A Mom Story...

My oldest son isn't with me today.  He spent last night at my parents, a delayed birthday tradition. There was a snowstorm during the first attempt.  This date was the make-up date and Eddie was not about to let anything stop him this time; not even a broken arm.  We talked about rescheduling, but he was resolute.

Only 24 hours after breaking his arm, he departed for Grandma and Grandpa's (a.k.a. Baba).  Eddie is a very sensitive kid; as in he is very aware of his needs and emotions.  So, he knew he needed to be cared for and loved right now, while the pain was still at it's worst.  Plus he is grieving the loss of his passion for the next 2 months, Taekwondo. 

I have to say, I am really struggling with the fact that it is not me providing that for him.  I feel bound, I feel restricted.  This is uncomfortable.  I should be caring for my baby.  I know he is in amazing hands.  My parents are truly wonderful.  Still, I have this deep, uncontrollable need to care for my hurting child.

It's strange, the timing.  This isn't the first time he ended up at Grandma and Baba's at a pinnacle point in his life.  Four years ago, he witnessed another Grandfather (his namesake) pass away.  It was the night before Eddie's birthday, the night before he was going to spend the night at Grandma and Baba's.  That time we also discussed cancelling, and it was hard to let him go, but that was where he was meant to be.

There are some very clear moments in my children's lives where I feel God is at work.  It seems obvious that some events were planned and happened just as they should.  For Eddie, these moments when he ends up at Grandma and Baba's seem fall into that category for sure.  I'm sure he will never forget the nights he spent there when he needed love, support and reassurance the most.

I think I'll feel unsettled until he returns to my care, but he is where he is supposed to be and I am thankful.

Christmas Tree Time

In about a week, my kids and I will venture out to find our 2nd "real" Christmas tree. I can't stop thinking about our experience last year with our first "real" tree.  And so I am inclined to repost last year's musing.  Enjoy!  And... Merry Christmas!

Ornaments of Life - Dody's Daydreams, December 18th, 2009

We've had a fake Christmas tree for 10 years. It was easier when we had three preschoolers. No chasing kids through massive tree lots while my hubby and I bicker over the "right" tree. No falling needles to be eaten and choked on. No forgetting to water the tree because I have laundry and spit-up and diaper rash on the brain.

After the boys got bigger, it was a habit we were in. We have the tree, so why go pay $40 for another one, real or not?

Then came the kittens. The kittens loved to climb and bat at things and play! The Christmas tree became their own private amusement park. We tried to deter them by squirting water at them. That was only a temporary fix. When we slept, they played. Every morning I found misplaced and broken ornaments. Eventually, several branches would accompany the glass shards on the floor. By New Years Day, they had left their permanent mark. The fake tree we had used for 10 years was unrepairable.

This Thanksgiving, my hubby picked up a new fake tree, by my request. However, it just didn't sit right with us. It was time to create a new Christmas tradition. I returned the plastic tree, tightly stuffed into it's box and two weeks later we ventured out into the snowy night to buy a real tree.

The experience was great. No arguing, a warm campfire, a tractor-pulled hayride through the beautiful tree farm. It was perfect.

The next day we erected our gorgeous tree. (I'm certain it was the best one on the lot and only fools came before us, why else was is still there waiting for us?) With three little helpers, it seemed almost magical how quickly the tree transformed. Lights and garland and ornaments were flying onto the tree.

An ornament my son made as a toddler, another that his brother made in pre-school, another that was a gift from my stepmom; "Oh, I love this one." "Grandma bought these for us, one snowman for each of us." "Oh look, a handcrafted angel from Stella!" "Nana helped you make that one." "You made this one with your Aunt Jamie." "Mom, remember these from our old neighbors." "Ahaha... this one is from my sister. I miss her." "Baby's First Christmas, one for each of you."

The memories of our loved ones and past Christmases flooded every open space on the tree. Many of the people from these memories aren't here anymore, but these decorations, these ornaments, these precious trinkets, they represent life. My life, my children's' lives, my relatives lives. This tree may be a living tree, but it wasn't truly brought to life until it was donned with our treasures.

The kids are already planning which ornaments they will take with them when they grow up and move out. The memories will live on with them for years to come.

Maybe I am just more sentimental this year, maybe it's because our tree is living, maybe I am intoxicated by the smell of pine; but I know that I am smitten with this tree that is very much alive.

The Best Mom in the Whole World

Happy Birthday Mom!

My kids tell me I’m the best mom in the whole world. I believe that they really think it is true, but I know the truth... My mom is the best mom in the whole world.

Starting from my earliest memory, my mom’s unconditional love has shone constant, like the sun on the brightest of days. She never backed down from discipline and always expected me to live up to the potential God instilled in me. She has modeled eternal priorities and has never been bashful about her true passion in life… Jesus.

We’ve endured things together. They’ve all been markedly harder for her than me, and I’ve watched her handle, with God’s strength and grace; betrayal & divorce, the early and unexpected death of her beloved father, court battles with my dad, financial hardship, job instability, the death of her first born daughter, the divorces of two other daughters… Yet she has never lost grasp of God’s joy in her.

She is my hero. Yes, she is a real person with many flaws and quirks, but she, aside from God, is most responsible for every good thing in me. My mom is the best mom in the whole world.

Happy Birthday Mom!

I love you with all my heart.

Dedo

Q is for Quiver

Happy is the man that has his quiver full of them... Psalm 127:5 AKJV

My quiver is full, I think. We have four children. I really can't imagine my life without them. When I try, I can only see self-indulgence and boredom. What would I do with myself? I've never been good at keeping myself challenged. I like to take the easy route too many times. That's not to say I don't often get inspired to excel, I do; just not enough.

*However, my kids keep me on my toes. My character is challenged. My resilience is tested. My patience is a well exercised muscle.

Soon, I expect to be more and more cognitively challenged as my children progress in school. I already referred to references to "remember" things I once knew to help my 5th grader with homework. Now he will be in middle school. I'm looking forward to remembering algebra and American History, etc.

When I was little, I knew I wanted to grow up and be a mom. I also knew I wanted 3 children, close in age, which happened to be just the type of family I grew up in; until I was a teen, my little sister arrived. Lo and behold, we had 3 boys right in a row, then we added a fourth child after a several year gap.

My quiver is full. My quiver is fun. My children all have goofiness, like me, which I treasure. They are all creative and smart in very different ways. Being a mom is like digging through a never-ending treasure chest. Each day has new, beautiful things to discover. (Lest it all smell like roses, see above. *)

Life is good.

P is for Posey

P is for Posey

A posey is a small, hand-held bouquet popular in mid- 19th-century Victorian England as an accessory carried by fashionable ladies. Composed of mixed flowers and herbs and edged with a paper frill or greens, the arrangement was sometimes inserted into a silver filigree holder. When supplied by an admirer, a nosegay became a vehicle for the floral "language of love"-e.g., a red tulip was a declaration of love; a sprig of dogwood returned by the young lady was a sign of indifference; a variegated pink meant that she rejected her suitor's affection. This variety of bouquet has enjoyed periodic revivals.

Source: Dictionary.com

Wow! I thought a posey was a type of flower. Instead it is the amazing social tradition. Reading about it just makes me want to put on a floor-length dress, put my hair up, and head off to the neighborhood ball. (I like to imagine that all 19th century neighborhoods included a mansion of generous and gorgeous young brother and their parents all searching their own party for the love of their lives.)

It seems like no one would ever use a posey again to signal their level of interest in an admirer. Wouldn't it be easier to send a text? But where is the romance in that?

I beckon you all to host a neighborhood ball, having all men send a posey to the woman/girl they admire. Then the women get to insert their "signal" flower. How fantastic, whimsical and wonderful is that?

Wishing you a happy gala!

L is for Love

Love, it seems, is much more about choices and commitment than about feelings.

Do I love my baby more when I kiss her or when I hold her for an hour in the middle of the night because she is ill?

Do I love my children more by saying "I love you" or by abandoning my needs to tend to theirs?

Do I love my husband more by by sitting next to him snuggling or by standing by him, day after day, during the most stressful days of his life.

Love is less about my feelings and what I get out of it and more about desiring to uplift, uphold and fulfill the person I love. In doing so, I will reap rewards for sure, but the doing never stems from desiring that outcome. I love, never expecting to receive, still, love always finds it's way back.

K is for Kangaroo

Kangaroo Lake, that is.

That is the destination for a much needed vacation. It couldn't have come at a better time. My hubby and I have been so busy we hardly see each other and the kids have noticed we're never together too. We will have one whole week of us all being in the same place at the same time. Lately, one hour of that is a treat, now we'll have over 170 hours of our nuclear family in the same place.

It's beginning to seem like the holy grail! I know we'll all get on each others nerves at some point, but this vacation truly seems like it will provide us all with tank refills. Each family member may have varying needs (emptied tanks), but I predict we will be filling them all with joy, laughter, rest, love, snuggles, fun, recognition, affirmation, attention, calmness....

Kangaroo Lake, her we come. You are our Pu'uhonau.

J is for Jazz

I got into jazz music when I fell in love with my husband. He was a serious saxophone player in high school and very involved in the jazz band ensemble.

My interested first echoed my hubby's preferences, mostly smooth, modern jazz. I really started to appreciate the likes of Spyro Gyra, Bela Fleck and the Flecktones, Kenny G, David Benoit, and the sultry music of Rick Braun. (There were many, many more too. I really got into it... aaahhhh what love will do to a person.)

I had such a love for this new found music, I decided to take a jazz appreciation class at the local college. It was so enlightening. I was exposed to the broad world of jazz and had a chance to discover what I really loved about it. It turned out that my real affinity was for the more simple, old-style impromptu jazz. Give me a trumpet, sax, piano, drums and upright bass played by skillful hands and uninhibited musicians and I am loving it!

Jazz, in that format, has a raw, honest quality that is relaxing, invigorating, pure and intriguing.

It's been way to many years since I've enjoyed that in a live setting. I don't see time for it in the near future, but it is an experience I will have again and I'm really looking forward to it.

H is for...

My sister felt like she whimped out with "H" on her alphabet soup blog challenge (though I thought hers was a strong entry), and I am kinda feeling that way about mine too. Seeing as I don't yet have an "H."
Mmmm... Heaven, Hell, Hope, Hippie, Hair, Hiccup, Happy, Horrible, Hmmmmm.... yes, Hair...

You know what? My last post, right before I started the alphabet blogs started with an "H" and it is very worthy of being in my Alphabet Soup.

H is for Haircut

I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.

Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).

What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.

I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.

I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.

While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.

My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.

F is for Forgiveness

If I do two things well in this lifetime, I want them to be love and forgiveness.

I've been hesitant to blog completely openly about my faith, as to not offend anyone. But I cannot even broach this subject without my faith taking center stage.

Stasi Eldredge writes about this topic in her book, Captivating:

“Bitterness and unforgiveness set their hooks deep in our hearts; they are chains that hold us captive to the wounds and the messages of these wounds. Until you forgive, you remain their prisoner.”

It is very easy to let resentment fester, thoughts of how wrong the people who hurt us were. We know we should forgive. But, first we have to want to forgive. Then we have to actually let go of our hurt and resentment.

Is forgiveness simply a conscious decision? I wish. I’ve tried that many, many times, only to be utterly disappointed in myself for not having the will power to make the forgiveness of an offense a reality. That has been a frustration my whole life.

I have come to realize that forgiveness has much less to do with the intent, for what is obviously the right thing to do, then I ever knew. It has much less to do with the person who offended me, than me. And it is very much related to my spiritual and emotional health.

Forgiveness seems to have much to do with me being okay with me. In my successful experiences with forgiveness, I've found I need a healthy relationship with my creator. Forgiveness is me freeing everyone else from the responsibility of making sure that I am okay, because that need is being met somewhere else.

I am okay. When I am secure in who God created me to be; when I am secure with all my own blemishes and faults; when I am reconciled with my creator and longing to be fulfilled in Him and Him only, I am free to forgive. Forgiveness comes not only with conscious effort; but forgiveness comes with security in and dependence on God.

That might sound wacky, but for me it is a very real truth. That might sound simple, but it is a long road. One I am still on. I had journeyed through over 30 years of living and trying to find my way, and calling on God for direction. Then finally... a huge challenge. In the face of thinking I could never forgive the most devastating offensive in my life, I gave not the offense or the offenders to God’s control, but me. I gave me. I gave my heartache, my pain, my resentment… to God. I made room for His patience, grace, and mercy to fill me.

And, guess what followed… a miraculous ability to forgive. Aha… forgiveness was never to be by my own volition. Forgiveness became a reality through God’s strength, power and love.

I'm sure I have much more forgiving to do in my days on earth. But if I can forgive, no offender will ever have a grip on me, my heart can be light and peaceful and free to love endlessly.

Stasi Eldredge, in “Captivating” also wrote,

“We acknowledge that it hurt, that it mattered, and we choose to extend forgiveness to our fathers, our mothers, those who hurt us. This is not saying, “I didn’t really matter”; it is not saying, “I probably deserved part of it anyway.” Forgiveness says, “It was wrong. Very wrong. It mattered, hurt me deeply. And I release you. I give you to God.”

Above All Else... Love

At home, my boys have wonderful moments when they are well behaved and other moments, when... not so much. We work hard to establish expectations of respect and integrity. Sometimes I think I'm thinking too much about some of the not-so-good moments as failures instead of learning moments in the big picture. I do treat the moments as teachable opportunities, but sometimes fail to see things from a broader perspective.

Yesterday, my husband and I took the kids out to a brunch at a nice restaurant with my Dad and his girlfriend. I think I was taking their good behavior for granted until Dad's girlfriend pointed out how delightful our boys are. I suppose there are kids who would be loud, disrespectful, obscene, irritating... But, our boys were polite, funny, calm and charming.

In response to Dad's girlfriend, I shared how my mom always tells me that I will make a lot of mistakes as a parent, but I will be a successful parent if my kids feel loved. That's the most important thing. Dad's girlfriend went on to say that they seem confident and secure and they are all quite individual.

(I later got a text message from my sister that my Dad was bragging about their behavior as well.)

What we're doing is working, and I don't want to forget it. Our love and consistency is affecting they're behavior, confidence and respect for others. I am so proud. I feel like my children will be happy and successful in life if they never forget they are loved, they are special, no matter what.

Boys... "I always love you., no matter what."

The (love) Shack

The Shack is clearly a piece of fiction. I knew going in not to look at it as a theological picture of God, rather one person's artistic interpretation of the Trinity's effect of love and relationship. In that way, it is extremely intriguing and beautiful. It is like a painting that speaks to the soul in ways that logic and words often cannot. It is not an educational experience. It is a journey of the heart. It is a place where reconciliation is introduced in new poetic ways.

In reading The Shack, the reconciliation you explore will depend on your most painful experiences in life. I don't have as much need to reconcile 9/11 or the earthquake in Haiti, for example, as I do the death of my sister 8 years ago, or the absence of a loving father for much of my childhood (due to a premature divorce), or the pain inflicted upon me by the leadership of my church.

The imperfections and pain of relationship cause us to need reconciliation not only with each other, but even more importantly with God. Our own hurt and tragedy is confusing and often seemingly impossible to navigate. We were made in God's image, ready to experience perfect, loving relationships, but the brokenness in this world robs us of it far to frequently.

The Shack opens doors that we may not have known how to open or that they even existed. These doors lead to the first steps of accepting that God is a God of love and acceptance, even when worldly circumstances try to mask this.

Give the book a chance to break down your barriers and let you imagine God for who he really is, and what he really wants to experience with you. Explore the freeing power of forgiveness and love. Visit The (Love) Shack.

Birthday Bliss

It's my birthday. This is a great birthday, and my husband made all the difference. He supervised the entire day and ensured a love-filled, low-stress day. I am simple, so it doesn't take much to make me happy.

The kids had off of school today which was actually wonderful. They cleaned their rooms, played with their baby sister, joked with me. Most notably, with the help of their dad, they made an awesome brunch. We all sat around the table eating my favorite, pancakes (plus much more), in the middle of the day, chatting and listening to one of our favorite alternative bands, Hawk Nelson.

My hubby got me a beautiful card. The house was cleaned. The kids gave me lots of love. When I needed something, everyone was quick to help.

There have been beautiful, don't-need-to-shovel, snow flurries all day.

My Mom and stepdad called early and sang Happy Birthday and told me how much they loved me. Later, my stepmom called. My Dad called. My sister and her boys called. The last call was quite entertaining for me. It was my sister and her fiance´, the latter of whom I implored to finish his (and her) rendition of Happy Birthday with the cha cha cha-type ending, "and many mooooooore," as he did for my son on his birthday. He indulged. I was filled with giddy satisfaction.

Could this day get any better? Not for me. That was all I needed.Just a day filled with the people I love. No presents, no hoopla, no cake. Oh crap! Cake! The kids will never forgive me if I forget. Our grocery store bakery makes the most delicious buttercream cakes with buttercream frosting. Off I go... Cake time!

Thanks family, immediate and extended, for remembering me today. I love you all!

The Gift of Orchid

I saw my stepdad yesterday. He's about 4 weeks post open-heart surgery and doing very well. Wishing I was in more of a position to help him and take care of him, I bought him a book. You see, my kids and I have been sick for a month and I cannot bring sickness around him. I haven't been able to help. I thought the least I could do it help his sanity by giving him something intriguing to read. He's enjoyed Grisham in the past, so I found a new collection from him of short stories. Just as well since my stepdad's post-surgery attention span is suffering.

So there I was trying to take care of him, love him, when he surprised me with a Valentine's Day gift. My birthday is the day after V-day, but he clarified, this was not for my birthday, it was for Valentine's Day!

I am a novice gardener, but one who reads and studies and dwells in my gardens. I love my flowers. They are absent in winter. It can be very depressing.

He gave my my very first orchid for Valentine's Day. It is a very clear symbol to me of his unwavering support, love and mindfulness of me. It is a very clear representation of his humility, authenticity and generosity.

My stepdad "knows" me. He has peered at my heart and knows how to communicate with it, even though we have never found or made enough time to cultivate this beautiful relationship as much as we should.

I know the orchid won't last forever, but I know it is one gift I will never, ever forget. I am so thankful God put this man in my life. It is a confirmation of God's love, support and mindfulness of me. He knew I needed him.

1 + 1 = 4

One love struck girl and one passionate boy = four gorgeous children.

This equation is partially the reason for my long gap in blogging. The boys were home for Christmas break and all routine was out the window. There were family games and special food and more games and friends and relatives and Godparents... then exhaustion.

When I was pregnant with my baby girl, I thought far too often about what other people would think of our large brood. In the history of life, four children is not absurd, but in America where 2.5 children is the accepted number, that forth child catapults you into a new category of "big." The truth is, I never think of that anymore. Our family is so perfect. It feels, so much, like this is what God had planned from the beginning of time.

1 + 1 = 4 might not make sense to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to us.