{Double Digits}

I didn't think he'd ever fall asleep last night. Way too much excitement. But he finally did, and I was at last able to tip-toe into his room to leave a "pillow present" for my almost ten-year-old.

A note slipped under our door this morning (much too early, I might add) confirmed that he not only received the gift, but that he loved it. Such a simple note, but I love what it captures about our Aidan: his spontaneous heart of gratitude, the joy he finds in simplicity, and a bit o' wit to boot.

Last night, as he fidgeted and squirmed in anticipation of the big day, he reminded us every few minutes that this was his last such-and-such as a nine-year-old. His last dinner. His last bite of dinner. His last good night. And his last bedtime blessing. Then, as I blessed my still nine-year-old, he, in his sweet, comical wisdom advised me, "Savor the moment, Mom!" And so I did:

The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you and be gracious to you. 

The Lord lift up His countenance on you and give you peace.

This morning as I looked through the birthday pictures, Phil Wickham's Beautiful started to play in the background. Tears threatened. I thought of the beauty that it is to raise a child. The beauty that it is to be loved by a child. And the beauty in knowing that it's happening. Right now.

Once again, I find myself heeding my son's advice: Savor the moment, Mom.

{Why Today is a Special Occasion}

I finally put my vintage Holly Hobbie drinking glasses in the dishwasher. Now normally this is where I would say something like, "Don't tell my sister!" But I'm not going to say that. Because of all people, she would understand why I committed this brazen act.

She found the set of glasses at a garage sale a couple of years ago and immediately thought of me. I was delighted to receive them and awed by the report that they had been so well cared for by the previous owner. As in, they had been hand washed.

For thirty years.

I suddenly became scared of the glasses. I was scared to drink from them. I was even more scared to let the children drink from them. On the rare occasions in which I did use one of these precious vessels, I was careful to hand wash them in warm, soapy water and return them carefully to their nesting place in the cupboard, breathing a sigh of relief that they had survived the hazardous ordeal.

At some point, one of the glasses ended up in the dishwasher. Probably the kids were loading and I wasn't paying much attention. As you can imagine, it ran through the cycle quite merrily and came out decidedly clean. It was wonderful, I tell you. Wonderful.

The dishwashing "mistake" made something click in my brain. I wasn't using these delightful glasses nearly as much as I could have. I wasn't freely sharing them with my girls, but had been behaving rather like a martyr each time I ceremoniously brought them down for a little one's sick tray. I was even creating more work for myself when I could have chosen simplicity.

It was all quite silly.

I love these glasses, and I want to use them. I want my girls to use them. And we will be so much more likely to do so if we can easily wash them. Even (yes, it's true), even if that means running the risk of chipping the paint or even losing one all together.

Otherwise, I let the thing become more important than the person using it.

As we continue to pack up our home, I realize that I've done this in other ways, too. I've come across stationery that I didn't use. I was saving it for a special occasion. Jam from England. Too precious to consume. I even found a bar of soap from Slovenia that I hadn't used. It was a souvenir, after all.

Saving, waiting, keeping. All for some elusive special occasion. An occasion that may or may not actually arrive.

But what if I allowed that special occasion to be right now? What if this was that special moment that I had been waiting for? What if I celebrated the beauty of today, cast off fears and inhibitions and said, "Yes! Let's do it!"

Because the truth is that life is happening today. And I sure don't want to miss out on it.

A Beautiful Mess

I'm getting tired of my hair. It desperately needs to be cut, but when do mamas have time for such things? So I toss it into a ponytail. Again. And we race out the door to get the kids to their swim lessons.

When they're finally splashing and stroking and bobbing, I plop into a chair and enjoy the thirty minutes of just sitting. I pull out a book and slowly digest a chapter, looking up often enough to give dozens of thumbs-ups and a-okays and air claps. With a very wide grin. Because that's what mamas do.

The thirty minutes go by too quickly, and I tuck the book back into my purse. As I prep towels for little bodies, I hear a voice behind me and turn to see an aging gentleman shuffling my way. He points and comments, "I was sitting behind you. You have such beautiful hair!"

Stunned, I thank him. Beautiful? It's too long. I haven't done anything but toss it carelessly back to get it out of the way. I'm relieved that I finally made an appointment for Friday to tame the unruly mess.

And he calls it beautiful.

It causes me to ask the obvious of myself. How often do I fail to see the beauty and instead call it a frustrating mess?

When Aidan asks to serve the cream of wheat and it glops all over the counter, I cringe at the mess. But isn't it really a beautiful moment? This child wanting to be independent and helpful?

When Miss Kate marches into the room all ready for the day in striped socks, a plaid skirt, a floral top and feather boa, do I see chaos? (Yes!)

But it's beautiful. She's being creative and colorful and vibrant. It's who she is. And that healthy expression of self is beautiful.

When Drew practices away at the drums with music blaring and siblings vocalizing, there's plenty of discord and the beats don't always land right where they should.

But it's beautiful. He's learning to do something he's passionate about and inviting his brother and sisters along for the ride. The mess is answered prayer, really. It's a purpose and a passion and a pursuit. Which is exactly what a thirteen-year-old needs.

Bethie scribbles away at a script and there are princes and princesses and gypsies and dungeons. (Yes, she's been reading Little Women.) The costumes collect, her mind is distracted and she would much rather memorize her lines than focus on her math. It doesn't fit with my schedule for the morning. It's not on the checklist.

But it's beautiful. Her mind is coming alive with characters and settings and she can't wait to perform it for Thanksgiving and, well, she reminds me a lot of myself.

Puddles drip around wiggly pruned feet. I wrap the children in their towels. They can't stand still and they ask if I saw them jump in the six feet and if I saw the way they kicked and dove and splashed. And I know they weren't perfect and that they have a long way to go. But I say, "Yes! You were great!" Because they were great. They were beautiful.

We head toward the showers. The man shuffles away. And I, too, feel beautiful.

{Day 28} :: What I See

What do I see as I sit and watch and love? Thought I'd share a little visual tour of our week with you this afternoon:

(Along with proof that I do sit.)

The gardens at Fort Vancouver . . . .

Teaching the children to sit, too. The girls are very happy about this.



(I love the way he's cradling his notebook while reaching for a cannon ball. Very realistic.)

"Let's pretend like we're running!"

Grammar with a tatted, tea-guzzling cowgirl who writes "toot" and "poop" on as many assignments as possible.

Kids with huge smiles, checking every other second to make sure Mama's watching. "Did you see that, Mom?!"

Paint is like a magnet to these children. I pull out the supplies and they come a-runnin'. They asked me to join them this afternoon. I did.

Because I know the days of Q-tip art and swim lessons and field trips are numbered. And I don't want to miss a single one.


Read about the thirty-one day challenge over here.

There Will Be Grace

Remembering grace when . . . .

*The washcloths are all missing and it's bath time. Because they make excellent shoulder pads for boys who want to play football in the back yard.

*Avery wants to pretend like she's a dog. This means lapping up water from a bowl on the kitchen floor. It also means rolling around on the bathroom floor after a bath with brother trying to dry off her "paws." (This is rather unfortunate because my bathroom floor is not the cleanest place in the world right now.)



*School takes longer than anticipated because Aidan just has to finish his bridge.

*Mud is tracked into the house because little people love to work in the garden.

*I come home to a messy living room because the kids can't stop thinking and learning and creating and exploring.



*I find tweezers on the front porch. Again. Because someone must have been listening when we read about insects today. (It also explains the jars of creepy crawly creatures on the nature table . . . .)

*Bedtime takes forever. Again. Because there's a law that sisters must whisper and giggle before falling asleep.

* * * * * *

The house is finally tidy. The children are finally asleep. I finally have a bit of quiet.

I know it will only be a matter of hours before the cycle begins again. The washcloths will disappear. There will be mess and mud and mistakes.

But there will also be grace.

I will need to fight the urge to hurry, the constant drive to cross items from my list. The instinct to race through the day and miss the beauty in the mess and the mud and the mistakes.

Because there will also be grace.

I will need to remember that I just taught Little Miss how to tie her shoes. She can't learn it in just one sitting. I'll need to sit with her tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

I'll remember that sitting with my daughter while the world spins and jolts and rushes about me is the very best thing that I can possibly do. Because she'll figure out those shoes in no time. She'll skip away to embrace even bigger challenges. Challenges that will often be messy and muddy and full of mistakes.

And in those moments, I'll be ever so thankful . . . for grace.

Knowledge, Health and Beauty

Last summer I wrote about our plan to seize the sunny season with purpose. I plan to implement many of those ideas again this year:

(Seize the Summer)



In addition to guiding my children through goals and dreams for the summer months, I'm eager to focus on my own intentional living. It's easy to adhere to certain tasks during the school year. Checklists and schedules are a given. But what about during those lazy, crazy golden days? Shouldn't even our fun and relaxation be somewhat driven by intentionality? Even if the intent is merely to rest? Shouldn't our days be filled with purpose, no matter the season?

I've already tested out my idea, which is based on a post over at A Holy Experience. It's flexible yet enriching at the same time. And guess what? I want you to join me! Here's the gist. During the months of July and August, I plan to keep a little checklist that charts three areas of growth. (A template can be found here, if desired.) The areas I've chosen to pursue are knowledge, health and beauty. Each day, my personal goal is to include activities or pursuits that meet each of these areas of growth.

Here's an example. On any given day, the pursuit of knowledge might be anything that stretches my mind (which, let me tell you, doesn't take much!) -- reading Scripture, taking notes on a Sunday, memorizing Scripture, testing out a new recipe, putting together a puzzle, writing a letter, reading to my children, playing a board game, etc.



Health is any pursuit that strengthens my body. Exercise, a decent bed time, and healthy eating patterns would fall in this category.



The last is beauty, which is pretty broad, but I love the "command" to seek after beauty in my day. It might mean working on a craft or organizing a shelf. Perhaps it's giving my girls pedicures or putting together a vase of flowers. Maybe it's a freshly mopped floor or a basket of laundry put away. It doesn't have to be elaborate or time consuming or even artistic. Just the pursuit of something that adds beauty to the home.


So that's my plan. To embrace the golden days in the pursuit of knowledge, health and beauty. The point is not to keep a rigid checklist, but to live in daily freedom and growth. There are no rules, and no one will be hovering or keeping score.

I'll be starting on July 1st. I'm convinced that taking this journey with a few fellow travelers would be an amazing blessing and source of encouragement to all involved. That said . . . who's with me? I'd love to seize the summer with you!


Illustrations by Jessie Willcox Smith

All Along

This morning while sitting at my desk, I leaned over to pull a book from a bag on the floor. I stopped. What was that? I could just barely detect faint strains of . . . music. It didn't take long for me to realize that my head was right next to the CD player. (My powers of deduction are really quite astonishing.)

I usually keep the classical music station playing in the school room during the day. At times I'm forced to turn it down. If a child starts practicing the piano or smackin' away at the snare, down goes Mozart. That must have happened yesterday. Only I never turned it all the way off. Just down. And it had been playing all along.

If we listen carefully -- oh, so carefully -- we'll hear it. The faintest strains will gain strength and momentum as our ears learn to detect the music. We'll tune out the distracting, discordant din and focus on the beauty. And we'll realize that it's been there all along.

Childhood Idyll by Adolphe-William Bouguereau 1900

Let Me Count the Ways

I've been housebound for nine days now. Well, I suppose I did run down the street to get the mail on Saturday. And I did drop Drew off at his percussion class last week. But that doesn't count. For the most part, we've canceled lessons, invitations and events to tend fevers, coughs and sniffles.

The funny thing is, it wasn't until last night that I realized I hadn't gone out (for real) for over a week. Now if a mother of four can stay in one spot for a week and not notice, she's either delusional . . . or blessed.

I choose to think of myself as blessed.

It is a blessing to look at one's surroundings and see beauty, no matter how much laundry is piled up or how many legos are scattered across the floor. Now don't get me wrong. This isn't always an automatic reaction. Far too frequently, I fall into the trap of not seeing the beauty. And I miss out on the blessing.

God has infinite treasure to bestow . . . . Blind as we are,
we hinder God and stop the current of His graces.
(Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God)

I don't want to spend my days missing the blessings. I don't want to fester in stagnancy when the current of His graces is so close at hand. So I pray that my heart might focus on the beauty.

When I see the watercolors and the brushes and the newspaper all over the kitchen table, my first instinct is to cringe. But as I bring my little one to the sink and wash the colors from her pink hands, I choose to focus on that moment: I hold that hand -- that hand that won't be so tiny for long -- and I wash away the mess. I force the smudges, the mess, the ugly -- that in me which fails to see beauty -- I wash it down the drain. I kiss the paint-smeared forehead, knowing that I've just taken part in a blessed, holy moment. Again.

So even though I might be hanging out at home for a few more days, I will continue to look for beauty. Perhaps put a little twist on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's words: "How does He love me? Let me count the ways . . . ."

*little hands stroking my face
*Drew's first youth group retreat
*Avery baptizing herself while taking a bath
*exchanging emails when I'm housebound (especially with my mom and sister who agree to the challenge of sending only correspondence that rhymes. This week we moved on to haiku. Please feel free to join in.)
*fevers dropping
*a friend who shares Scripture: Isaiah 55
*words of joy!
*hot soup on a cold winter day
*foggy mornings
*sisters sharing a stack of library books
*reading with Bethie over a cup of tea
*Aidan's paper airplanes
*steady work -- God's faithfulness!
*sunshine after endless rain
*rearranging furniture
*hearing the front door, knowing he's home
*surprise hugs and kisses from my Aidan

I will tell of the kindness of the Lord,
the deeds for which He is to be praised . . .
yes, the many good things He has done.
Isaiah 63:7