Lists

I had big plans for this weekend; there were lists involved. This was going to be the kind of weekend where we got things done... We were going to have homework and projects completed, valentines started, house seriously cleaned, laundry 100% clean-folded-put up and a whole host of other seemingly important, gotta-do tasks, done. It was going to be glorious.

I had big plans for the weekend until the wee morning hours on Friday. That's when Ellie climbed into our bed, hot and feverish, trying to settle her unsettledness. That's when Ellie's cough, which has been lingering for weeks, turned into something else.

The rest of our pre-dawn hours were spent mostly awake; long hours which ended with her and Monte staying home from their day jobs. Quickly followed by a trip to the clinic and a test for whooping cough.

Thankfully she tested negative, but is wiped out, as this photo attests. Ellie never naps. There's too much to miss when one is sleeping, so she tends to stay awake. But this mouth-agape, sound-asleep little girl needs the sleep. Her body needs the sleep. And apparently, so does her mama. If this little one had the headache that I've had for the last two days, I fully understand why she's been so weepy. I feel weepy. My eyeballs hurt to move... or remain still. And this cough is no joke. All I want to do is lie down next to her and sleep. Which is just what I've done.

So much for my list. It was good in theory, but some things just don't turn out the way we'd like... and I guess that's okay too. Ellie and I have spent more time next to each other in the last two days than we have in a long while, and that's better than any list in my book.

And because he knows a good thing when he sees it, Hank has taken full advantage of our weakness and been allowed to jump onto the bed. He's been curled at our side for the majority of the time, keeping us company and very warm.

I'm thinking next weekend is going to be my weekend. Surely, I'll have shaken this headache and cough by then... I'll spruce up the lists and next week will be one for the books. Unless of course, it isn't.

Guinea

He has been saving his money, for something special. Benett just wasn't quite sure what that special things was... until he laid eyes on Pickles.

We researched different kinds of pets; I was in the fish or hermit crab camp. We researched how to care for those kinds of animals and even visited a pet store a few weeks ago to check them out in person. Benett just wasn't sure.

So we consulted the Google, thinking Guinea Pigs or a hamster sounded fun. We decided that if we could find one who needed a home, through a shelter or the Humane Society we'd take a look. That's when we saw Pickle's picture. I'm not really sure what it was the made Benett gravitate towards him, but as soon as he saw Pickles, Benett said we could stop scrolling. In his seven-year-old mind the deal was done.

The habitat (cage) was easy to come by, via a very helpful person on Craig's List. Within a week, Benett was properly outfitted and ready bring home his very own pet. We drove about an hour to the Humane Society and saw Pickles happily munching on hay. Neither of us were prepared for how cute (or how big) Pickles would be.

A day later, this sweet little boy is still on cloud nine and enjoying every second of his Pickles. Feeding him, ensuring he has water and a cozy, safe place to rest... watching his every move. The dog isn't convinced yet... but I have no doubt he'll come around just like the rest of us.

Broken

We were 12 days into the new year when it happened.

Wrestling was supposed to be a great way for Gavin to stay active in the winter months. It was supposed to be fun, friendly competition. It was supposed to be low maintenance.

We were 12 days into 2016 and have an emergency department visit and a broken bone. Wrestling is designed to test one's will. It has taught my boys to know what they are capable of accomplishing. Accomplishing right-handed eating and an inability to remove one's own socks wasn't really what I had in mind.

We were 12 days in and our deductible is nearly met. But Gavin has an interesting story to tell and undoubtedly another battle scar. Luckily, the sixth-grade class is learning about medical scans... MRIs, CT Scans, X-Rays... so he also has extra credit.

We were 12 days into the new year when the boy showed us that he still needs us. Whether he would like to admit it or not, he needs us. I hate to see him in pain; I want him to be happy and confidant... although I would rather have avoided this situation, having him need me just a little bit more than he did yesterday is like a gift. A gift reminding me that no matter how big he gets, he's always my boy. He's still a child even when he's nearly at eye-level with me.

Twelve days into the new year and my family has become a little bit gentler with one another. Gavin hugged his little brother for bringing his schoolwork home. (I checked, he wasn't feverish.) Empathy and kindness are abundant. Loving gestures and silly jokes are commonplace. Helping hands abound.

We were 12 days into twenty-sixteen when my boy grew up a little bit more and a little bit less all at the same time, proving that sometimes when things break they heal at the very same time.

Swans

Our long holiday weekend is drawing to a close. We have celebrated, we have snacked, we have ripped open packages, we have played and played and played.

No matter how much they want to deny it, the little people (and big ones too) are tired. So many late nights, so much sugar... and as much as we've enjoyed the festivities, it will be nice to get back into a bit of a routine tomorrow.

Since waking on Christmas morning and finding (much to their great surprise?) that Santa had stopped and left a few goodies, the little people have been lost in their own individual worlds of play. My living room... and sunroom... are covered with legos and toys. It makes me twitchy to have stuff all over, but no matter how I try to tidy up, there is always a little person following behind me pulling things out again. As much as it pains me to admit defeat... I think it's best to leave the pieces and parts where they are and try cleaning up another day.

Although Christmas is behind us, we're still not ready to let it go. Benett and I tried to remember all of the days of Christmas tonight at bedtime. We did pretty good until we got to eight... we couldn't recall if it was Lords a-leaping or Maids a-milking... so we decided that seven swans a-swimming was enough for us. That's the kind of thing I'll miss when we get into January and it's no longer acceptable to sing carols at bedtime.

We have a few days left in December... maybe we'll figure it out yet and get all the way to 12. And if not, we'll have a great time trying.

Plans

About two days before Christmas I had this panicked feeling deep in my belly. I realized that there precious few hours remaining to squeeze in all of the things I wanted to do, to create Christmas memories with the little people.

It was not a logical reason for panic.

The truth is, memories are created in the times that aren't always planned. They're not always as idyllic as the imagined version, but they are much sweeter.

I hadn't planned on singing Christmas carols at bath time with Benett and Ellie. But that's when it happened. The acoustics were fantastic and we really spiced up the "five GOLDEN RINGS!" The sound of their laughter is the sweetest thing I can imagine.

I didn't plan on Benett enjoying the Christmas season without his two front teeth. I could listen to his lispy little voice for hours (if he's not whining). More than once, he sang, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, my two front teeth, my two front teeth!"

It turns our he wanted more than that, and his generous grandparents obliged. He has legos upon legos and spent the entire day today assembling them. I love how he puts his mind to a task and has the ability to stick with it until it's done.

I really didn't plan for her to be such a big kid this year, but Miss Ellie isn't a baby anymore. She's tall for her age and she loves to be where all of the action is at. As a littler girl, she was content to keep up with her big brothers, but today she's a bit more independent. Benett is always close by... but I thing that's as much for his own peace of mind, as for her benefit.

The excitement that they exuded on Christmas eve was so... loud... and uniquely them. B and E were attached at the hip, and trying to soak up that rare cousin time.

Gavin is getting really tough to catch with the camera. I've been noticing that for a while now, but going through the few pictures I managed to snap in the last few days, so few include him. He is growing up... He's so tall he hid the Christmas tree behind him, in the group shot. He's almost a teenager. Almost. He teeters on the edge of child-like excitement and that teen 'try-not-to-look-excited' thing.

The truth is, no matter how much I want to make this season special for the little people, I will never be able to get everything packed into the month. I will never be able to photograph and document all of the things that make them and the season special. I hope I'll remember all of it, but that most likely will fade as well. I'm trying to be okay with that... but in case I'm not, I've already started making my list for next year.

Nourished

We gathered yesterday to bake; we do it a few times a year and the little people and I look forward to it. Every. Single. Time.

We make Chocolate Crackles, always. That's the only requirement. There are typically 2-3 additional recipes that we try. I love that it's a tradition we create together. I like that the cookbooks consulted are old and floured, passed from and to hand. The recipe cards are from my grandmother's kitchen. They're carefully written in her beautiful hand, with notes about modifications or preferences and a well placed caution to not "over bake."

At the end of cookie day, the counter is typically filled with the work of the day. Little people lingering for one last bite or a spoon to help clean up. The loot is bagged and packaged, ready for cookie jars and the freezer. It's satisfying in so many ways.

Yesterday was different. Rosemary introduced bread. The little people had never made bread and the entire process was filled with opportunities to get their little hands involved. The kneading was especially fun.

With bread rising, we moved on to the cookies. Crackles, followed by Chewy Molasses, Chocolate No Bake Cookies and a new Shortbread recipe. Though they sounded Delicious the counter never filled with rack after rack of cooling cookies. Yesterday wasn't a successful day for cookies.

It was all about the bread. It was warm and satisfying and perfect. A treat in every single way.

Despite the lack of cookies, yesterday we were fed the kind of nourishment that we really need to live in this life and know the kind of love that only these traditions can convey. This cookie-less day in the kitchen was as perfect as can be. It was food for the soul and filled me right up.

Home

We recently lost our dog. Jackson was a lovely part of our family. At 14 human years old, he lived a long life and had the streaks of gray to prove it. Despite the gray and the slowing of his pace, he didn't seem like an old dog to me until quite recently.

He was having such a difficult time getting around; we could see how much pain he was in, even though he tried so hard to do all of the things he's always done.

I'm glad he's not in pain anymore, but I miss him. Even now, I still look for him when I come home at the end of the day. I expect to hear him announce a vehicle in the driveway. I can almost feel his calming presence at my side when I'm in the garden. I can feel the softness of his ears.

That last day, we took a long walk. I think about it now as the long walk home. It was a beautiful morning. Hank and I walked slower and more patiently, wanting Jack to be as near as possible... soaking up as much of his presence as we could.

I have a feeling that even though he's gone, the lessons that sweet old dog taught us will continue to present themselves. Through the painful times, those filled with happiness and most of all when we consider what we're most thankful for.

Grateful

His first day of school was last week. I was lucky enough to be there when he stepped off the bus, which made me grateful and sad all at the same time.

Grateful because that first day, he was a little quieter. He seemed to be reserving his thoughts for another time. In the morning, it was the nerves. I could tell by the things he didn't say.

But that same afternoon it was something else. His demeanor spoke in ways that his voice wouldn't. It was the way he examined his shoes and quickly made his way from the bus to the house. Happy, perhaps. Relieved, most certainly.

I was sad, because that one day last week isn't our routine. It's not the norm that we all enjoy... mom waiting to meet the bus, ready to absorb all of the information from the day that seems to tumble more freely from those happy-to-be-home lips. The dialog that can only occur in the quiet, unrequiring moments at snack time, before the demands of the evening routine take precedence.

In those quiet moments, everything seems right with the world. With everyone safe at home and the grumbling tummy satisfied for a few moments, things as magical and unusual as a nap can occur...

This is not my routine. No matter how much I wish it were, it is not. And so, I think I'll settle on grateful.

I'll be grateful that I was there for any small measure of comfort given to this new version of my biggest little person.

Grateful that he emerged safely from his first day at school, if a bit quieter than usual.

Grateful for the quiet moments we enjoy together, no matter how fleeting.

Fervor

For the longest time, she's wanted to go to school. To be like the older, more sophisticated kids in her life. To learn things. To meet new friends. To garner a new audience.

It's tough to be the smallest of three. It's not easy to see the two people you love most in the world, go off and see and do so many fun and fabulous things.

Not today. As of today, the time for waiting is for someone else. Miss Ellie went to school.

Her subconscious woke her up early. She sat upright in my bed at approximately 4:44 AM and said, "How did I get here? Am I awake? I must have been slept-walking."

Her bewilderment quickly turned to excitement and the inevitable next question, "Is it time to get dressed yet?" It wasn't. And with the thunder and rain, I wasn't eager to get out of bed anytime soon... first day or not.

She helped to put the boys on the bus and settled in to enjoy breakfast with mom and dad. (She really enjoys that alone time, in metered doses.)

Thankfully for both of us, Ellie's first day was a half day with parents. I tried to soak it all in, but had this feeling that I wasn't doing it quite right... I must have snapped a few dozen pictures, some of the most mundane tasks. Other things, it didn't occur to me to take a picture at all. (Right about now, I'm wishing I had a picture of her holding that too-big lunch tray... or wrestling with the milk carton to get it open.)

We came home and promptly did her homework; an part project. She was in heaven, coloring and drawing with a fervor I haven't seen in a while. That new excitement and responsibility is fun to see. I know kindergarten is going to be a great time for Ellie... and I think I'll enjoy it as well, provided I can do a better job of living in the moment, right alongside her, and not looking off too far into the distance. After all, I know how fast this time goes... it won't slow no matter how much I wish it would.

Seldom

This picture might be one of my summer favorites. No, I'm not that self-absorbed... As a rule, I don't like being photographed. I feel like a gawky-gangly thing. Awkward.

The picture isn't particularly flattering, but he's in it. And that never happens. Never. I prefer the business side of the camera, but what about him? Well, he prefers anything that is outside of the scene I'm framing up. Anything.

But the icing on the cake is that he's got an almost-smile on his face. You know the one... the kind where an almost-teenager is having an almost-good time... and almost doesn't want anyone to know it. Almost.

This never happens; the stars must have been aligned.

I would be happier with this photo if it were cropped differently... you see, the parts of it that I like best aren't the focal points. I love Gavin's face and remembering the way he looks in the middle of the summer... that's when the white pigmented spot on his left cheek shows itself. It's how I know he has a proper summer glow.

I love the way he's not just sitting next to me, but leaning on me. I love that even if he can't always tell me that he needs me, his body language does the talking for him.

And I love the hand on his shoulder. I'm such a fan of hands... hands have this ability to tell the best parts of their owner's stories... and mine is trying to tell you how much I love this boy and that even though I want to hold onto him forever and ever, I cannot. My hand can linger on his shoulder to help guide and direct and comfort... but my time for holding seems to have passed.

This seldom happens, but I wish it would again.

Benett actually captured this moment. He was so excited to do so, and despite the weight of the camera and being on a swaying boat, he did what is rarely possible on dry land in ideal conditions. He managed to eek a smile out of an almost-teenager and get his mom to forget how much she hates being photographed.

And that is a rare thing indeed.

Completely

I think I love this picture so much because I can hear the happiness. The slow smooth sound of the reels working, the zip of a line being cast into the lake, the lapping of the water, the quiet sound of boys chatting about the things that matter most... or saying nothing at all... being completely in the moment and comfortably in their element.

They are joyfully present.

That seems like a rarity - being completely in the moment. People don't do that anymore. We are mentally rushing off to the next thing, ticking off the bullet points on our mental to-do lists. It all happens in the name of efficiency... it's all very innocent, but before it even occurs to us to think about where we are, we've missed the essence of being present.

There is a lesson to be learned from boys on a sun-warmed dock.

I'm guilty of it myself. There are so many things I want to do... so many things I need to fit into a 24 hour period... I'll push and jostle, scrimp and rush... I'll multitask like a pro, all in the name of getting things 'done.' But at the end of it all, what does that mean? Have I set a good example? What have I really accomplished?

The ones teaching the lessons worth learning are right where they should be... body, mind and spirit.

Even after the long, slowish days of summer are replaced with the crisp fall breeze, I'll try to remind myself of the lesson these boys are teaching. That when the sound of happiness is deafening, and even when it's not, there is no other place to be than right here. Right now. Body. Mind. Spirit.

Foggy

As the little people get older, their perspective changes right along with their growing minds and bodies. No longer am I able to color the world, and their place in it, in quite the same way.

I want to protect my children from the scenes that I see and those that my imagination creates when I look at current events. I want to shield them from the power of money/religion/politics/business. I want to add context to facts... not sugar-coat things, but explain for myself not just the 'what', but the 'why' and in a context that matters to us.

Regardless of what I want, the little people are slowly removing the foggy goggles and seeing things plain and clear for themselves. I'm very thankful for the measure of influence that I still have, especially when it comes to the tween in the house, but wish that in some respects I could ask them to keep their goggles on for much longer.

That's too much to ask, but still I find myself striving for a quieter and more controlled environment, especially as we get closer to the start of school. For the first, and only time, all three will be in the same school building. All will be on their own journey, taking in that plain and clear view without me at their side.

When school starts, their minds will be exposed to all sorts of thrilling things. Some carefully planned and measured by our trusted teachers... others things taught and carried out by peers. All will be important learning experiences, not all will be weighted in the same way.

All of that is a part of growing up... all of that is a part of taking the goggles off. What I failed to realize is that I too have been viewing things through a foggy and distorted lens. And now I'm forced to remove mine as well. Thankfully, when I do, I know that the lessons that my little people will teach me will not be carefully planned and measured, but taught and carried out with love. I couldn't ask for anything more.

Teacher

I wouldn't necessarily consider Gavin quiet, he's quite the boisterous individual. As one can plainly see, by this illustration of how we find Gavin "relaxing" or doing his homework. This is not an action shot... it's just how we often find him. I suppose he's just unconventional... Unconventional is good, in my book.

Although he's not quiet, in terms of volume, Gavin is quiet in terms of sharing the 'stuff' that happens in his life. Maybe it's his age, maybe it's his personality... maybe he only seems quiet because his siblings are over-sharers. Whatever the case, I see that starting to rub off on Benett too.

While B isn't typically found in a contorted position on the floor, he does seem to spend time reflecting internally a bit more, enjoying that time in his own head. I can see the gears moving with him, and almost feel when he has a question to ask. He's great about asking out-of-the-ordinary questions; questions that are creating an eclectic foundation and shaping his view of the world. I could do without some of the outside sources that color things differently than I'd like... but I suppose as a parent, dealing with those less than ideal things, and our reaction to them, also serves a purpose.

Gavin too asks questions, but as he gets older, that is changing too. His questions seem more designed to test than in a quest for information. I know there is information being gathered too... but he doesn't take answers at face value. 

And whether he likes it or not, Gavin finding himself in the role of teacher for Benett and Ellie. He's teaching them through is happiness and his frustrations. Brother and sister are always close at hand... when he wants them to be, and when he doesn't. As a result, he's teaching them when I want him to, and when I don't. They learn from his reactions and interactions, the same way they do with Monte and me. I like that together we shape each other, good and otherwise, it's all very elastic. I like that, but I have my moments too.

Gavin has always been like one of the adults. I think he still considers himself that way, when compared to his siblings. So much so that from time-to-time he'll spell conversations that he doesn't want Benett to understand. And much like when Monte and I used to do that to him, Benett has caught on. He hasn't started telling Gavin what he's spelling... yet... but it's coming. For now, he just spells my name, when he wants to get my attention. "M - O - M, will you help me over here." Or my personal favorite, "M - O - M, I don't want to have ____________ (insert any kind of food here) for dinner. I. Don't. Like. That." (Followed by grumpy-face.)

I guess the trick with tweens, and everyone really, is to find a way to connect. That's not easy, but as it turns out, some of the most rewarding things in life are down-right perplexing.

Teeth

The boys are going through a bit of an evolution. More and more, I see them partnering in their endeavors, mostly to antagonize their sister. Part of me is very happy to see them connecting in a way that feels a bit more equal, while another part of me is feeling very sorry for the little girl who can't seem to keep up anymore.

It's not because she's slower; Ellie can't seem to keep up anymore, because of their power in numbers. They can be a force to reckon with. They've even managed to share some major milestones. Gavin lost his very last baby tooth, on the same day that Benett lost his very first. It was exciting for both of them... and each of them individually.

Like many things that Gavin does, he lost his tooth completely on his own. Letting us know, almost as if it were an after thought. "Oh yeah, I lost my tooth. I guess I can get my braces now..."

While Benett's experience was a very typical, theatrically-dramatic event involving an aggressive game of catch, with a baseball. You know, the kind of game where one uses one's chin to stop the ball. Accounts differ, but the end result was a lovely note and a tiny pearl for the Tooth Fairy.

At first, I worried that we wouldn't be able to make each of their moments special... maybe that's how twins feel about sharing a birthday... but in the end, I guess it was special, because they got to do it together. And it was proof to me that there is no need to "make" anything special, because when it is, it just is.

Married

A couple of weeks ago we had the great pleasure to participate in the marriage celebration of two beautiful people, who committed themselves to one another, becoming one beautiful family. Individually, they're both so sweet and special, but together they're something even more amazing. They're an inspiration.

The weekend in the city was special for us not just because of the auspicious occasion, but because we had a chance to spend time with those we love in a different environment. I love interacting with the little people in new and different places. I enjoy watching them acclimate to their surroundings and take it all in. Every day things, like a game of Eye Spy, became new and exciting, while sitting on the hotel room floor, studying the downtown skyline all around us.

For Gavin, who has had the opportunity to see and do more than his younger siblings, the surroundings were not quite as new and exciting... or maybe that's just how he wanted to portray himself, being the sophisticated 11-year-old that he is. Being a tween really is a unique place to be. He's caught between wanting to do some of the things the littler people do and wanting to be more grown-up. I know he had a good time, and for me, seeing him looking so grown-up and dashing was a treasure. (Although, I know he was more happy than anyone to shrug off the suit at the end of the night.)

It's true, being away from home with three little people is a challenge... add fancy clothes to that and it has the potential for stress. Thank God for Monte. He's great at keeping things on the level and making sure nothing goes too far sideways. Simply put, he's great at managing me and distracting the little people. That's why I like this picture so much. It speaks a truth about each of us... Monte, calm and steady. Gavin in the middle and willing to smile - again. Benett being happy when he is and Ellie hiding when she can. And me, well I'm there taking a deep breath and a long blink.