Wise Men

Any one else feeling overwhelmed about imparting the meaning of Christmas to their little ones, lately? Everywhere I go, it seems that the majority of the world is pulling for the typical consumer/santa binge with another, smaller percent going in the extreme opposite direction towards self righteous grinchdom. My boys are understanding more and more this year and once November rolled around, I knew it was time to really think about how Christmas would go down at our house.

A tree? Definitely. Could not imagine Christmas without one. Our boys really loved going out for the tree this year. For you northerners, this means driving to a parking lot where we haul a small tree out from under the big tent for an astronomical fee. All though this year, we hit the discount jackpot with our tree! It was also located a mere four blocks from our house AND they were selling orchids and avocados on the side. So we may not have roamed the hills straining our frozen corneas in search of the perfect tree to saw down and drag home on a sleigh....but there were avocados. So we bought ourselves a little tree for trimming and had a lovely night decorating together. Toddler Translation: J and I squabbled over how much to trim the tree, baby got tangled in the lights, the netting the tree was wrapped in also become tangled in the lights, and the boys helped hang ornaments for 10 minutes before leaving me with the rest)

My craft and project table has been overflowing this year (insert dry thank you to Pinterest) but I really wanted to piece together this lovely skirt I found. I am leaving it plain this year and may add some trim next year. The boys love seeing the Nativity toile print beneath their Little People Nativity set.

Our nativity set never quite looks like a nativity. Not the serene pastoral scene of peace and holiness I see in most nativity photos. Our nativity often has a small parking lot for matchbox cars off to the side. The occasional brontosaurus leering down at the wise men. Camels and sheep are typically picked off one by one as the weeks go by, abandoned in some odd corner of the house until the January cleaning rolls around. Mary and the angel pushed off to the side, useless females with no role in the ever important game of, "Baby Jesus gets Rescued by Diego and the Okapi Brothers."

And then comes Advent. Where the main bulk of opportunity for teaching comes in. My goals this year were simple. 1) History of Why 2)Cement Tradition 3) Age Appropriate 4) Less Stress and above all 5) Know Jesus.

Every Sunday we cement tradition by lighting our advent candle and singing hymns with the boys after dinner. No long devotional for them quite yet. Just the memory of flickering lights and warm voices. A warm reassurance of joyful anticipation.

Age appropriate books are in stock by the tree. These are my top favorites this year...leading the pack is Humphrey's First Christmas followed closely by Song of the Stars. If your children are animal lovers, Song of the Stars is beautifully illustrated and follows creation's celebration of the birth of Christ.

The Advent Book is my less stress. I can't say enough about it! An Advent countdown with 25 doors, each door opening to a written part of the bible. No longer than 3 or 4 sentences. This is something I can do quickly at any time of the day. We alternate who gets to open a door on which day and the boys crane their necks in for a better look at what lays behind each door.

Written near Chicago, IL, this book also has a few special touches near to our hearts like the Frank Lloyd Wright door pictured on the left. :)

See that angel?

Next comes the History of Why. I picked up two Jesse tree books, one that works now and one that will work later, for my boys. Every day, I sit and read them a piece of the story that came before Jesus. This exercise has been a tangible, practical way of helping them see that the Bible isn't just a book of disjointed fairytales, but one long lineage of truth.

We end our daily advent with our magnetic advent calender by Kurt Addler. The boys are big fans of opening a new door each day to find the magnet inside. They also get to build and recreate the story, which is a plus!

Finally, the ornament corresponding to the Jesse tree lesson is placed on our tree. And we see the pieces falling together to form the why behind all the celebration. Are my toddlers suddenly transformed into little paragons of Christmas virtue and infinite knowledge? No. Some days they listen, some days they don't. But every day, they remember that Mommy opened the bible and read to them. Every day they remember that we bowed out heads and thanked Jesus for coming to this earth for our sake. It has become a cemented tradition with a clear WHY behind it.

Now back to the fat guy in the suit. Has Santa fallen into "He Who Shall Not Be Named" status? Not exactly. He can live in their imaginations like Rudolph or Frosty, just another storybook character we can enjoy. There is neither demonizing nor glorifying. In short, we just don't really talk about him. We spend all of our time talking about the birth of Jesus, what his birth means for us, his birthday and how we plan to celebrate it. Does this mean I will scream like a crazy woman and rip down images of Santa, as witnessed last year, when I go shopping? Nope. Santa is just Santa. Not the hero of Christmas but not someone I want to vilify either. And yes, last year at my local Target, I saw a long haired, little house on the prairie garbed woman ripping down pictures of Santa and announcing to everyone around her that they were going to hell. Ummm, clean up in the Fruit Loops aisle please!

This afternoon we are baking cookies for delivery to the neighbors. Its part of our giving project. This last week before Christmas we are focusing on serving others as our birthday gift to Jesus. Remember the goals? No stress, age appropriate and all that? I thought it would be tough to find ways to give this coming week. They are preschoolers and I can't exactly haul them all to the nearest soup kitchen. Yet, we have found small ways of accomplishing the giving for each day. Taking care of God's creation by tending our plants outside. Taking care of neighbors with a plate of cookies to make them smile. Visiting great grandparents and helping them cook or clean. Small things that repeat to my little men, "Serve the Lord always. The Lord will use you. Show God's love to others." and trains them to ask the question, "What would he have me do today to draw me closer to himself?"

Or as the Christmas banner in their room proclaims...

Merry Christmas :)

book nook

So that book nook project from over the summer? Almost done!!

Finished the book mobiles with a few books from Salvation Army.....

Finished the yarn letters, which were insanely easy and we LOVE how they look....

Finished the tapestry hanging inside the closet. Picked out a nice blue map of the world.

Ended with a little One Fish Two fish wall art.

Last to go in are two red sack hanging chairs. Can't wait to finish off this project for my little guys. :)

I am about 80% done with my DIY list for this year which make me happy. I could stop now and feel good about everything the boys and I were able to accomplish. But the table fort awaits... and that one is too cool to pass up. I'll be writing about that one in my upcoming christmas post!

To Give to the Light

I vividly remember this last, long labor. The other two have dimmed in my memory, but not this one. Not this bone wrenching, spirit draining labor of many days. Seventy seven hours. I am not likely to forget a single one. The intermittent moments of hope and frustration. That one hour of complete and utter, Anne Shirley depths of despair. When I growled out the words, "Just get me to a hospital and give me a c-section" to my husband, 62 hours into the whole ordeal. His wonderful face aggravating me to no end when he looked at me with sympathy and pity. His kind, gentle response, "Sweetheart. You hate hospitals. You hate c-sections. This is not what you want. You are just exhausted, poor baby."

I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to punch him in the eye.

I wanted him to find a way to get that baby out of me.

We were in my safe space. My place of peace and rest. My haven and veil of hope. My little garden, bordered by the white picket fence he built for me, divided by the brick pathway he laid out for me. Visible evidence of our love story surrounding us. Yet the harsh reality of enduring steady, strong contractions every 9 minutes for 60 plus hours at 6cm blurred the testimony and urged the impulse to take something apart.

I attacked the ground. Pulled weeds, ripped roots, dug out rocks. I split a fingernail and scratched up my knees. My stomach was huge, brushing the ground each time I bent over.

Sweat began to trickle down my face and back. I felt drenched. A large contraction tore through me at one point and I remember gritting my teeth and bearing down into the soil. The pain radiating out from my fingers and charging the ground around me.

I wanted heavy stones and rough ground. I wanted to walk one hundred miles. I needed to break myself free.

There comes a point in marathon labor when you start feeling trapped. Wedged in a place of no progress. Suspended in a very real nightmare that you could potentially remain pregnant and in labor, forever.

He stood there beside me. Working quietly, supporting me despite my best effort to force him into abandoning me. The blue sky above us, the raked and ravaged earth beneath us, the sleep deprived tension suspended between his body and my own traitorous one.

Yes, traitor.

I felt a very real anger with my own body. Mutiny. Sheer mutiny. Why was this body not working, doing what it was created to do?

I needed to rip something else out of the ground...

But I had pulled all the weeds and worked all the soil and the only task that remained was the planting. Not a conducive task for anger. It just doesn't work. Angry planting? No, it does not fit. Angry pulling, yes. There is a sense of defeat, failure, finality, something is no longer functioning or working and it must be ripped out to the last root.

But now all I could do was plant.

Dig burrows into the moist, warm earth. Create new space, delve and fashion a new stronghold, an exercise with no room for darkness. With each drop of tender young root into black soil, every unfurling leaf of newborn green, two important things began to happen...

The frustration began to leave my body and the contractions increased in strength and decreased in spacing.

I stumbled into the house some twenty minutes later. Out of breath and feeling dizzy.

The hours continued to pass, the labor intensified. My husband never left my side. Not when the pain threatened to split my back in half. Not when nausea wrenched through me for an entire half hour. He stayed with me, holding my hair. Quietly reading out loud the scripture I had selected weeks before. Dropping ancient words of grace on my body.

He created a safe space for me. Warming the water for our birthing tub. He brought out the cross he made for our wedding ceremony, the same cross we have used for all our sons baptisms, and placed it on our coffee table along with a few candles. He dimmed the lights. He entered the water with me and stayed by my side. He came up behind me as I gave birth to our son, our arms entwined together.

I remember the stillness of baby's birth. Half wonder and half exhaustion led me to a place of deep peace and quiet.

Baby emerged. Small, tiny boy. Slippery miracle of breath and tissue and blood and sinew.

All mine.

And his.

And His.

No wonder they say " dar a luz", to give to the light. You were blinding brilliance in the midst of darkness.

I have often wondered throughout this past year, over the memory of this very long labor. The imprint of suspended pain, the darkness of losing hope, the release of anger, the surrender of body, the deep deep peace and quiet. How much he taught me before he even drew breath.

My joy. My deep deep joy over you, small one. You were knit in my most secret place. A wonder to behold and be held. I love you to the depth and breadth of all I know love to be. And I rejoice at knowing that all of my love does not even come close to the love HE bears for you.

"May your father and mother rejoice! May the one who gave you birth be joyful!" Proverbs 23:25

Happy Birthday, sweet boy.

Trick or Treat or Trick

I spent weeks sewing up costumes for the boys. The Bear had a spot on Woody costume, babe's Rex costume was also quite adorable. Cubs topped them all with a tech-savvy rendition of Buzz Lightyear. Two days before halloween, the Bear decided that Woody would not do. He cried, he sniffed, he whined. I made him try on the costume to make sure the fit was right. When I slipped the cowhide vest over his shoulders, he stroked the fur and said quite happily, "OH, Mom. You guessed my secret wish to be Bongo from One hunner and One Dalma-tations."

Sigh.

What else could I do? Bongo from One hunner and One Dalma-tations? It was just too cute to ignore. So I worked day and night, whipping up a new Pongo costume from cow print fabric. He loved it and went around talking about "Bongo" with a twinkle in his eyes.

Halloween morning I was putting the finishing touches on babe's costumes when Cubs choked on a pre-trick or treat lollipop and hurled all over the baby's freshly sewn Rex outfit.

Ugh.

No way was I going to sew something new. Sorry, baby. My mom saved the day with a quick Target run. One monster outfit later, I assured baby's older brothers that he was in fact "The Backson" from the new Winnie-the-Pooh movie. They were satisfied. Baby looked delicious. Problem solved.

Cubs slipped into his Buzz Lightyear costume and glowed with pride. Each time he would press the button on his sleeve, prompting his wings to pop out from their jet pack and light up, Cubs' face would light up too. He would check one side and then the other, looking over his shoulders with a cheeky smile and a smug look. He was down right vain about the whole thing. He loved it. And all the laughter and smiles we received from him last night made every moment of sewing worth it.

We headed out to my grandmother's house for some trick or treating in her neighborhood. This band of houses has the distinction of being one of the few communities left in Miami that actually stay at home, eager to welcome dozens of kids with candy, spooks and laughter. My mom, aunt and uncle were the first generation to make the rounds. My sister and I followed. Now, my little boys get to share in the halloween fun of this old school neighborhood.

I must share, however, that my older boys behaved like a pair of seasoned con artists last night. All the adults gathered on the sidewalk were cracking up as we watched these two tiny little boys march up the sidewalk and bang on doors. I had to keep reminding them not to shout "Open your door!!!" but rather "Trick or Treat!" Once the door opened, people usually shifted their candy bowl to one side and went down on one knee to get a closer looks at my pint sized cuties. It helped that the moment the door opened, the Bear would attack at full volume...

"Hi, I'm Bongo! And this is my friend Buzz Lightyear. Do you like coatis? How about sifaka lemurs or maybe a blue tongued skink or a three toed sloth? How about an oxpecker? An oxpecker is a symbiotic animal. Hey!! What about an okapi? Or maybe you like an anteater? They eat ants with their long long tongues. Look at my tongue...its long too..."

You get the picture. The Bear had their complete and total attention as he launched into his long speeches about animals, halloween, whatever dog was nearby, anything. These homeowners were enchanted.

Entranced.

Distracted.

Definitely not paying attention....

to the silent brother. The one in the Buzz Lightyear get up.

As his big brother chatted away to the homeowners left, Buzz would sweep in on the right side and started manhandling the candy. Yup, he would help himself to at least four or five handfuls of candy while his brother chatted away.

The kicker is that once the homeowner straightened up, they'd look down and see poor little Buzz standing all alone and give him an extra piece of candy.

Cubs' bag broke after just a few houses and after we exchanged for different bags, his was so full I had to pour some of his candy into the Bear's bag.

Thirty minutes into the excursion, the Bear started letting us know he'd had enough.

"My weg hurts."

"Oh Mom, I am so sleepy! (yawn)"

"Uh-oh, its getting dark."

and then flat out...

"Let's just go back to Abi's house now, ok Mom?"

At one point someone asked, "Sweetheart, are you ready to go home now?" The Bear sniffed and said, "Yeah" with a sweet little sigh.

"I'm NOT!!!" piped up Cubs, throwing his two cents before continuing down the street with a skip in his step.

This kid could have walked all night.

Halloween is a holiday he can get on board with. Costumes and candy? Sign him up! He loved it!

Today and Yesterday

I vividly remember her introduction to our class. We were the first class in the newly built 6th grade wing. The new students dutifully shuffled forward and stood in a line.

Hi my name is________

When I grow up I want to be _____________

The assigned format given and off they went. Our class had all been together since at least the first grade with a good handful having survived since pre-K. We looked at the newbies with wolfish little eyes.

I remember when she stepped up. Clearly nervous, flustered in a uniform she was not used to wearing. She stated her name and said that when she grew up she wanted to be an Archeologist. My ears perked up immediately! I had loved Archeology since the first grade and to my knowledge, most of my classmates had no idea what the word meant. At our first "break," the term "recess" being beneath our dignity as 6th graders, I walked up to meet her. I liked her right away. She was kind. Smart. Funny. There was something different about her that took me years to understand. Essentially, when she spoke with someone, she was entirely focused on them. Genuinely, sincerely, interested in what others had to say. Actively desiring to put you at ease and love you.

We spent a fair amount of time together in middle school. High school never brought us together often as I was sucked into the third dimension that is choir and yearbook. Yet she always had a smile and a joke to share and an easy laugh that made you feel better just for having heard it.

She died this morning.

A painful sentence to write. A horrid reality for her friends and family. Such deep, deep sadness. Even though I never kept in touch with her beyond school, it is not difficult to imagine the depth of their pain, because she is a person that feels impossible to lose. She was always so enmeshed with those closest to her. How could she be gone while we are all still here?

She was our class president. We all loved her. Those who mourn her do not need to scrape the barrel to come up with nice things to say about her. It is an overflowing, endless stream of sincere remembrances. Simply put, she was the heart beat of our class in those last years. She worked endlessly on our behalf, organizing events and helping out friends. I have no doubt that her service will be full to overflowing, because I can not imagine that she has lived the past ten years any differently than she lived her life growing up. She loved to the core of her being, even to people that weren't her best friends despite the fact that she was surrounded by bratty private school kids. No easy feat.

I have been pondering those last years at WCS today.

It boils down to this. After twelve years of private school, our class reached a fever pitch... a desperation, for freedom from all that we thought had restrained us. I am aware that not every single person felt this way, but as a class, we certainly gave off that collective vibe of "GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" I know this is a common teenage angst, but those feelings were exacerbated and clearly festering after living in the same petri dish of roughly 120 classmates and 120 rules for over a decade.

I remember leaving those halls and swearing that I would never return, unless it was to visit my beloved teacher, Mrs. W.

I lost touch with the majority of my class over the years and felt pretty content in my decision never to attend any reunions. Partially in my wish to avoid certain people/memories and again, because I remembered being such a shallow, attention seeking drama queen in high school that I feel embarrassed at the thought of having to encounter old friends that once put up with my awful behavior on a daily basis.

Lastly, I felt so far removed from this school that played such a large part in my life. It had nothing to do with my life now, so why return? Even for just one night...no thank you. In light of our facebook age, the need to reconnect in person with people I might have awkward conversation with felt less and less appealing when I could just send a message from the safety of my computer.

Yet, this morning, when my sister called to bring me the news of an awful rumor spreading of this tragic death, my first thought was of those fellow classmates, I needed to hear one of those voices say, "Its just a rumor. It is not true. She lives."

I immediately contacted my friend, L, whom I have known since the first grade. She was one of my best friends when I first arrived at WCS. As we grew up, our interests went in different directions and we never had occasion to intersect, and yet I have always loved her. As soon as I heard her voice on the other end of the telephone, my tears started falling. Not only for this wonderful woman that had passed on at such a young age, but for the voice on the other end of the phone. For this friend that I shared endless birthday cakes and field trips with. We took tests together, played hopscotch together, won a tug of war game together at Field Day one year, sung in choir clad in the most humiliating costumes known to man, we have pictures of each other sporting terrible hair cuts...in short, we bore witness to each other's lives. And that is no small thing.

I heard in her voice immense sadness and shock. My heart broke for her and I could not stop wishing that I were close enough to reach out and hug her.

As the day continued, I reunited with friend after friend after friend. A note from a dear friend far away in Italy expressing love and sorrow. How I miss him! Some friends I had not exchanged words with in years and yet we did not bother with awkward small talk today, as I had once feared. Almost as if our friend had passed away before the first bell rang and we were getting the word out between second and third period that something had gone terribly wrong. Its funny how you can spend ten years apart and fall back in line within ten seconds, despite the maturing and changing that has taken place for us all. No one I spoke with missed a beat. Even as we grappled with the fact that she had passed away at such a young age. A Doctor, ready to heal and help, years of training, so much LIFE before her, suddenly gone. Yet we all seemed to be on the same page in the midst of this unspeakable horror and confusion.

I know that for most of us, this beautiful unity that goes beyond all earthly reasoning is quite easily explained. It is the unity we have in Christ. We knew our friend had passed into a glorious eternity with Jesus. No doubt about. Not even for a second. The ground we met on was level and it drew our eyes to the One who rejoices over her this night.

Rest in peace, sweet friend. It is no coincidence that you continue to bring your classmates together, even in the heartbreaking hours following your death. Your love drew us in...it always will.

Habits

It didn't take us long to notice that our boys try to imitate pretty much everything we say and do.

At the beginning of the motherhood trail, I was acutely aware of the stress inducing reality that my children would soon mimic all of my naughty habits for the whole world to see. I could break out in a cold sweat now just thinking of the pressure I felt back then.

I say "back then" because those worries were broken down repeatedly by the Lord over the course of my first two years of motherhood (slow learning curve, remember?) Just that small lesson of living in grace and not by works, living in the Spirit and not by myself....you know, that beautiful concept of God supplying us with the strength and wisdom to follow through with his commands?

Yeah.

It took a long time to learn those things and I am still learning to apply them in different areas of my life.

Back to habits. It was around the beginning of year three that I noticed my children also picking up my good habits. Praise God for showing me that! It was a freeing thing to suddenly know that God was working on me every day and with each refinement, my children were watching the process of ashes turned beautiful.

Today I am celebrating two moments of joy that God granted me this past week. Evidence that He knows my heart and continues to build up my family in His word.

The first happened a few days ago, in our newly constructed book nook. A former closet, cleaned out, door unhinged, and space reclaimed for the reading of books. I found Cubby inside one afternoon. Curled up on a large pillow, dressed in his dragon costume, crayon in one hand, children's bible in the other hand. He was scribbling inside the pages.

The litgeek in me wanted to scream out "DO NOT WRITE IN YOUR BOOKS." But, I don't want them to think of his bible as "just a book" and besides, Cubs never colors inside his books. Thankfully, I paused before correcting anything and asked, "What are you doing?"

"My bible study" he blinks up owlishly at me with those endless blue eyes.

The boys watch me working in my Bible Study Fellowship notes each day, answering questions and spending time in the word. He watched. He absorbed. He acted.

"What are you studying?" I asked, wondering if my child might not also be a book nook genius.

"The bible," he repeated as if I were a little slow.

Nope, not a genius, just a child of God in training, which in my book is an even better kind of wisdom.

JOY!

The second moment came today, this very morning.

I try to do my bible study each morning at the breakfast table while they eat. They watch me sing a few hymns, the hear me pray out loud, they witness my exploration of the bible.

Today after I finished singing the last hymn, the Bear interrupted with the following:

"Um, Mom? Mom!!! Wait, wait, wait, its just my turn to sing to God."

"You want to sing a song? Ok. How about Jesus loves the little children?"

"NO! No, Mom. Its a song I wrote for God."

"You wrote a song for God?" I ask, the smile on my face practically sliding off into my cereal.

"Yup! Here it goes!!!!"

And he started singing.

I wish I could have understood all of the toddlereese that followed in the middle of his song. But I understood the beginning and the end quite clearly.

It began, "God because you love me, you made the stars and the animals and they were so good..."

It ended, "And then Jesus went to the disciples and he showed himself to those disciples."

The ending, by the way, was something he learned at his own BSF class. Last week they studied Jesus appearing to the disciples and followers after His resurrection.

You can rest easy knowing that I thoroughly squeezed and kissed him after the song ended.

Afterwards he shouted up towards the ceiling, "Did you like it God, did you?? I LOVE YOU, GOD!!!"

Another habit he has picked up from his Mama. I am always shouting things up at God, trying to get the message across to the kids that they can talk to Him anytime, about anything.

I hit the oasis this morning. I left the usual desert wanderings behind and just enjoyed watching the sight of my little men, learning and growing in His word.

This makes me feel like dancing. In fact, I am off to do just that. Its laundry day after all and every laundry day should start with some dancing to help us get through the misery of matching thousands of tiny socks.

Thank you for making the ashes so very beautiful, Lord. As always, you have taken me by surprise!

Ancient of Days

We have been working on knowing the attributes of God and the names of God for a while now. Little by little, day by day, He is becoming an inextricable part of my sons' lives. Little men of God and His word. Thats what I am reaching for. And yet as summer drew to a close, I found myself missing days of lessons. Adding brick by brick, a wall of self doubt in my abilities as a mother and teacher. I do that to myself. Right on schedule, every couple of months, enough life issues happen and I begin preparing the bricks. I start organizing them and placing them one by one. A brick for the guilt of a temper lost. Another for the grief over the missed opportunity of a teaching moment that passed me by. Another brick for the ways I let people down, the things I leave unfinished, the words I have left unsaid. The wall takes shape and the self-doubt now has a new corner of my heart to grow in.

The boys and I walked through the zoo last week. The heat beating down on us, draining us and slowing our steps. Everything felt sluggish. Despite the fire in their cheeks and the weight of heavy feet on a humid summer day, their curiosity stayed lit, teeming with the need to be kindled.

Dripping sweat and joy, naming and guessing, exploring what God made. We paused by the large enclosure of giant tortoises and we marveled at them. Their homes upon their backs, the slow, deliberate moves. Not an ounce of energy wasted, purposeful creatures I find myself envying a bit. What does living at a slow pace feel like? I can hardly remember. Three boys seem to accelerate my life to a dizzying pace with each passing week. The tortoises continue their rusty march towards the fence line. Their large eyes watching the small boys at my side.

The Bear leans down and whispers, "He looks so old."

"He is ancient," I agree.

Ancient.

A word he has been hearing with frequency. It clicks in his mind. An audible revelation of history and love and familiarity and bone deep knowledge.

"He is ancient because the Ancient of Days made him!" he shouts.

And in that moment I am undone.

As if the miserable sun suddenly ceased beating my back and a rain cloud of grace had burst open over my heads and spent its rivulets of grace upon my heart.

Though I fail to teach well each and every day, the Holy Spirit never ceases to step in and intercede for me. Because despite the enormity of teaching a child about God and his universe, we are not defeated by our own sinful shortcomings, for He dwells over our children and enables them to grasp Him with their small hands. And then when we least expect it, He uses them to teach us.

He shouted, "Ancient of Days!"

Just as he has shouted, "Adonai, Yaweh, Shaddai," and "Messiah Jesus," a few days later.

This one God of endless names is oh so very faithful to his promises. There is not one out of his reach. Not one person too old or too young to be used for His work.

He always knows just when to encourage me. Right when the cup has nearly emptied. When the crevices begin to reopen and the parched desperation of a life too full of earthly sorrows begins to choke and mire the view...

He sends the rain.

He calls my son by name and leads that very son to call him by His name.

Oh, Ancient of Days.

It was spoken with a shout of joy. And the wall of self doubt my life was in the process of building came crumbling down, a defeated Jericho. Felled by a 3 year old in the grip of the Spirit.

Telling 2s

We are home. After a week long sojourn in Allentown, Pennsylvania with the grandparents, we are once again tucked back into the bungalow. The boys picked peaches, rolled in the sweet summer grass, rode horses, fed cows, brushed goats, rode a train, saw wild bison and deer, played on Sesame Street, rode down a huge water slide, went fishing, ate treats, chased their grandparents for hours and helped celebrate their great grandmother's birthday. A lovely, energetic week built around making memories. I wiped many little tears off two small faces today after our goodbyes.

I have been meaning to jot the following thoughts down for awhile. Needing to record them for Cubby to look back upon one day, especially if his children are anything like himself or his mother. Particularly since all of his children will eventually be two years old for 12 laughter filled, tear drenched months...

Two year olds.

A two year old can take down the most sensible, rational, patient adult in ten minutes, easy. Its true... year two stinks at times.

I have always strongly disliked the term "terrible 2s," I cringe a bit whenever someone throws that in my face while my two year old is screaming in the corner. I dislike the feeling of having to make some excuse for his behavior. I scratched the term "terrible 2s" from my Mommy vocab even while pregnant with the Bear, declining a relationship to the phrase all together.

And yet, I have seen the anger and frustration year two can bring. It needed a term in my mind. And no, for as well meaning as all the perky women who have piped up with "The TERRIFIC 2s!!!" I can not call it that either. At least not while I live with and care for a two year old twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. When I am their Sunday school teacher once a week I will think of it that way in my mind, but for now, "TERRIFIC 2s!" feels like a tall drink of false advertising.

I have settled on the "Telling 2s" for my Cubby. Because every reaction from him is telling me something about him. His tantrums are the greatest teaching moments for me as a mother. Those moments of frustration for him that can only be verbalized by a Mt Vesuvius of screaming, crying, and wailing. I am given a small window of opportunity to assess, react and then teach. A telling moment for us all.

For example: Cubs needs direction, guidance and trust. He needs me to trust him with big projects, then guide and direct him to finish them. He loves helping out and accomplishing small goals. Whenever there is a fit of tears on the horizon, it can almost always be averted by simply letting him help with some sort of menial task usually done by adults. I will clarify that we do not cave into his every whim or desire, especially if my sweet toothed boy is begging for more treats, we simply look for the Cubs-styled exit sign out of the situation. If he happens to learn a lesson on the way out the door, then praise Jesus.

This afternoon as we struggled with the herculean effort that is passing through airport security with three children three and under, I watched Cubby's line of thinking as he surveyed the scene. Well, I took in as much as I could while taking off 3 pairs of shoes, two laptops out of their cases, handled four bags and removed several jars of medication, and a few sippy cups for TSA. And that was only my share, folks. J was balancing the babe on one arm while working on two more bags, his shoes, belt and other odds and ends. Cubby stood, glancing at the line, and then staring at the stacks of bins.

Now my instinct at any and all airports is to spend every twenty seconds repeating "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!!" Especially to Cubby, our button pusher, who pushes all the alarm buttons on elevators, makes a bee line for every fire alarm in sight, and is currently in the delightful phase of wanting to lick everything around him. But I could see the wheels turning in his mind today and my options were pretty obvious. I could let him start removing the plastic bins that held the germ content of a public bathroom in Calcutta or I could say no and drag him through the remainder of security and possibly onto the airplane at a dead weight screaming fit of rage. Hmmmm...a tough one, I know.

We let him pick up the bins. He helped us load our things. He stayed by my side. He waited patiently as our items were scanned and then helped put everything back together. He felt entrusted with responsibility and valued as a part of our family. He contributed to the journey and walked a bit taller next to his father. Did he also make a bit of a mess and slow things down a bit for us? Yes. But really, let the children make a mess. What are four extra minutes in the TSA line when there are tantrums to be avoided and little boys to raise?

I am over the halfway mark of the telling 2s and have had an earful of all the things Cubby needed to say. So far, I can honestly say that 85% (definitely not 100%) of the tantrums were well worth it. I learned hard and valuable lessons from them. They helped me learn about my son. He hit me over the head with his personality, learning style, character, sins, habits, and quirks time and time again.

I always smile a bit whenever other Mommies ask for advice on their two year olds. I wish I had some fool proof method for angelic behavior to offer them, but then if it existed, we wouldn't have the miserable joy of discovering our children in all their sinful human glory. I am glad not to have unearthed a secret instant remedy. I believe I would have spent all my life setting some ill placed, unattainable bar of perfection for my children. They would have gone through childhood misunderstood, uninspired and with the constant burden of feeling like they failed some misbegotten expectation.

So Cubs as you sit and read this one day... I ask of you as your mother... and for the sake of any grandchildren that inherit our passions and tempers...

Listen to the telling twos, they are the guide and map for the rest of those childhood years. And I have a sneaky suspicion, the teenage years as well. I love you and have learned immensely from and about you this year. Keep all this in mind and whatever your children plague you with remember this: You used to lick my shoes and pull the fire alarm, all in the span of fifteen seconds.

Books and Nooks

Hello. Its raining outside today. The proverbial cats and dogs are flooding the garden and our street front. Usually, the boys go a bit batty on days like today. But today, they are happily ensconced in the world of page and print. Cheerfully bouncing along the lines of A.A. Milne and Shel Silverstein.

I took full advantage of Border's closing sale and ended up coming home with about twenty books, eight posters, and four CDs. Three of the four CDs are vintage Sesame Street tunes which the boys are really loving! The book range from Dinosaur Encyclopedias to Architecture books to the newest cravings....all things cartography related...MAPS.

The Bear is often overheard reciting the names of his favorite dinosaurs. It makes my head spin at times, he knows around forty to fifty names I'd wager. Saurolophus, Ornatotholus, Ceratosaurus, Spinosaurus, Oviraptor, he can go on forever. We snatched this little A-Z dinosaur name book for about a dollar. He curled up with it on the sofa for a good half hour. Once in a while, his head would pop up and he would call out, "Mom? Mom? What is the name of this guy? What is he afraid of?"
Cubby is loving on ships and airplanes. I bought him an encyclopedia of each and he loves flipping through the pages as I call out the names of the different crafts and teach him the names of each feature. His little nose crinkles and his long lashes sweep down towards the pages as I hold him on my lap. I love snuggling a child in my arms when there is a big book on our laps. The child stills, the pages turn, and I can hear the wheels of imagination begin to churn.

Oh, boys and cartography. We are flooded with maps and the boys still can't seem to get enough. Map puzzles, books about maps, maps on the walls. The little explorers are fascinated with the world God has made.

This fantastic jigsaw book ended up being $3.00! It has eight puzzles inside stored in book form. The Bear is especially intrigued by Africa. He knows that our new baby cousin was adopted from Ethiopia and so he is ever curious to look at her home country. "Does B love coffee?" he asked with a furrowed brow. "There are pictures of coffee on Africa, Mom. I think baby B loves coffee!"

We ended our rainy day by baking some chocolate chip zuccini bread for Daddy and cutting out some ninjabread men for our little afternoon bookpaloozah. Cubs used his Robot measuring cups to assist in putting together the bread. He grated the zuccinis and ate several morsels of bittersweet chips. I think he could crack eggs all day...

My boys are tucked under big blankets as I type this. The rain is pouring outside, grey light streaming into the bungalow. I am excited to begin work on the boy's book nook later next month. It will be nice to have a small space for them to curl into with a book.

This rainy day really hasn't been so bad...

Little eyes are devouring the books strewn about them. Ninjabread crumbs cover their shirt fronts, hot cocoa has cooled into their little dinosaur cups. I am peppered with questions and warmth and love.

I don't think I want this particular rainy day to end.

55

She shared what she remembered with me a few weeks ago. The reception planned by the family, the food they served, the fact that her brother was not present at the wedding because someone had to guard their house at all times. The weather, the road, the types of fruit in season. Her ivory skirt and her best shoes and the run to meet her two friends that would stand witness. The groom was thirteen hundred miles away, waiting for her in the new country they would both call home. She was the lone bride on her wedding day. She shared the day and the celebration food with everyone around her but him. My Abuelita went before the judge and stood next to her future father-in-law and married my Abuelo by proxy.

She is telling me this story while we make croquettas together. We are rolling the ground, spiced ham into the proper form. Hands reaching into the large cast iron pot, scooping up the ham and repeating the long learned ritual passed between us, this generational rhythm, a synchronized history of food preparation. Our hands are the same hands really, I need only glance over to see what my hands will look like at age seventy. I am proud to have her hands. We roll and form, roll and form, she keeps telling me the stories.

The morning spent watching one final surgery at the village hospital, the hasty shower back in her dirt floor home, the tearful, heart wrenching goodbye to her mother. Abuela hopping on the bus from her village to Havana, traveling down the road to a city she has never seen. The following morning, February 9, 1956, she pulls on her traveling clothes and boards an airplane. Everything is foreign to her and there is a horrible storm that day. The plane shakes and she recalls the fear climbing up her throat and plummeting to her stomach again. She gives a small smile when she tells me that she was the last off the plane that day. That my Abuelo had stood there, anxiously waiting, wondering if something had happened or if she had changed her mind.

"What happened then?" I asked.

"He hugged me and handed me a large coat that he had brought for me. I've never felt so cold in all my life," she smiles again.

"Did he kiss you?" I need to know.

"Of course. He better have, I went all that way just for him."

"Were you very in love?"

She looks down at her hands, rolling and forming the croquettas, and her eyebrows lift slightly. She lets out a small sigh, "Oh, yes. We loved each other very much."

The heavy shuffle of feet comes down the hall, a slow drag of stubbornness, and he walks to the table and begins watching us as we work. He starts giving orders. Roll this way, form that way, use more breading. He turns and leaves again. Shoulders slumped, voice raised, arms seeking out great grandsons to hold.

"He taught me how to cook" she confides.

She had worked every day and never learned the most basic elements of cooking. That first meal in their new apartment had been a supper of rice and beans. He gagged and asked whether or not she was trying to kill him. She cried. He taught her how to cook.

He interrupts us several times, wanting us to do things his way. They begin to argue and I watch them. Wrinkled faces, work worn hands, once dark hair now shot through with white. I think of the miserable jobs they have held, the brutal sacrifices, the impossible mountains they moved to provide physical necessities for their children. The indelible mark they placed upon us by never once walking away from their Lord. I think of their entire lives pouring into one element that is us, our family, their children, their children's children, their children's children's children. The small bodies playing just one room away from their bickering. My children. My children who are watching television in a house with electricity, running water and a floor made of wood and not dirt.

I smile to think of what their love has built. They argue all the time. He is perfectly horrible to live with, and yet he is what holds it all together, he is the heartbeat and sinew and blood. He loves so fiercely, despite the brokenness and pain he came from, his hands cling tightly to the frays and he pulls them into himself.

They both grew up on that small island, the reality of third world poverty stained to their very core. They do not love extravagantly, with gifts and vacations and such. They love simply. To the depth and breadth of what they have, they give to each other. What are flowery poems and diamonds when one has known hunger and hard labor? There is no need for material surplus.

He is her anchor and she is his lodestar.

There is not a basic need unmet, they tend and provide and shelter. I have never seen one grab a piece of fruit without first offering half to the other. It is true love right down to the very last mango, even if they are both shouting at each other as they slice it.

We finish breading the corquettas and she wanders away from her stories, into the next room of her mind, something about prescriptions and a doctor's visit and warnings of mosquitos that bring encephalitis. We pack the food into bags and shoo the kids out of the house and into the cars. Everyone exchanges hugs and as we pull out of the driveway for our seven block drive home, they sit together on the porch wrapped up in fifty five years worth of marriage, watching the fruits of their labor and love drive away.

Happy Anniversary to my grandparents. 55 years together. I treasure every day that I have with you.

Lady G

One of my very favorite things about God is the creative unlimited ways in which he cares for us. I have had a rough couple of days, the ugliness of humanity bearing down on me. Sin cracking the window, obstructing the view of what I should be focused on. My vision tunneled onto those deeply mired cracks.

And then God started orchestrating ways to uncap the pressure, a few adjustments to let the steam hiss out. Out of the blue my mother offered to babysit all three boys so that J and I could have an evening out. Then my generous in laws treated us to dinner and a movie. J and I dropped the kiddos off and had such a lovely evening together. We let go of the stress and enjoyed that long forgotten phenomenon of eating a meal the moment it arrives. Ahh the simple things...Thank you Lord for a little R&R.

But God was not finished yet, because on Sunday He shuffled my schedule around so that I could make a new friend.

Now let me start this story by saying that I never grocery shop on Sunday mornings and my new friend only ever shops on Sunday mornings. Divine appointment right off the bat!!

I love the grocery store. Its where they keep the chocolate and the avocados and the English Breakfast tea. Its also a great place to meet someone and brighten their day. Of course, I am referring to my lovely children brightening others days. I always slow the cart down when I catch someone looking their way. More often than not, it is an elderly person. I always slow down for them. I let them talk to Babe or the boys and I soak in their smiles and laughter. We introduce ourselves and we make new friends. But then after a few minutes we part ways and I usually don't see them ever again.

On Sunday, I was strolling through the produce department when I spotted a lady by the tomatoes, her eyes glued on Babe, a wistful smile on her face. I headed her way and we started talking at once.

Lady G, as I like to call her, is from England. She looks to be around seventy but knocked my socks off when I discovered that she is ninety!!

"You look fantastic!" I say.

"Yes, I know. I never drink coffee and I take great care of my skin" she says with a cheeky wink.

She keeps me laughing there in front of the tomatoes for a full twenty minutes. We talk about England and World War II. She shares her love story and I soak in every word she says about the handsome American boy that stole her heart and whisked her off to Pennsylvania in the late 40s.

We finally part ways and I continue with my shopping. Every aisle I put between us I keep feeling that feeling.

You know that little nudge from upstairs when He is asking you to go talk with someone? Well it went from a feeling to an itch to an outright SHOVE.

I don't even know if I have any paper on me, I thought to myself. I fished around in my bag and came up with a lone scrap of paper, which happened to be the sleeve of an English Breakfast tea bag. Ah, confirmation.

I scrawled down my name and number and started searching for Lady G. My heart ached and I prayed that I was not too late. I recognized how badly I wanted to be her friend. How lovely it would be to share stories over a cup of tea. It was one of those moments when you have met someone new and realize that your life has been holding a place for them for quite some time and you just know that their laughter should be echoing around your dinner table every once in awhile.

I found her a few minutes later, parked in front of the frozen food section. She was quite surprised to see me advancing with my name and number. But Lady G smiled graciously and thanked me with a nod the Queen would approve of.

When I left the store I told J all about her and ended the story expressing my hopes that she would phone me.

Today the phone rang and I heard Lady G's voice, telling me how happy she was to have made a new friend. We had a lovely chat and I have decided to keep a record of all the English-isms she uses.

I am so thankful she called. I am looking forward to many cups of tea and stories with Lady G. Unlimited creative ways, reaching into my life. Lady G definitely fits the bill. :)

A Sneak Peek

Its safe to say that I am about one week away from finishing the boy's homeschool room.

I am quite happy to be done. So is my husband, since the completion of this project will usher in a new age of laundry being done on time.

Here are a few sneak peeks at what I have finished this past week...

I reupholstered my rocking chair from pottery barn in a cute blue madras print. Bear asked me to add a heart to the pillow. I agreed. This is the chair that I nurse Babe in. I also hug injured children and read special books from this chair. A heart is quite appropriate, I think. :)

Race car lamp. I super glued a few race cars to this black drum lamp and added the road drawing. I finished this just today!! The boys are quite excited about this lamp and at the same time, puzzled by the fact that the cars are S T U C K! "Poor little cars" Cubby said with a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face, "I wike it!!"

I ordered a set of alphabet letters for the main wall of the room and was quite disappointed when they arrived after a six week wait! Two of the letters were cracked and 10 of them were either beige or white. Ummmm....boring!! So, Mommy had to upcycle these bad boys.

I glazed some Where's Waldo paper on the letter 'W.'

I glazed a map onto the letter 'M.' Can you see what's on the map? Florida, Pennsylvania and I managed to squeeze Price Edward Island on there!

Love this letter 'E.' The Bear decided that we should paint an "electric car." I warned him that Mommy has no artistic skill whatsoever and that since his gifted, talented Auntie N was not due for a visit anytime soon, that we should probably 3D the letter. He quickly agreed.

Here is the finished wall!!! You can see that the letter "C" is from Eric Carle's Hungry Caterpillar" and that we are supporting Daddy with the letter "U." I am quite pleased with how it all turned out after all the readjusting we did.

I am off to sew some curtains. Did I mention that my middle son almost killed himself with the curtain pull two weeks ago? Yeah. The project list has been interrupted by the urgent need to install curtain rods and sew curtains for the windows of our home. He always keeps me on my toes.

I'm going to try and have the room finished sometime next week and I will post the pictures of the finished product then!! Happy Saturday to all!

Zoo

After two weeks of nonstop rain the restless energy in the bungalow reached fever pitch levels. The Bear woke up Tuesday morning, peeked out the window and said, "Let's go to the zoo!"

I really really really did not want to go to the zoo.

So we went to the zoo.

I dropped Babe off at Bella's house and took off with Bear and Cubby for a morning of unbearable heat.

Now I should clarify that I love the zoo. Our zoo is wonderful. Great classrooms, fantastic animal exhibits, we are constantly learning there! But our zoo is HUGE...and not in a good way. A massive sprawling zoo, completely outdoors and totally impossible to complete in one morning with two toddlers. Throw in ninety degree weather topping one hundred on the heat index and pour in a hot soup mixture of humidity and well, you can understand why I did not want to go to the zoo.

The boys shrieked and cheered when they heard where we were going. They love the zoo. When we turned into the long driveway entering the zoo they began kicking their legs and squealing out the names of their favorite animals. I took note of the heat waves rising off the concrete. Once they started asking for animals located at opposite ends of the zoo, I made an executive decision, announcing that we could each pick one area of the zoo to visit before returning home. The Bear picked his favorite place, the aviary. Cubby selected the Children's Zoo and I told them we would go to a secret spot after we finished there.

Wings of Asia is a beautiful display. Tented and packed with bamboo forests and trees, a cool river runs through the exhibit and there are plenty of waterfalls and small ponds. The exotic birds inside are spectacular and my boys love watching them.

Ok, fine.

They love chasing them. But once in a blue moon they do love watching them peacefully from the sidelines. That moon is quite blue, by the way...

So there we were, wandering through the bamboo forest, total peace and quiet, shattered occasionally by the sound of my voice screaming out my middle son's name as he tried various ways of killing himself via waterfall drowning or losing an eye to the seven foot tall crane following us. The Bear tip toed down the path in hopes of catching a partridge unawares.

The humidity swirled around us, the mosquitos abundant and hungry. Yes, a very normal day at the zoo.

And then I spotted an elderly man sitting on a bench. An expensive camera hung from his neck, a brown sack lunch fixed at his side. He was dressed in a suit and hat, despite the hot weather. His face had wrinkles in happy spaces, laugh lines like sunbursts mapped outwards and immediately drew me in.

I love elderly people. Have I mentioned this before? I love talking to them, or rather, I love listening to them. I think toddlers and elderly folks are the best story tellers on the planet. I could listen all day.

We met Ted. Who is originally from Switzerland and frequents the Wings of Asia display on a daily basis. Thats right, he goes to the zoo every day and spends each hour in a lovely bamboo forest full of birds. He likes to photograph them, he says, laugh lines stretch upwards, tufts of white hair peak out from under his hat. I end up taking his arm and he shows us around the place. He knows where all the nests are, knows the name of each bird and where they like to hide. He knows the treasures of this space. He gazes at my children, drawing from their energy, I can see his heart lifting as he takes in their giggles. Looking at them seems to fill his soul and he hangs on to my arm a bit tighter. He tells me about his family, his brother in particular. His eyes mist as he speaks of that brother and he stares into the distance, looking back only to watch the little brothers ambling down the path behind us.

We shared the better part of an hour with Ted. Precious time, well spent. When we reached the end of the exhibit, I held his hand and kissed his cheek. His bushy eyebrows lifted, as did one corner of his smile and a sweet blush covered his weathered cheeks.

We parted ways, all smiles and waves. The boys and I ventured off into the blazing sun once more, the slow shuffle of feet just behind us, retreating back into the cool shade of the bamboo.

After a half hour ramble in the reptile house at the Children's zoo, we fed a small army of goats near the new barn. The boys are quite red by now, damp faces and dirty knees too. Their bodies emitting smells of summer, sweat, grass...they smelled a bit like goat food as well.

"Time for Mom's adventure!" I announce.

I lead them to the ice cream cart and we order two scoops of vanilla. Then we walk to the tiger exhibit to sit and eat and watch. A little bench stands in front of the tiger's keep, shaded by a nice old oak tree. They sit with me, one on each side. We watch the tiger for half an hour. Have you ever watched a tiger for half an hour?

We did. It was lovely. Even after the ice cream dribbled away, belly bound or sidewalk smattered, we sat together, watching, waiting. Pointing things out, laughing, learning, always learning. And then silence for a few blessed moments...

The boys, thinking about tigers and sword fights with each other.

Their mother, thinking about the shuffle of feet in the stillness of a bamboo forest and the small bodies flanked on either side of her, the little heartbeats she loves so very much.

We ran back to the car, their sneakers pounding on the pavements, their small voices shouting, "Lets do this again and again and again and again!!"

How wonderful that we will :)

Something New

We started something new this week, something Jesus put on my heart. A new way to help our boys understand accountability. A clearer picture of the repercussions of their decisions.

My boys like to wrestle. Or rather, Cubby likes to wrestle and Bear defends himself out of necessity. We average about four or five injuries a day.

So this new thing to help them understand consequences? Well it seems to be working so far...

Whenever the boys wrestle or fight over a toy, I usually separate them and immediately ask, "What is more important? This ____(insert toy, activity, food item) or your brother?"

They usually peek up at me from under their lashes before mumbling tearfully, "My brother."

And yet when an injury is involved, I usually move off to tend to the injured boy while the other boy waits in the time out corner until I return. The boy in time out misses what happens in our bathroom. He doesn't see his brother's tears as I tend and doctor a wound caused by selfishness and anger. He avoids the tears, the blood, the bandages. He stands in a corner thinking only of his own misery and isolation.

So we started something new. Hands that hurt must learn to heal.

Now when the boys wrestle and hurt each other, they must also help each other heal. Beyond a simple, "I am sorry," the boys must now tend each others wounds.

A few days ago, Cubby scratched Bear across the face, leaving behind an angry, bleeding cut. It breaks my heart when my sweet boy hurts his brother so viciously. His two year old heart is entirely self centered still and it aches to see this biblical evidence, glaring me in the face. None of us without sin, not even one. Not even our smallest, sweetest children. He is my son. Shared bone, shared blood, shared sin. And to watch him hurt my other son, pierces me. So I am taking the time to help him see and understand his part in all this.

I separate them. Comfort the Bear and lead them both into the bathroom. Cubby's eyes are wide as he watches me, waiting, for the punishment he expects to greet him. Anxious for his own fate and not sparing a thought for the brother with blood dripping down his face.

We sit the Bear down and I make Cubby hold the Bear's hand.

"Now," I say. "Help mend what you broke."

I guide him in cleaning the Bear's face, in applying salve, in unwrapping and placing the bandage. We wipe away the Bear's tears together and pray for him.

I oversee the apologies and forgiveness.

Then I ask the Bear to walk his brother to the time out corner. And Cubby serves two and a half minutes because he is two and a half years old. (The time is doubled if they refuse to apologize). Once the time out is done and the last tears are wiped away, we sit down together and talk.

Does this sound like a long arduous process?

It is.

And yet, I have to discipline myself to discipline them. To set aside whatever I am doing so that my boys can understand the depths of their sin so that they may one day appreciate the depths of grace and forgiveness. I sacrifice this time for them. The dinner burns, the laundry stays piled in the basket, the floor goes unswept. But they learn one day at a time to take responsibility for their actions.

At times, sin feels like an imposing mountain in my path. My children's sins tower even higher. I fret and worry over them. I doubt. I grieve.

Then Jesus gently reminds me that I can not save my children. He has done it for me. He has done it for them.

I often think of that precious verse, Isaiah 40:11

"He tends his flock like a sheperd:

He gathers the lambs in his arms

and carries them close to his heart;

He gently leads those that have young."

He leads me gently as I slowly push my young along, nudging them ever closer to the truth of grace and the hope they can have in this life.

Sweet Summer

We are in the midst of our rainy season. Each day the dark clouds roll in off the Everglades and unleash a torrent of rain on the bungalow. The garden is grateful for the recent rainfall, it was a dry spring.

Our rainy season is a bit like the North's winter. The early morning heat waves are challenging to overcome for the sake of outdoor adventure, the afternoon rain and lighting makes us burrow in all the more. Our only respite comes on days when the sea breezes are strong or in the late afternoons when the sun emerges after a long rainstorm has cooled the earth. Even then, we only get about half an hour before the mosquitos come out in swarms.

So we must be creative, you see, if the boys are to get their daily dose of adventure and play.

Summer always brings this challenge. How do I continue to guard their precious boyhoods by creating opportunities for imaginative play?

Lately I've been encouraging the boys to get messy. I mean muddy, sticky, slimy, gooey, sweaty, wet, head to toe COVERED in fun. They always behave more on days when they get good and dirty.

I love when they smell of sunshine and sweat and giggles. I love finding small blades of grass in the house. I love seeing smudged handprints on the glass panes of the bay window. I love bathing a round baby who has recently played with a helping of baby food, the frothy bubbles swirling round chubby legs covered in applesauce. I love the sweaty strands of hair and the faces covered in smears of chocolate. I love this smell of life's joys.

The Bear and Cubby are assisting me more and more in daily chores as of late. Cubby likes kneading bread and folding clothes. His little voice always pipes up, "I want to help you, Mama!" and its the sweetest music of my day to hear him say so. He has also helped with sewing some of my projects. Many of the seams are crooked and the projects are at times, less than perfect...and yet they are so very perfect because my boy sat on my lap, his small hand encased in mine. My arms wrapped around his frame as I worked to help guide the needle to and fro. His little voice chattering as we worked. How I treasure those crooked seams.

The Bear, as always, loves making a game of our chores. I made fruit leather this week and we eagerly stood guard over the tray of sweet mangos drying in the sun. Peeking out of the window every so often to make sure it was still there. Running outside to rescue the tray whenever rain threatened.

I fashioned two jet packs for the boys, complete with firing engines, and they have yet to cease zooming around the bungalow. Space exploration, dinosaur hunts, pirate escapades, jungle safaris, and runs through the "deep dark forrest of animals" are the games of the day. Happy shouts and loud thumps echo through the house all day, with the occasional sparring match here and there.

This morning as I changed bedding, folded laundry, kneaded bread dough, and tidied up the living room, I noticed a strange sound in my home. The sound of silence. A terrifying sound.

Yet all was peaceful and innocent when I found the boys gazing out the window.

Bear looked up at me when he felt me settle down beside him.

"Can we play outside?"

A hundred practical reasons to say "no" floated through my mind before an eager "yes" spilled from my lips.

We ran in the sunshine, acquired mosquito bites, watched the mango leather dry, and played with trucks.

We weren't outside for long. Soon we had to come inside, strip out of muddied clothing, brush off bits of grass, and guzzle down cool water.

Both boys thanked me and ran off to play. The game they chose to play is called, "Wrecking Ball." This consists of both boys running at the hallway wall, top speed of course, and slamming into the wall with all the force their bodies can muster. They end up sprawled out on the floor, moaning a bit and giggling. Embracing joy and soaking in the magic of summer.

Sweet, sweet summer.

Projects Taking Off!!

Hello.

We've been busy this month! The boys and I are having a ball this summer. I plan at least one or two 15 minute adventures per day and the kids love it. Digging toys out of ice blocks, sailing boats in the tub, making crayons, making sidewalk chalk, sewing, puzzles, scavenger hunts, paper towel roll animals, bubble wrap race tracks---to name a few. I love when they face the day ready for adventure!

Today we finished making jet packs for the boys. I found this idea on Pinterest, which led me to a cute blog by a stay at home mommy providing a tutorial for jet packs. Hers were made of tin foil and streamers, which is great! But I know my boys and that would not last an hour in this house. So we used duct tape and fabric for the fire streams. The boys LOVE them.

I've been sewing like a mad woman. And I am happy to report that I am about 60% finished with the back room update! I'll make sure and post pictures once its all done. For now, take a look at some of the pillows the boys and I finished...

Yellow rocket pillow, waiting to be ironed....

Madras plaid pillows with little buttons...

Here they are!

And I finished one of the bigger projects, the puppet theater!! Cubby loves this thing a lot! I used two small utility hooks on either side of a doorway so that we can string it up whenever we want. Many happy hours of play to come with this theater. :)

We churned butter a few days ago and I made pumpkin muffins with the buttermilk that came from our churning efforts. Oh the yumminess. Cubby, our resident toddler chef, is excited about using our fresh butter to roll out some dough for an apple pie tonight. He really loves helping in the kitchen and I have found that its his best place to learn.

I have so much that I want to share on here about the boys and their homeschooling. I'll have to save it for another day though. The babe is asking for some food and special cuddle time and really, how could I say no to that?