Sunny Days

It has been another wonderful summer for our family.  I can never seem to come to grips with how fast summers go.  June and July just flew by, it seems before I've even had a chance to keep up.  

I have to cop to being excited, though.  The last two months have been incredibly busy.  Nearly every day has had something in it... which is why I am so eager to transition into August.  Although there are a few things on the calendar, our August schedule is so much more relaxed.  We have three whole weeks almost entirely to ourselves. 

To savor moments like these:

16 Weeks

15 weeks

I can't decide.  Option A: 

Or Option B:

Either way, I'm a happy, grateful mommy.

Portraits of Summer in our backyard

14 weeks

On greener grass and gratitude

She was beautiful, there was no denying it.

Long, slender limbs.  Athletic build.  A narrow face tastefully painted and framed elegantly in waves of gold.  You know the ones... those effortless curls that take time and practice and skill to produce.  Her clothing was casual, with that perfectly put together air of someone who has either a very good eye or a great deal of time and money to blend all the elements: earrings, necklace, bracelet, well-polished nails, perfect shoes and just a hint of lipstick.  A hint of glamour, lest the casual facade fool you.

The truth was: I envied her.

My own face bore no makeup.  Well, that's not entirely true.  If there was make up on my face, it was purely the remnants of whatever I'd hastily smeared on thirty six hours beforehand.  My clothes showed no discernible style or taste; that would be implying that someone had sought out the clothing as an aesthetic expression instead of simply yanking it from the hodge-podge, mis-match that passes for a closet these days.  A closet reflecting the plethora of different sizes I've been again and again: small, medium, large, early-pregnancy and late-pregnancy; the vast majority at least five years old and only a few lacking either holes or stains.  Styling of hair had long-since been abandoned.  Heck, even the washing of hair was of particular concern at this point.

I feel shabby.  I feel tired.  I feel overweight, sang the refrain in my head as I mustered my remaining patience and tenderness to remind, again, the half-dozen little hands that strayed longingly to touch the this-es and that-s some evil marketing genius had placed in the grocery store check out line, aka the final herculean labor that had to be endured before I could proclaim this shopping trip with three small children, teenager and baby to be a success.  Standing behind Helen of Troy with her cart full of the organic produce responsible for her willowy frame had not been part of this equation.

The baby grinned up at me from his vantage point in the backpack on my chest.  Grinned adorably, and let out a rip-roaring, body-shaking SQUIRT.

"HE POOPED!!!!" My four dissolved into loud giggles as I gazed sheepishly at the checkout lady and the beautiful girl in front of me, both of whom had turned, wide-eyed with surprise, to face me.

I shrugged.  When you gotta go, you gotta go.

"How old is he?"  The woman in front of me inquired sweetly.
"Two months."  I replied, feeling a slightly embarrassed desire not to meet her neatly-embellished eyes.
"He's adorable."  She continued, "Looks like you've got your hands full."

I thought about my morning.  About the breakfast I'd taken only two bites of in between nursing and turning someone's undies right-side-out and gently taming the bedhead.  About the reminders I'd issued about loving words and gentle hands and how brothers are a treasure.  I eyed her hard, skinny legs and thought regretfully about my doughy ones.  About how the two of us must look standing side by side.

"Yes."  I agreed with a weary smile.  "But they're worth it."

Her own smile faltered for a moment, and her eyes became sad.  She looked at me again.  Surveyed the scene: the teenager and his I'm too cool for this pose; the big two actively engaged in a war of I'm not bugging you! (which can only ever end badly); the two year old sitting in the front of the cart, chubby toddler legs swinging away while singing a perfectly off-key rendition of Twinkle Twinkle; the poopy-diapered baby grinning happily on my chest as if his mother were the classiest, best-smelling person in the entire world.  Her eyes rested on him for a long time.

And then they filled with tears.

"My husband and I can't have children.  We've been trying for years.  I've just come from the doctor.  He confirmed it."

Before I knew it, we were both crying right there in the check out line.

My days are long.  They are exhausting.  We have reached a tipping point where there is routinely more to do than one person can do alone, and I am alone and without reinforcements often. Casey was recently away for more than two weeks, in which time I managed to sneak a shower all of twice.  I regularly miss one meal a day; I frequently miss two.  It's pretty pathetic in many ways, actually.  And ironic: I still can't seem to lose even a pound of the remaining baby weight.

But I was reminded in the most humbling of ways how lucky I am.  Someday, my nails will be polished and my hair will be styled.  Someday, my clothes will not bear the stains of little fingers.  Someday, I will again have time to exercise and shower and eat, and my ears and weary brain will not be overwhelmed with noises and requests and shouts of watch me, mommy!

It is shamefully easy to take for granted the gift I have been given. Too easy to forget the longing I once had as I fearfully struggled to get pregnant.  To easy to forget that, as Dr. John Trainer once said, children are not a distraction from more important work.  They are the most important work.

Life brings us so many seasons. This season, while my children are small and their hearts are open, while I have the joy of laughing with them and walking with them and holding their hands, is such a short one.  Too quickly, the time I have to invest and share with them will be over.

The reality is: I could easily have been the woman in the checkout line.  But, thankfully, that is not the life God blessed me with.  Choosing, intentionally, to see the blessing and to build my life on gratitude: that is the challenge.  To savor the moments I will cherish for all my days, and to invest in things that will have eternal significance.

To smile.  Even if my smile is weary, because my hands and my heart are full.

Tee-Ball, and my motherly failings

So, there are some things I have not been able to do for my children, try though I might.

1.  They still can't swim.  Yes, we've had lessons upon lessons, but what they really lack is a mother who has enough spare time - and more importantly, hands - to consistently assist them in the learning process.  Practice, as we say, makes progress.  And some of us have had our hands (or bellies) too full to help them practice very often.  Oooops.

2.  Camping.  We love camping.  Casey and I used to go all the time before there were kids in the picture.  It is something that his travel schedule and all the baby and small people having has made much more difficult than it should be on the surface.  I think we've been camping exactly once in their lives, backyard-style not included.

3. Sports.  Again, please refer to #1.  Having, nursing, caring for etc. babies and toddlers, plus solo-parenting and homeschooling such that the tossing of a ball becomes an act of grand significance.

BUT....

This summer, Leah has been playing Tee Ball, and she is having sooooooo much fun.

Of course, much of it has involved playing in the dirt.  An act she naturally gravitates to anyway... so there's that. 

We have so appreciated the efforts of the coaches and parents who help out to give the girls a fun first experience with baseball.  

They even had the opportunity to walk on Coors Field at a Rockies game, which was so special.

Of course, Leah's favorite part of the game - besides walking on the field - was hearing and recognizing Beethoven's 5th Symphony as it blared through the stadium, so you can see what biases our family culture has given her.  

We can't swim or toss a ball very well, but the phrase  "Well... we homeschool, so..." has become a favorite explanation following the statement, "How do your kids know that?!"

That's not nothing, right??

13 Weeks

Boom.

4th Fun

If you've been around here a while (or know me at all...), you know that holiday and family traditions are among my favorite things to cultivate inside our four walls.  

It is my firm belief that, though we inherit history, we also create it.  In between the menial tasks of dishes and laundry, it is this calling that keeps me pushing forward: to set in motion a narrative that fills the heart and souls of my children; a narrative that will bring delight in times of joy, and echo in their minds at the moments when they most need direction.  A narrative of heroes and home and life well lived that can be gladly handed down.

And so our narrative begins.  It is a legacy of red-white-and-blue pancakes and crisp bacon, eagerly anticipated. 

Of crafting during a reading of the Declaration of Independence.

Of patio lunches and lemonade in the shade, while John Phillip Sousa's works blast their patriotic refrain. 

Of backyard obstacle courses,

and potato sack races.

A legacy of love, hugs and laughter.  A holding place for all that is beautiful, holy and worth having.  

"The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life." - George Eliot, Middlemarch

It is worth recording: this was my favorite Fourth with miss Livvy Joy.  Oh my.  Her enthusiasm and awe were palpable.  Her sweet little voice laughed and rejoiced with pure wonder at each explosion in the sky.  The colors, sounds and textures overwhelmed her in the most beautiful ways possible.  

Oh that we should all experience life that way!

Plus, life is just sweeter when there's a baby to share it with. :)