.  I had been looking down, unfocused,  subconsciously avoiding cracks in the sidewalk that were placed at uneven intervals.  I decided to change my perspective again.  I looked up a little.  I focused ahead.  My gait became even.

I looked up even more.  I walked steadily.  Then something else happened.  As my head tilted back, my mouth naturally fell open a little.  Breathe.  My shoulders, which I hadn't realized were hunched until that moment, relaxed.  I could breathe again.  Deep, cleansing breaths.

I allowed the preacher's words and familiar scriptures to sink deep into the recesses of my troubled soul.  I reminded myself that God's plans are a mystery.  He is bigger, so much bigger than me.  He is good.

Today is Tuesday.  I am choosing my perspective.  Yes, as of tomorrow night, we will be officially ordered to "shelter in place."  But I am focused on the silver lining...I am in love with all those living within the walls of our home.  I am blessed to spend this time with them.  I hope and pray that any who happen to read this will find peace and love in their own shelters as well.

But as for me, the nearness of God is my good; I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, That I may tell of all Your works.  Ps 73:28

Before the World Went Mad

It was the first week of March.  The virus was spreading but still seemed manageable somehow.  China was far away.  Aaron was in Australia on business.  I had exactly 2 concerns:  Would he get quarantined upon return to the U.S., and where were we going for spring break?

Aaron loves planning trips, and I hate it.  Since he's been so busy with work recently, we hadn't booked a thing for spring break.  Now it was just a few days away, and I was scrambling.  I booked a campsite (literally the only one left in a 5-mile radius) only to cancel it after reading the rainy forecast.  6 people and a wet dog crammed into a smelly, damp tent for 5 days.  Um, no.

I remembered Aaron suggesting we visit a dude ranch while we lived in Texas this time around, embracing the local culture.  A quick Trip Advisor search lead me to the Silver Spur Guest Ranch ("guest" because visitors don't actually have to do the work on the ranch).  I didn't know where Bandera, TX was, and I didn't care.  All I cared about was that they could take us for 4 days and that there was only a chance of rain one of the days we'd be there.

Spring break arrived, and we spent the first few days at home.  Aaron was adjusting to our time zone again, kids were playing together, days were lazy and peaceful.  Thursday rolled around, and it was time to head the ranch.  We dropped Abby off at the dog sitter's house and hit the road.

Silver Spur Guest Ranch was amazing!  JUST what we needed.  Not a TV in sight.  Wifi was spotty and only available up at the main cabin.  The kids quickly embraced this screen-free world.  Playground, pool table, foosball, chess, horse shoes, fossil digging, hay rides, feeding animals, cafeteria style meals (where "you get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit"), 2 friendly, wandering donkeys (protecting the chickens from coyotes), cowboys singing campfire songs, s'more every night, reading, riding horses, bullwhip lessons, fresh baked cookies every day at 3:15.  This place was a little bit of heaven on earth.  Seriously the best family vacation we've taken in the States.

We even visited the historic downtown Bandera, the "cowboy capitol of the world."  General store, western wear, craft stores, and delicious coffee (with baby goats in the side yard of the cafe).  We can't wait to go back!

Maddie girl, now 11

Dear Maddie,
I suppose it's only fair your "birthday" post is 4 months late.  Your brothers might feel slighted if I actually completed yours closer to the actual date.  Your momma is a procrastinator.  I learned recently that procrastination could be evidence I am simply allowing my creative processes to unfold.  Yeah, we'er gonna go with that.  Thanks, NPR.

Anyway, enough about me.  How about you?  What a year you had!  Friendships, parties, sports, a move.  You have moved through it all with a beauty and grace that is astounding.  Your dad and I shake our heads when we talk about the little lady you have become.

Your 10th year of life was full of change.  You changed schools, churches, homes, neighborhoods, routines.  Moving is not your favorite thing.  You develop deep roots.  You value close physical ties with family and friends.  Quality time is one of your love languages.   When that quality time with a loved one is disrupted by a move, it hurts. 

It is my one of my heart's deepest desires that you will understand the reasons for our moves - that you will see them in the positive light that I do.  You are so very close to your brothers, and to me, and to dad.  I credit God and our moves for that.  Had we stayed in one spot, I think we never would have known just how close we could be.

And my dear, we are close.  My heart aches when I think of how much I love you.  I am gazing at your school picture on the wall as I type this.  One day we may look at this photo and giggle at the trendy background but never at your smile.  So open and genuine.  Sometimes when I consider all the pain in the world, I just want to wrap you in my arms and shield you forever.  But I know that is not your destiny.  You are here to bring light to the world.  You can and do already.

You are not a natural extrovert like your older brother.  You do not seek out attention or consider a room full of people to be an opportunity to make a huge group of friends.  You are careful and attentive.  You notice people.  You reach out to the new girl in school and offer encouragement.  You invite the girl at the party sitting all alone to come and join your group at the table.  You don't do these things because they are easy for you.  You do them because you have empathy.  Know that I see you, Maddie.  Every time.  I am so proud of you. 

You played basketball and volleyball for the first time this year.  It was so good for you.  It was great to have two very different coaches with different styles.  It was painful at times, but it was good for you to make mistakes, to be corrected, to learn that you aren't expected to have all the answers.  You handled yourself beautifully.  You never gave up, and you learned what you genuinely enjoy.  (We'll be doing volleyball again in the spring but probably not basketball.)

You are a joy to have at home.  You still tutor your younger brothers, setting up "school" upstairs, complete with a whiteboard, assignments, and a prize box.  You often ask, "What can I do to help?" when I'm making dinner.  You love to take Abigail Fluffypants on walks.  You love to study the Greek and Latin roots of words with your friend, Berklee, as you both bounce around the trampoline.  You have your evening routine (picking up your toys, brushing and flossing, reading, etc.) down to an exact science.  Your room, painted "Sprinkle," is a bright teal blue filled with furry rugs and pillows.  It is just like you, bright and warm and fuzzy. 

Maddie, I hope you can tell by reading this post that I am beyond thrilled to be your momma.  I know that this next year, from 11 to 12, will be even better than the last.  I love you so much, dear girl!  Happy birthday!

Birthday Catch Up - year 7

Dear Jacky-Jack,

I can't bring myself to write "Happy Birthday," as it's been months since the actual day.  This is more of a catch-up.  We are in the middle of a very hectic move during your actual birthday.  We had just moved into our temporary apartment.  You were happy as a clam, riding your scooter around and around the shared driveway next to the lake.  It was nice and hot, just the way you like it.  Since then, things have only improved...But that is the story of your 8 year old life.  Let's backtrack a bit.

Year seven had many ups and downs.  School was tough.  Staying in the lines (in the hallway and on paper) proved challenging for you.  You had a lovely teacher, Mrs. Stickle, but testing was hard, reading was tedious, and the cold weather took its toll.  Just before school ended we decided to meet with the teachers and consider an IEP (individualized education plan).  It didn't get completed before our move, and that was just as God planned.  (That is another story for next year's post!)

In March you faced the heartbreak of losing your very best friend, Graham, to a move.  Usually, we are the ones to move away.  Losing this dear boy, this kindred spirit full of creative energy and make-believe magic, rocked your little world.  You two could play for hours, engaged in secret worlds and ever-changing rules only the pair of you could decipher.  Our backyards were only separated by a path through the woods, so you were often together after school and on weekends.  We were so very sad to hear they were moving.  We had only met a few months prior.  He was like a bright little butterfly that flitted through our lives, and we will never forget him.

Though you faced many changes and challenges in your seventh year, there were many blessings not to be overlooked.  We finally cracked the code of the morning routine!  There were mornings, not just any mornings, but cold, winter mornings, where you actually didn't cry!  Thanks to the techniques taught to us by your occupational therapist, you managed your body and feelings and were able to leave for school with a smile on your face. 

Your day would begin up in your sea-mural room where you would be wrapped in your stretchy blue blanket.  I would place the large exercise ball on your feet, apply pressure, and begin to "make the pizza." 

"What do you want on your pizza?" I would ask as I leaned gently on the ball and rolled it up to your chest.

"Sauce," came the sleepy reply. 

"What else?" I'd ask, rolling it back down to your toes.

"Cheese."  This would continue until the ball had been rolled up and down your body as many times (and toppings) as it took to wake those big sleepy muscles.  Then I would grab your ankles and wheelbarrow walk you to the top of the stairs.  There you would walk (or sometimes I would carry you) all the way down to the basement where you'd be put in the swing for as many pushes and turns as you felt you needed.  Next we'd head over to the small, indoor trampoline for about 10 jumps.  By the time we headed up the stairs for breakfast, there would be no hint of tears or whining.  You'd eat your breakfast, get dressed, and head out the door.  It was a magic formula that was worth every extra minute.

Thanks to your new found ability to regulate your body via jumping, swinging, headstands, and other movements, you had more confidence.  You decided you wanted to sign up for basketball again - and you loved it.  You also really loved baseball.  You became a fantastic swimmer.  It's as if you grew into your body this year.  It was a beautiful thing to behold. 

I couldn't be more proud of you, son.  You are so special and unique.  I know in my heart that you have the ability to make this world a better place.  But will it let you? my mother's heart asks, anxious you may not be understood or appreciated.  Then I remember the lovely people God has already placed in your life who shatter that fear - Mrs. Stickle, Graham, coaches, your grandparents, your siblings.  These people see the real you and love you deeply, making my heart sing and worries fade.  As you skip through this life, I hope and pray that your focus will be on those who build you up and cherish you.  Know this, dear boy, you are loved and cherished and worthy, always.  Love, your momma.  

Caleb's 6 year birthday post

Dear Caleb,

It's 5:33 A.M., and I can't sleep.  All I can think about is how much I want to record your 5th year of life.  My memory is not fantastic, and I don't want to forget the details.  I know I won't capture everything that made your fifth year so special, but I at least want to give you a snapshot.  I want to preserve sweet little you.

I didn't think it was possible to love you more than I did the day you were born, but I was wrong.  This year with you was magical.  We decided to hold you back from kindergarten an extra year, to give you time to mature (and if I'm being totally honest, it was also because I wasn't emotionally ready to let my last baby go).  We sent you to St. John's Junior Kindergarten program.  It was a half day, four days a week.  You wowed us all with your math skills, handwriting, and love of learning.  It was the best of both worlds.  You got the stimulation and education you needed.  I had mornings to myself to clean, do laundry, volunteer, etc.  Then we had our afternoons together.

What a special time!  Our morning routine was so precious it brings tears to my eyes as I type.  After your siblings were off to school, you would invite me to join you on the prayer room couch, by the big window.  You would still be wearing your footed pajamas.  "Mom, wanna buhd [bird] watch wif me?"  You sat curled in my lap, a thumb tucked in your mouth, your other arm wrapped firmly around my neck, anchoring me in place.  Often Abby, our lab, would jump up and join us, licking our faces until we rolled off into a pile of giggles and blankets on the floor.  Then we'd have breakfast and you would rush upstairs to proudly dress yourself.  You are so independent.

I cried the first day I dropped you off.  I held it together until you were in your room, settled at your table.  I was a mess in the parking lot that day.  But I soon settled into a routine of cleaning, volunteering, running errands, and tackling the never-ending laundry.  I looked forward to our time apart and our happy reunion.  I'm not going to lie, some days were better than others.  If the weather was nice, and you were outside on the playground for pick up, you would shout, "Why did you have to pick me up so early?  We just got out here!"  Most afternoons we would enjoy lunch, read, play Hotwheels, and pretty soon, brothers and sister were home.

Fridays were the best days.  You referred to them as a "free day off."  For the first part of your school year, we would take special trips on Fridays.  Then I discovered UP!  It was the day shelter for homeless women and children downtown.  You and I would spend our Fridays there together.  You would play with the kids (if there were any).  You would serve imaginary ice cream to the ladies.  You would load up the wagon and drag coffee supplies around the room.  They loved you.  And you loved them.  You couldn't wait to go each week.

There were many other special things about this year.  You played tee ball and LOVED it.  You played basketball.  You loved swimming.  You loved camping.  You loved playing with others.  You just loved life.

Knowing we were moving to Texas, we decided to have a joint for you and Jack before we left town (and before your actual birthdays).  We invited your friends to All About Kids (a kids' gymnasium) where you bounced to your heart's content and ran around like a crazy man.  You loved all the shenanigans.

On your actual 6th birthday we were on our house hunting trip in Texas with Grammy.  You were so excited.  We found a house in a neighborhood that had a really neat manmade lagoon.  They allowed us to have passes to get in that day so we could celebrate with swimming and cake.  It was so much fun!

I can't wait to tell you all about yourself since we've been here in Texas.  Spoiler alert: You are an amazing 6 year old!  But I'll save that for next year's post.  For now, just know how much I loved spending time with sweet little five year old you.  You are my precious baby.  Love you, Cay-Cay!

Date

My blogging has been pretty inconsistent.  I find myself thinking about family things I want to record, and then the business of the days creep in, and the posts are never written.  Not today.  Today deserves a post.  One day, if my kids ever take the time to read this blog, I want them to know how much their parents loved each other.  Today is a perfect example.

Aaron asked me on a breakfast date.  It may not sound exciting or romantic to some.  In fact, if I were invited on a breakfast date as a teen, I'm not sure I would have been as enthusiastic as I was this morning.  Dates were meant for weekend nights and required hours of primping and preparation.  When Aaron and I first began dating, I would have a weight like a stone in my stomach and goosebumps all over in nervous anticipation as I waited for him to pick me up. 

This morning, I still felt the thrill.  Instead of butterflies and goosebumps, there was a warmth in my chest and tears stinging my eyes.  The joy!  The joy of going on a date - any date - with my handsome husband!  He had an early morning work call he could take from home, so he suggested we go out to breakfast together afterward.  There was no time to primp.  Lunches needed to be made, laundry started, children fed.  I donned jeans and a teeshirt, noticing more salt than pepper in my hair as I combed it.  Crows feet stamped the corners of my eyes, but they didn't bother me.  They were evidence of years of smiles - most from our 20+ years together.

This is joy.  This is love.  This is the gift.  It is not a free gift.  There is a cost.  Love like this is not a feeling.  It is not fleeting or altered by circumstance.  It is a daily choice.  It is the choice to spend time together whenever possible.  It is the choice to treat someone kindly when they are driving you crazy.  It is the choice to embrace imperfections.  Both people must make these choices over and over and over.  And when that happens, year after year, the result is a quiet, confident love - one that assures you you are are fully known, fully accepted, and fully loved.  It is a beautiful thing. 

So this morning, I am celebrating our marriage.  I'm celebrating our beautifully mundane extraordinary breakfast date.  Today I celebrate us.  I love you, Aaron.