Post Category → motherhood

family time

And right on the heels of a long-anticipated weekend away, we ended up with a week of family time! Since neither Ryan nor I are actually good at being home and vacationing (he’d be on the phone solving problems, I’d be deep-cleaning the freezer — but I have hope! One day!), we loaded ourselves and a week’s worth of books and games and groceries into the van and headed to another nearby lake.

There wasn’t much to do (the whole point!), and the five days slipped by to the tune of slow mornings together, little hikes and boat excursions, two birthday celebrations (William and Ryan), movies and books and puzzles, and just kind of being near Dad. No matter what he was doing.

We had rented this same cottage three summers ago, when Beattie wasn’t walking and William and Jameson were decidedly little boys. Arriving there again was nostalgic. This season of young children just changes so quickly. So quickly. Jameson is 9! William turned 7! It whirls and flies faster and faster, leaving me sometimes just gasping for a breath — and maybe crying, too. To know for certain that I will never, ever again be on a boat watching 3-year-old William experience the thrill of full throttle, arms in the air, eyes sparkling in the unique way they do… And I know again that my days with them are such a gift. I get to watch them, help them, introduce them to the world and its wonders, their growing gifts and personalities, truth and goodness and hope. I get to witness their moments and hours and days. It doesn’t always seem significant. Sometimes it’s a lot of moments of potty-helping and chore-reminding and conflict-resolving and super-hero-story-listening. But those moments are their lives, and I’m a part of these building-block moments that are adding up to men and women.

And truthfully, honestly, there aren’t many moments I wouldn’t gladly do once again. Even just for a minute, to build a train track with my baby Jameson, to sing a song to the happy baby William playing at my feet, to watch my doll-baby Beatrice smile at her brothers, to slip Fiona into the Ergo for a tromp in the snow… Those are moments no one else saw, no one else witnessed, no one else was a part. But I was. God picked me. Isn’t that amazing?

Yes, I’m very pregnant, but oh my! I am in tears, marveling at the way God uses me — ungifted as I often feel in every area pertaining to home management and school organization and even just babies! — to shape people.

I think I had some pictures to post, if I can just find them through my tear-blurred vision…

July

It was a fly-by summer, like no other I’ve ever experienced. June days that hovered wet and cold around 50* made way for the months of July and August which were busy. But we did live, and since this blog is my family journal of sorts, I would feel badly to just pick up in September as though 10 weeks of our lives pooled away into thin air! So, a blog blitz of sorts.

I wrote this at the end of July:

We’ve been slowly ramping up since spring, heading toward what we knew would be another busy summer. And it has been. No garden days — I’m just happy to mow the lawn and pull out the most offensive weeds, planning what I will do “someday” this summer. No beach days — somehow the super hot ones seem to fall on the days that find me sitting with phone and laptop ALL DAY LONG. Not even many picnics in our own yard! BUT. Sounds of kids playing for hours and hours on their bikes, with their balls, picking wild berries and catching butterflies. Evening strolls around the house, inhaling the air and sight of whichever new flowers have opened (because perennials are just too forgiving when it comes to a lack of garden days!)

In the middle of days that just fly by and I’m lucky if the laundry is caught up, there are opportunities to pause. Isn’t that wonderful? To hold a chubby three-year-old hand as you walk down the hall; to sweep the toddler-baby off her feet as she runs ecstatically, calling your name; to pull my too-close-to-7 year old boy in for a hug which he always gladly reciprocates; to caress the still-soft cheek of my lanky oldest as he tells me a story. To embrace my husband when he walks in the door long after dinner, kiss him deeply and feel some of his tension melt. And for me, for us: to cut flowers after my walk and slip to the bakery for a treat of a breakfast, turning an empty-cupboard morning into a huge treat.

Besides trying my best to be all there and not miss those few precious moments of connecting and making home for my little family, July was also:


Parades with the best of children!


Childhood summer happening around lots of quick trips to Potsdam.


A trip to Maine with all of us.

Wide expanses of ocean, and family time.

A most-laid-back week for me and the kids on the St Lawrence river with my parents.

I was so thankful for those days away after (and before!) months and weeks of intense work on business endeavors. What a blessing!

full days, full heart.

Don’t let him fool you. My boys call for me every night to come tuck them in (even though they already have their quilts up to their chins) and kiss them good night. The arms that lock around my neck are strong and wiry and all boy. I love my boys.

I love/hate that every meal would look like this if I let it. I can tell if the book I assigned them is good by how long it takes them to get hungry for lunch. Poor Beatrice. She can’t wait until I teach her to read so she can be part of that world, too. They love to read.

And I never get tired of watching them together. ALL DAY LONG. They love each other so deeply. They are such opposites, and already, I can see iron sharpening iron. They’re learning how to interact through differences, how to point out weaknesses in an encouraging way. I wonder what their future together holds. Maybe just a deep connection each time their paths cross? Or will they be shoulder to shoulder, pursuing Jesus together?

*****

We’ve had a few PJ morning walks, when my little sidekicks wake up before I can slip out of the house. Are they the cutest? I really think so. And isn’t summer all about fresh mornings spent in pajamas?

She sings. All the time, everywhere. Her favorite theme is “When the storms come, You will be there.” Yesterday, as we drove to do errands, her chatting turned to, “When I’m a big girl, I’ll sit up next to you.” I smiled and nodded, imagining trips together and long conversations and a life of having that wonderful person for a friend. She chatted on about, “And I will fill up the car with gas for you! And go into the store and buy the things. And I will order the bagels!!” Apparently ordering bagels is quite the milestone in her eyes.

*****

I know it’s almost July, and I’m still trying to realize summer has started. I’m surprised to look at my gardens and not just see daffodils — in my mind, that’s where we still are. But no. A sea of evening primrose, the start of lilies, baby gooseneck loostrife ready to pop, delphinium waving tall and proud (unless this current rainy day does them in.) And yarrow. Deep, sunshine-yellow yarrow. I’ve never fully appreciated how many perfect little flowers it takes to form one of those beautiful heads of gold.

*****

And food. The food tells me it’s not April anymore. We will eat lots of salad, in place of winter’s pb&j. Along with our CSA’s generous shares of greens, I also planted plenty of kale this year. I hope it does well, because I can certainly eat my way through a LOT of kale in a week.

She enjoys it all as much as I do. She’s a bottomless pit! While the boys sit and read, she quietly eats all of the food. ALL of it.

Sautéed garlic and spring onions, baby kale, lemon juice, and heaps of fresh basil and parsley. It makes my mouth so happy. I forget what fresh herbs taste like!

Making pretty food does something for me. Nothing fancy, just pretty. Edible sweet pea flowers, golden yellow eggs, deep red strawberries, ta-da. Even with a fridge that is bare, it feels like we’re eating like kings.

*****

Growing.

Suddenly, last week, overnight, I went from feeling round and lumpy to being quite clearly pregnant. Funny how that happens. Ryan, the boys, my friends tell me it’s true as their eyes widen and they exclaim, “Hey! Your belly!”

Sixteen weeks of baby growing in there. Already! It’s flying by. Maybe that’s why I’m so surprised to suddenly not fit in my clothes? Perhaps pulling out some stretchy-waisted pants will help me remember: there’s a baby coming.

(I love getting a peek at what this avocado-sized baby looks like. Astounding.)

*****

Even more astounding is realizing ten years of marriage has come and gone. June 25 ten years later was a much more temperate day. It also came and went with much less fanfare, but a quiet shared remembrance that Hey, today is special. This covenant is special.

*****

And this man is special. He’s talented in a hundred ways that I am not (and therefore am all the more impressed by.) He grows. Stagnant and stubborn is not his style. He wants to grow. There is always a sense that we are moving towards eternity as we live life together, because he just wants Jesus. Sometimes it’s hard, this calling to build something that is so here, but with our eyes continually lifted to then, but he crunches numbers hard because it’s faithfulness, and he treats each person like they’re deeply important because they are, and he comes home and gets smothered by adoring children because he needs space but they need love and they’re the most important to him.

He makes the most of life’s moments. He’s not a “at 7pm every night, we’ll have devotions in this particular format” kind of guy. He grabs the teaching moments and sits down right then and helps them learn how to hear from the Lord, and how to process life by His word.

So he grabs paper as soon as he walks in the door and draws a diagram to teach about executive, legislative, and judicial branches, their powers, and the breaches thereof. He talks about the American Constitution. But he talks mostly about kingdoms rising and falling, and our God reigning forever. About living lives that are sown in death and raised to life. This is “home schooling” at its best.

take them by the hand

Hi!

Another whole month has slipped by. I thought of doing a photo dump, and then realized a month of photos gets a tad long.

(Lunch gets a tad long sometimes, too.)

There are lots of pictures over at flickr. Click through for a glimpse of the month:


*****

“Take them by the hand…”

In the busyness of a day with four children, all of whom need different kinds of training and teaching and attention, and all done all together all day long (which requires a house keeping plan I have yet to quite master), this little phrase grabs me.

I write the plan and herd them along with the best of intentions: to nurture their talents and expand their minds and plant the Word of God deep in their hearts — but the leadership model shown by Jesus was not a “come on, hurry up, slow pokes,” sort of model. No, we’re to come alongside and walk with these young disciples.

And yes, that’s a nice concept and philosophy, but often I find I need to literally obey this verse. Take them by the hand. Not just the wobbly toddler who needs help down the stairs. That nearly-independent 8yo boy, too. The quiet 6yo who doesn’t seem to really need much. Go out of my way to take them by the hand. Invite them to sit in arm’s crook during read-aloud. Give those shoulders a hug while issuing next instruction. Hold their hand in the parking lot, and squeeze it twice (our special “I love you” code.)

The confrontation of sin and shortcomings can seem continual. How much easier the walk through confession and repentance when led by the hand.

wrapping up Christmas.

I finally got all Christmas photos moved to flickr, which was really just an excuse to savor one more time the special moments of that most special month. Thankful once again for my family, for having been taught to make Christmas special for my little clan, for a Savior to celebrate and exalt and make much of.

So, this. The last of my Christmas photos from 2014. Relived once more, and now tucked away for future late-night blog-wanderings when I’m wondering where the moments and years disappeared to.


“Christmas Eve Eve” sleep under the tree.


Christmas Eve morning, excitedly set up by Jameson


Her very first at-the-table setting. She was very happy with herself!


Beatrice at Christmas Eve dinner


My sister’s Christmas Eve centerpiece — well, one of them, anyway. We’re a houseful!


Candlelight Service. Beautiful.


Eggnog and Cookie party!


Intently sipping. I love that bow!


Cookies. Waiting for presents!


This pretty girl. And no other photos of Christmas Eve garb. I almost burst into tears when they put on their new pi’s, and I realized we would never have a photo of them all dressed.


Tree, ready.


New doll things


Fiona got her very own baby doll


Afternoon and evening at my parents’, eating and playing games.


Christmas Night. The aftermath.

And the best Day After ever: new flannel pajamas and new toys and Mama vacuuming to her heart’s content.

Deep sigh. Deep smile. Deep thankfulness for it all.

Back to the bins, absorbed into the toys, tossed into the hamper, vacuumed and dragged out to the field it all goes. And yet, not quite. Those memories, that investment, this pause becomes knit into who we are.

Until next year,

a tribute


left: me, pregnant with Jameson; right: my mother in law, Jeannie, pregnant with Ryan

I’ve been giving this day, November 18, 2014, a lot of thought. Today, my very dear mother in law turns 70. Isn’t that wonderful? That nice round number represents an awful lot of days — lots of alarms set, lots of lunches packed, lots of activities attended, lots of exhausted evenings, lots of charts read, lots of smiles given, lots of tense days, happy days, just plain-Jane days. And, because it’s her, lots of sparkling eyes and throw-your-head-back laughter. Lots of, “I’m going to invent that!” ideas, and lots of dinners with friends. Lots of books read, lots of prayers prayed, lots of hugs and kisses given, lots of tears and fears, lots of doctor’s appointments, lots of lawns mowed and DIY projects.

Just lots. Lots!

But when I think of this special woman, it doesn’t occur to me that she’s already seen 70 years’ worth of sunrises, because her smile greets each one as if it were the first. Every days is new, and life is worth being expectant and hopeful. There is no cynicism. No weariness. She thrills at my fourth baby standing independently — her seventh grandchild, not to mention three of her own children she’s watched, and an office-full of OB patients who’ve brought their kids in — as if it were the first baby on earth to discover their balance. There is spring in her step. I used to think that expression simply meant “youthful energy,” but watching her, I realize it’s so much more. It’s thankfulness and hope and not growing stale in one’s appreciation of life.


See? Laughing!

That was a really long intro, and not even what I intended to write, but worth praising.

Having Jeannie in the back of my mind these past few months, contemplating the gift that she is to us, a sermon I recently heard made me sit up straight and say to myself, “That’s her! That’s what she does!”

Mike Cavanaugh was visiting our church in October. He preached about loving people — not just having love in your heart, but actually communicating that love to another’s heart. The entire message was wonderful and practical, but that last point put tears in my eyes. He spoke of giving legacy, meaning, to someone’s life: viewing them with a hope-filled lens and then saying it, repeating it, until it’s “their story.”

And I thought of Jeannie. She has given that gift to Ryan, and by extension, to the children and me. She took an energetic, spontaneous, strong-willed boy and saw leadership, strength, and creativity. I know full well the seasons of heartache and nagging doubts that were part of being his mom, but she spoke future and hope and carried them in her heart when it seemed to be lost. And somehow, the man of stature and conscience and ideas that her son has become isn’t a surprise or a relief, but is exactly what she has always seen and believed him to be — even when he was just a lemonade-selling freckled little boy. I love that. All of the events of his life were woven into a legacy of strength passed on from previous generations, redemption through Jesus, and personal destiny.

Isn’t that just part of being a good mother? Isn’t it about “hiding all these things” in your heart, carrying them through the highs and lows, seeing past runny noses and nighttime fevers and grade school problems and even devastating phone calls and knowing that God gave me this child, and there is a future for him? Seeing strength and unique abilities where selfishness would see inconvenience and trouble?

So, today I’m thankful for the gift of “Your father was always [fill in the blank with some shining quality].” My children receive a gift of legacy every time they hear their father spoken of in such a way. And I receive the gift of a wonderful example.

Happy birthday to a truly wonderful (in this and so many other ways) woman. We bless you!