My Bed Runneth Over...

Michael is away for the weekend, and the hour that I seem to miss him the most on his weekends away is the early saturday morning hour-when we are not having to scurry out of the bed to start our day, but can lounge just that little bit longer (and I say little bit because our little trifecta only tolerates the lounging for brief moments).

But, this morning at 6:15 am, I heard the soft creek of our bedroom door call to me as tiny little dancer foosteps delicately climbed over the foot our bed. Our firstborn, the one who from day one has been on her own time-table, our beautiful sweet early-bird, this baby girl who when she was being formed in me sat at the highest possible point, a tiny ball being knit together as close to my heart as possible, this brown-eyed wonder who is wise beyond her years and has patiently waited on me, somehow understanding and accepting my mistakes, teaching me just as much as I could ever teach her, the one who made me a mommy, who shook me to my core. As she softly crawls up the bed and almost silently slips under the covers, our two bodies stretch next two one another and as she grabs my hand and I delicately interlace our fingers, I look over at that perfect button nose and wispy angel hair and just drink her in, all of her.

In the next few moments, I hear the loud creeking of the boys' old bedroom door, the baby trying his absolute hardest to figure out this whole doorknob concept in his usual, but charming bull-in-a-china shop way. I then hear his older brother come to the rescue, and in his usual way, turn the knob, jet down the hall, and bound over our bed in three seconds flat with the noise of not-yet-completely-sturdy, heavy-footed running coming down the hall after him. I look over to see red curls stretching arms as high as they can possibly go with that look of "get me, get me, get me, get me, GET ME" and I reach down for my youngest, my youngest with his beautiful red curls, my youngest that I have so delighted in, holding on to every last precious moment of babyhood, this one who completed the missing piece of our family, this one who not only grabbed hold of me aggresively as a baby, but who also grabbed hold of my heart hard as well. As I lift him into our bed and I lie back instictively grabbing my girl's hand again, red curls, in his koala-bear manner, throws one leg over my chest and lies down, wrapping himself around me, our chests and hearts beating next to one another, those soft red curls brushing my chin.

And, finally, our middlest (as he calls himself) finds his special spot in this interwoven web of love. My beautiful blue-eyed boy, my passionate boy with the eyes that are a lifeline all the way to his soul, my effervescent joy, this boy who is so much like his daddy, this boy who has showed me a whole other side of the man I love for so often he gives me momentary glimpses of Michael as a child, this boy with the wide open heart who loves bravely, calms and stills his body just long enough to curl beside me and place his head on my womb, the very place where all of these beautiful, God-breathed creations began, these perfect unions of Michael and I, each unique from the other and each divinely-inspired, and for the brief moment before the wrestling, bouncing, tumbling, "keep your hands to yourself" of our day begins, I soak all of them in to the full, wishing this moment would last forever, but knowing its brevity is what makes it that much sweeter, and my heart is so full that my chest physically hurts.

Sleep Monster vs. Sweet Dreams

Well, the battle of "dropping" the nap wages on in the world of our little man. Just about every morning, Whitt will ask, "Do I have to take a nap today?" The reply is usually, "Not if you don't want to, but you will have to play quietly by yourself for a little while." (A mommy needs a little forty-minute quiet play time to herself as well, right!?) And, Whitt always insists he doesn't need a nap!

So, after two nights of staying up later than normal enjoying the laxity of summer, we found our man crashed on the floor, this time not even on the carpet, just right on the hard wood. I had spotted him lying there on top of his blankie and asked if he wanted to go to our bed or his bed to nap and of course, he did NOT! Then, a few minutes later, he was OUT, for a good hour I might add. Later that night, a friend who has known him since day one was pondering what exactly must goes through his head right before he gives into the sleep monster.

I feel certain it is something like this:

"I am not tired, I am not going to sleep, I am not going to miss any of the action. I am not tired, I am not going to sleep, I am not going to miss any of the action. I am not tired, I am not going to sleep, I am not going to miss any of the action."

But, my hope for all my beautiful ones is that in those last few seconds the battle switches over to the blissful stillness of sweet dreams and they hear the soft whispers to their beautifully open hearts:

"I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am SO loved."

A Case of the Blues

I have been reading this book, "1000 Gifts" by Ann Voskamp (great book! do yourself a favor and go get it! she is such a beautiful, eloquent writer-the type of writer where you just get lost in the imagery of her words). The book is about thanksgiving, "eucharisto," and how we can meet God in every moment of our days when we seek the beauty of His gift in that moment with a heart overflowing in thanksgiving, and in the midst of this thanksgiving, slowing the current of time as we reach out to our God who is bound by no limits/no constraints, a God to whom time is irrelevant.

Inspired by Ann (yes, we are on a first name basis or in my mind we are), I have been attempting to do this, this "study" or awakening to His gifts through my own outpouring of thanksgiving. Key word: Attempting. Much of the time, I have been saying them out loud, letting them sink in, feeling them warm my soul.

And, since I have been enjoying it so much, I wanted my kids to experience something similar. They have been throwing in their thanksgivings at times when I speak mine aloud, but I also thought it was a brilliant idea to cultivate a thankful spirit/ combat their level of whininess for me to ask them to tell me something they are thankful for whenever I heard them whine/ complain. This had been all well in good the past week until this morning when all the forces of whininess/ complaining/ tantrum came to the forefront over the breakfast table. Here I was asking them to tell me something they were thankful for, and all I could think was, "It is way to early for this, I haven't had my coffee, I am going to pull all my hair out, or my brain might explode." How self-righteous is that! Here I was trying to teach my children one thing, and I wasn't getting down in the dirt of that moment doing it along with them-thanksgiving, "eucharisto," in NO MATTER WHAT THE MOMENT HOLDS!

So, I have decided to combat the whininess battle, that is my own whininess, with a list of ten reasons why I am thankful for my childrens' whining:

1-I am blessed to have three children, three children I prayed for, three children I can't get enough of, and if they are whining/ falling out in a tantrum, they are breathing and alive.

2-Not only are they alive, but they also must be very strong considering the sound decibels their voices create. I am thankful for their strength, health, and their voice.

3-There is noise in my house. I am thankful for that noise, and I will miss that noise one day.

4-That noise sounds like a symphony to our God. I am thankful that we have a God that is bound by no limits, that is so omniscient, omnipotent, and loving He is able to listen to all the noises throughout the earth at the same time, reading every thought and be completely full, open for each person in their moment, not just a piece of Him, ALL of Him, FULL.

5-I am thankful that my own kids are further along then I am in the whininess battle, judging from my nickname being "the whiner" as I was affectionately called by my brother and my dad in my younger years.

6-I am thankful that even though I am obviously not meeting all my kids needs or else there would be no whining/ tantrums, God has a perfect plan for them/ me and will always meet our real needs when we ask.

7-I am thankful for the humility it brings me and God's grace for that moment, for the cross we can go to.

8-I am thankful that so often when one of my children is upset the others are trying to comfort him/ her. I am thankful for sibling love, for the recognition of that bond in these moments, and how God uses these moments to make that bond that much tighter and stronger between them. Water has the ability to make rope knots tighter; my children's tears can somehow make their bond that much tighter.

9-I am thankful that Bruce's red curls seem to get that much curlier and tighter when the anger of a tantrum appears, and oh, how I really just love his hair!

10-And, most importantly I am thankful that the moment does pass!! and, so often it passes just as quickly as it appeared. I am thankful for the amazing range of moments we are given, how no two are alike, and how all of our moments in all their intricacies and feelings are somehow beautifully woven together. Our God is an Awesome God!

**I am adding this quote from Voskamp that I read earlier this morning (two days after I wrote this blog) "The parent must always self-parent first, self-preach, because who can bring peace unless they've held their own peace? Christ incarnated in the parent is the only hope of incarnating Christ in the child..."

And, then she quotes Caussade,

"You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavels, pointless disturbances, and tedious annoyances really are. You would realize that your complaints about them are nothing more nor less than blasphemies-though that never occurs to you. Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet (God's) beloved children curse it because they do not know what it is."

POINT TAKEN!

Superhero Redfined

Uncle Dabid (as Whitt calls him) has always been somewhat of a superhero to Whitt. David is just one of those really cool Lance Armstrong type athelete, super outdoorsy (not sure if that is a word), garderner, naturalist, easygoing, always has a smile on his face, and always ready to play with our kids kind-of-guy that any little dude would LOVE! And, the rest of us think he is pretty cool as well.

But, for all these endearing traits, it was David's actions over the past weekend that elevated him to superhero status in Whitt's eyes. Katie and David's house (I think attic and chimney) had turned into a little housing community for a bat family who I assume multiplied at the speed of light because as of last night David had helped 51 (yes, I said 51) bats move out of their house to find a new place of residence, spreading their bat shreeking joy elsewhere. Evidently, bats are to Richmond what rats are to east Memphis. Let's be honest they are basically the exact same thing, one just flies. When I told Whitt about it, he said...

"Wow, I bet uncle David used 50 cages to catch all of them, and I bet he wrestled them into the cages with his BARE hands!!! You know he is pretty strong!"

So, here's to our real life Batman and one cool uncle!

And, here's a little video of one of the babies-yuck! I know all of God's creations reveal some form of beauty, but I prefer the bat drawings of Stellaluna versus up close and personal when contemplating the transcending uniqueness of bats.

Funny, how after I got over the shreeking of the baby, just hearing the squeals/ laughter of my sweet sister-in-law in the video made me completely crack up, made me completely miss her, and made me completely want time with her even if a bat baby is involved.

We will ROCK you!

Here's to all the amazing moms I know that ROCK!

And, here's to the little blessings that ROCKED and continue to ROCK our world! The highs are HIGH; the lows are LOW. We will always only be as happy as our least happy child.....

But, How sweet it is to be loved by them! And, How much we, with our whole being, love them!

Mother Teresa said "We can do not great things, only small things with great love. It is not how much you do but how much love you put into doing it." To me, that is the definition of motherhood, but those small things with great love do end up being the great things to the most important eyes and hearts in the world, our children's.

I love you, ladies!

Versatility

I absolutely love that my girl can go from playing with this.....

to easily playing army fort and soldiers with her brothers. Quite a girl!

PS-I don't know why, but every time I look at how Mae has Rupunzel hanging, I absolutely crack up!

The Magic of a Third Grade Craft

Today, I watched a really cool 3rd grade craft demonstration. They fastened a white handkerchief over a solo cup with a rubberband; they then drew dots of different color sharpie markers all over the top making a pretty ugly mess; after that they dropped a couple of drops of clear rubbing alcohol over the marks, and the ugly mess transformed into a beautiful kaliedoscope of colors. All the harsh sharp edges and dark colors of the markers morphed into a beautiful, undulating tie-dyed creation where soft shades and hues seemlessly ebbed and flowed into and out of one another.

Since Bruce has been born, I have had to really lean in, cling to, and trust Romans 8:28. You see (and, I say this very gratefully) I am not the same parent for Bruce's babyhood that I was for Mae and Whitt's. I am more confident in my walk with Him. I have learned to turn more and more over to him, believing in/clinging to his promises, and through this continued process, my parenting has been reshaped with more of His grace flowing out. But, as I praise Him for his work in me, there is the sneaking regret that finds its way through the back door of my heart.

Then today I started thinking about how much I have loved watching Whitt over the past week and half. In one Saturday I watched as our little man joined us for a breakfast with the Youth Leadership boys at 7:00 am helping us with his baby brother, talking with the older boys, and only needing us a couple of times as we fixed breakfast and visited. An hour later, he was helping his brother fill his basket with eggs at a hunt, and he finished the day by working the yards with his daddy and the boys from noon until 5:30 (he even got to use the leaf blower). The next night his baby brother moved into the room with him and into a big boy bed, and Whitt eagerly taught him the ropes, leading the way through two stormy nights with no power. He really is turning into a little man.

Suddenly, the image was so clear to me of how God with His love and grace is the element that bleeds through all those ugly marks/ mistakes I have made and uses them to shape my boy into His kaliedoscope for His light to shine through, and although I know I have plenty of "I'm sorrys" in my future, right now as I look at the beautiful character growing in Whitt, all my regret is flushed out by overflowing thanksgiving, relief, and an even deeper longing to grow closer to my God.

PS-Growing into a little man can be some tiring work! Check out the video-I found our little guy passed out in the dining room floor, snoring away with his "transperformer". I guess a little man who says he no longer needs a nap, just might every once in awhile : )