baby jedi

[funniest part: when he almost knocks himself down with the light saber. also, when he puts his finger on the ground at the end, he’s actually saying, “mom, please kneel here and help me.” my kids come up with their own sign language. geniuses, i tell ya. and lastly, yes, it’s true that william lives most of his life in a t-shirt and diaper. what can i say.]

jameson

I laid William in his crib, tucked his sweet fists just so, caressed his little toes, and arranged his quilt over his sleeping form. Then I turned to Jameson, asleep in his bed, and —

Oh my.

I love that boy.

His face, so peaceful, so beautifully formed. Perfect eyelashes, slender nose, soft cheeks. My boy.

I leaned down to touch his hair and smelled baby shampoo. A sob caught in my throat. Only a few more years of scrubbing that head, singing rub-a-dub songs, and then he’ll be a big boy, taking his own showers. I wish it could last forever.

He’s suddenly so tall, so independent, so passionate. There are more and more struggles to listen to Mama and obey, but I find that more and more, I really like him. I watch him and see glimpses of who he’ll be, and it makes me smile. Sometimes, I even think, I can’t wait to know him in 20 years —

But I can’t imagine how much I’ll miss the three year old sleeping sweetheart who still needs his Mama.

bits and pieces

Two days ago, we collected our spades and rakes, hoes and edger, gloves and wheelbarrow, fertilizer and baseball bats, and we headed to the small corner chosen to be the vegetable patch. It’s a beginner’s sized patch — maybe 4×6? — and I’ll confess to a niggling fear that clever deer will outwit me and eat everything I manage to grow, but perhaps there will be a bit of success. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I sat right in the dirt, exhausted after an hour and half, and dug up sod, beat the dirt free of entangling roots, hurled the clump at the wheelbarrow, and dug up more sod. I thought of a dozen summers spent in just such a fashion, only I was but a girl then, in my mother’s garden. And now, now there were two boys playing beside me, and they are my boys. And this is my yard.

I looked up to see expanse of sky, meadows stretching into woods. I heard only wind and the song of birds. All over again, I was blessed. Do you know how many times I timidly hoped for a bit of space where I could grow things and watch my kids climb trees, pack paperbag lunches and send sons out to explore? No, you probably don’t know, but God knew.

*****

Tonight, carmelized onion quiche. Don’t ask me why, but it popped into my head last week, and I haven’t been able to shake it. I haven’t even ever had it, but I want it. So I pull out 3 speckled brown eggs from the fridge, all different sizes, and I crack them into a bowl. Deeply golden. I know they’re just eggs, but it makes me happy.

Today we visited the chickens that lay those eggs, and also the lovely family who owns those chickens. Jameson ran happily out into the field, right into the midst of a herd of goats, never once slowing down or fearing. He climbed happily into the chicken coop, and then pushed his way through a barn of energetic kids — goat kids, that is. Tractors, horses, a pregnant kitty, a dog — he couldn’t get enough. We even spotted him sneaking into the bull’s pen. In a few years, I tell her, I’ll send him down to help out. Perhaps we can get some of that delicious raw goat milk in return?

He declared it to be “an awesome, awesome play time, Mama!”

*****

I’m finding that all quiet moments lead to thoughts of Linda. Linda, the dear woman who lays 10 miles away in a hospital room. A hospital room where she’s dying of starvation and dehydration. I think of Psalm 18 — of a God of power and love who is stirred to action, who comes with clouds of darkness and thunder and who smites His enemies. A God who delivers, because He delights in us. And I ask. I ask Him to come and speak life.

One little word.

That’s all we need.

That’s all she needs.