{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.

{Candor}

A rare, quiet moment crept its way into my evening. Inspired by the Olympic athletes who proved again and again the potential of humans, I determined that I, too, would choose that moment to somehow better myself.

I escaped to the living room, dug through the basket of books and papers next to the piano, and found some sheet music that I had worked on years ago under the tutelage of my mother. Yes, a little music to soothe the soul, strengthen the mind and exercise the fingers. Just the thing!

I carefully and slowly worked my way through Bach's Air, pleased with the way certain strains came back to my fingers almost automatically. I relaxed and found peace.

And then Miss Kate entered the room. She was not as inspired. "Ahhh!" she shrieked. "It's scary when you play the piano! It's not normal!"

The lamb then covered her ears.

My chord came to a screeching halt. And I instantly recalled why I seldom sit down to play in the first place.

{Not Too Spooky}

I've been told that a child can be analyzed by careful observation of his or her artwork. A child that feels safe and secure will portray himself with open fingers, while an insecure or frightened child will draw balled-up fists on the ends of his stick figures. I've not studied this further, but the idea intrigues me.

My girl typically draws the cliche rainbow, meadow and wildflower pictures you'd expect from a child. A tree on the left, the sun in the upper right hand corner. No balled up fists. God's in His heaven and all's right with the world.

But occasionally I do happen across fanged creatures and other gruesome caricatures. For some reason, a dragon or Ninja from Aidan doesn't cause me to bat a lash. But when Miss Kate produces the grim, it catches me off guard. What am I to make of it?

A recent work, hastily sketched in colored pencil, appeared on my desk. It was not sunshine and roses, but a charming little phantom.


Miss Kate, aware that I don't tend to embrace creatures from the dark side, added the reassuring title, "Not Tooo Spooky!"

According to the artist, the specter earned this distinction for two reasons:

1. His speech bubble says "hi." He's polite and welcoming.

2. He has fire coming from his rear end. Apparently this, too, lends a certain charm to ghosts. (I had no idea.)

So if you're ever approached by a phantom who greets you with a chipper "Hello!" and has fire issuing from his hind quarters, fear not. This ghost is not too spooky. You'll be just fine.


P.S. I am a little hesitant to hand this piece of artwork over for psychoanalysis. Let's just say this confident girl has a unique streak of creativity. Which is certainly nothing to be scared of. I hope.

{Candor}

"Mom? Are you able to get up on my bed?"

Aidan nimbly scrambled to the top bunk, eager to show me one of the new additions to his LEGOs poster wall.

"Can I just kind of perch here on the edge?" I proposed.

"Sure." And he went on to explain in detail (and in a tongue that sounded rather foreign) all about the various characters and accoutrements splashed across the wall.

After I did my best at being an interested mommy while clinging pathetically to the rail, a certain question nagged. Why was he wondering if I would be able to climb up on his bed?

Did he think I was too old? Too uncoordinated? Not agile enough?

It rankled. I had to know.

"Aidan? Why did you ask whether or not I'd be able to get up on your bed?"

The candid child flatly stated, "You're a bit big."

They say that ignorance is bliss. They're right.

{Hams and Life}

All ready for Norman Rockwell to paint their portrait. The Saturday Evening Post never looked so good.

What am I to do with these boys?


We all slept in this morning. Jamie's been sick which has thrown us all off a bit. It was nice to gather 'round the table and eat our cream of wheat together (cream of wheat feels so good on a sore throat). I seized the moment and asked Aidan to read our Jesse Tree devotion for us. We're a couple of days behind. I pushed back the guilt and enjoyed the moment instead. The sun poured through the kitchen window and we were warmed, inside and out.

* * * * *

Aidan's plunking away at "Up on the Housetop." He's wearing a Superman cape. The girls are wildly giggling in their room and most likely not making their beds like they're supposed to. Drew is noisily shooting hoops on the nerf thing.

My guess is that one-fourth of my children have followed the instructions to brush their teeth this morning. I better look into this.

Maizy is blissfully alternating between snoozing in a patch of sunlight and chewing on her rawhide chip. She's got it good.

We really should be doing math or something. That probably means I should step away from the computer and get dressed. Or something.

Fall Haiku

Bethie has been reading Little Women this month. I'm thrilled to my absolute very core. It's one of my most favorite books, and I'm delighted that she's loving it too.

Now, to read Little Women is to become a Little Woman. It's impossible to hear about the antics of the March sisters without taking part. This means that Bethie is currently working on a play (to be performed on Thanksgiving) and producing a family newspaper (complete with contributors named Snodgrass and Pickwick).

Did I mention this thrills me to my very core?

Tonight at dinner, Bethie suggested that anyone in the family could contribute to the newspaper. Submissions are welcome! We thought a theme might be nice to give writers a bit of a framework. So we went with the most obvious theme: Fall. Which, naturally, led me to blurt out, "I know! Fall Haiku!"

We sat around the table, each attempting to compose our own Fall Haiku poems. (I still can't believe that Jamie is able to flawlessly compose Haiku without counting on his fingers. But it's true. He can.)

So far, Jamie, Aidan and I are the only ones who've submitted Fall Haiku for the paper. See if you can guess whose is whose. I know it will be a challenge.

Submission #1:
Autumn is now here
Dad is very sad today
Make it go away

Submission #2:
Fall is here today
They are potato chip leaves
Autumn, autumn, yeah!

Submission #3:
Scarlet, amber, drift
silently, carpet the earth
With their vibrant hues.

And I just stumbled upon this unfortunate contribution:

You are super gross
You like to burp and toot, too,
So I don't like you.

Although I'm somewhat heartened to see the 5-7-5 in tact throughout this piece, I do have some investigating to do.

Do you have a Fall Haiku to contribute? If so, please share! It's sure to land in a very distinguished column alongside Snodgrass' riveting (though somewhat plagiarized) tale, "The Masked Marriage."

P.S. But the real question in this: Can you Haiku without counting on your fingers?