birthday

Monday we celebrated a little boy’s second birthday. He was excited from the moment he woke up, thanks to Ryan faithfully crossing off calendar days for two weeks leading up to his birthday. We’d been talking about birthday cakes and candles, balloons and presents, and he couldn’t wait. Could. Not. Wait!

We’d decided to have a family party, and at the last minute invited two friends to join us for cake and presents. All day long, I told Jameson that when Daddy got home from work, the party would start. When Ryan called to say he was on his way home, Jameson went through the roof with excitement. He could hardly stand still while I got him dressed into clean “party” clothes, and then proceeded to run in circles in the back yard (falling much more than once, and hardly even noticing.) Ryan called to Jameson from the driveway, and when Jameson pushed open the gate, there stood Ryan with ten helium balloons and a special Thomas Train balloon. Jameson was beside himself happy. Just absolutely giddy with it all.

Dinner, and then basketball with Rune and Daddy (more running in circles, absolutely thrilled with the whole party thing), and then inside for CAKE!! Oh, he couldn’t wait to blow out those candles!

We opened presents, and he loved even the clothes. His favorite, though, was the big gift we saved for last: a wooden train set. He was SO EXCITED.

There are videos forthcoming of both the candles and the train set gift, for those who are interested.

Anyway, it was a pretty exciting day. I had so much fun sharing in his enthusiasm, knowing that no effort on my part to make it special would be lost. He loved every bit, from hanging the birthday banner to licking the beaters to waiting for the sound of Daddy coming home. It was the most fun birthday I’ve been a part of in a long time, and I remembered again how much fun being a kid is on those special days. And I appreciated again how much a mother’s enthusiasm makes all the difference. (Thanks, Mom!)

special days

:: Last night we three squeezed onto a bench for two, the little guy pressed against the train window, lest he miss even a second of the experience. I smiled. “I like our little family.” I can’t wait for we three to become we four…but this threesome has been absolutely delightful. Daddy and Mama each holding the hand of happily tripping, running, hopping toddler as we make our way down the street. Laying heads on pillows with his little head between. Dinnertime filled with proud parent eyes focused on little man’s latest antics. We three. What fun it’s been.

:: At the dinner table, Ryan was playing his favorite game with Jameson. (“Say, ‘Dog’. Say, ‘Cat’…”) He threw into the mix a few new ones, including, “Say, ‘Danica’.” Jameson smiled and promptly responded, “Mom.”

Made me smile. Yup. I’m your mom, kiddo.

:: I wrapped a stack of presents last night after he’d been put to bed. Presents for his second birthday. Amazing. Not just that he’s already two years old, but that he’s lived two years of life and all that means. I feel like he just got here, but no. He’s already spent two years watching, learning, developing, figuring it all out.

:: Sweet little arms circle my neck in his sleep. He stirs a bit and whispers, “Mom… Mom,” and drifts back to his slumber, assured that I am still there. I watch his face as features relax, find stillness for those few hours. Little nose, sweet mouth, long lashes on soft cheeks… How can it be so wonderful, and so deeply sad, all at once?

I watch him in the rearview mirror while we drive along. He is noticing it all, no longer a babe, but a little boy, learning his world. The CD plays a familiar lullaby: “I don’t want to kiss you goodnight / I’ll just keep on holding you tight / ‘Cause baby I know you’ll change and you’ll grow / You’ll get bigger with each morning light…” And I remember. I remember cradling his newborn body in my yet weak from delivery arms, singing that song while tears streamed down my face. I knew then that this babe of mine was born to be a man. He’ll make me proud. But there’s an ache there, too. He says a new word, and I beam, but sometimes a tear slips out before I have a chance to hide it. Sometimes I squeeze his little hand, so happy to hold mine, just to know he’s still my baby. For now. For a little while.

And I’m going to love this little while the best I can.

tuesday

Well, it hasn’t quite been daily posting around these parts, but I’m trying. Really, I am.

In fact, “blog” even made it into my goals for today. Trouble is, I had a playdate this morning, and I’m really bad at estimating how much I can get done on a day when I’ve got errands or outings planned. I can’t believe how a few hours at the playground can throw a serious wrench in the gears of my productivity. Apparently I accomplish much more in those pre-lunch hours than I realize.

At any rate, one item out of nine has been crossed off my list. When I hit publish on this post, it’ll be two.

(How do people go out often and get homemaker life accomplished? I just haven’t figured that out yet.)

There are 40 days left till my due date. 40 days!!

Usually I read that and process it as [however many] days till labor and delivery. But once in awhile, I’ll realize that very soon, another person will be born — into our family. Wow. How amazing. Our lives will totally change, because from that point on, our hearts will be forever joined and impacted by someone we’ve yet to meet. Amazing. Jameson’s personality and character will be shaped by his interaction with this new somebody. I’ll come to adore a set of eyes, a certain smile, nuances of temperament that are as yet totally unknown. And Ryan’s daddy-heart is going to explode again with the arrival of someone he’ll love with intense, always and forever love.

Amazing.

Did I already say that?

Boy or girl? What do you all think?

relief

Tonight, a breeze that gave me chills, made me roll up the window, and inspired sweatshirt-wearing. I don’t think it’s ever felt so good to be a little cold.

And the best part of the evening? Seeing the week’s forecast, with every day’s high starting with number 7. No 9’s, and definitely no 10’s. Just 7’s. All week long.

Ah.

(Tomorrow, I hope, a picture update of our incredibly lovely evening last night in San Francisco.)

the first day

“And there was evening and there was morning, one day.” ( — genesis 1)

I remember reading that line several years ago, and how it jumped out as odd, worth a second look.

Evening and morning, one day? That’s not right. It should be morning and evening. Right? Isn’t that how we all figure one day? So why was it backwards?

Ponder. Think. Wonder.

And suddenly, ah yes. Evening and morning.

God’s days never end with dark. They always end with morning. That first day of creation was a promise to us of how things will be: after this black of night, fraught with sin and suffering, there will be morning. And that is where we will live for the rest of forever — in a Day where there will be no need for the sun, because He will be there.

I think of that often. We all do, in our own way, I suppose. We all groan in our spirits for redemption. “Maranatha!,” is a cry familiar to our hearts, I dare say. As much as I love the sunsets, flowers, smell of crunchy leaves, and laughter of my darling son, I am not at home in this dark and tormented world. Here there is the Curse, and that doesn’t settle well with me. I’m looking to an eternity where Peace and Justice and Love reign completely.

The cry for heaven turned up a few notches when I turned the calendar page this week. Fall carries with it anniversaries of deep, scarring sadness. It wasn’t always the case, but in the last few years, the searing pain of tragedy has etched its mark on me, and this season brings it again to the surface.

My heart feels heavy. I sob at lunch, seemingly unprovoked, but I know why.

I carry pain, as though it were my own, and I wouldn’t have it any other way… but still, it’s pain. It’s questions. It’s wanting an end to this Curse.

And it’s the poignant Hope for redemption.

While the pain becomes sharp again, so does the faint outline of things hoped for. Heaven — redemption, resurrection, Jesus — becomes almost tangible. Waves of deep sorrow cannot deny the Rock of comfort to which I cling. And the harder they storm, the more firm does this Hope become.

There will come a Day…

We can know it, because we have seen the Morning Star rise on the horizon. And the moment He appeared, so did the promise of evening and then morning.

(The soundtrack of this week’s heart cry.)