Last Night

Tags

basketball, little boys

Last night I took William to basketball practice.  It was like watching little boys at the playground.  They have fun.  They all want to win.  They push each other around, tease and taunt and laugh at bad shots and holler when they hit a good one.  William wears purple laces in his shoes now…it is his favorite color.  He comes off the court, cheeks pinkened and hair tousled, and I want to grab him and hug him and press my nose to his crown to breathe in his little boy smell…he still has that little boy smell.  But I know better.  I wait until we’re outside, and he doesn’t mind then.  On the drive home we talk about practice, and knockout…last night he won knockout. 

He asked me to tuck him in.  In just a couple weeks he’ll be ten years old.  I am in no hurry for the tuck-ins to stop.  I walked into his room and he was nearly asleep.  His eyes closed, and he smiled and whispered goodnight, and I love you Mom, and I think he was probably asleep before I left the room.

Later that night I sat on the couch, under the blanket and listened to the rain falling.  It seemed like it had been a long time since it had rained, but maybe not.  Poppy was nearly on top of me.  She likes to sit as close to me as possible.  In fact she would be right in my lap if I allowed it.  Which I sometimes do.  I like that about her–her closeness.  She heard the clicking of the phony ipad keyboard and pricked up her head.  She gave me a look as if asking “how long is that clicking going to go on lady?”  I smiled at her and she put her head back down.  Then she resumed the snoring.  I love her.

Before I went to bed, I went to check on them all.  Henry lay curled in a ball, uncovered.  Every night he appears this way.  Either that, or he’s hanging halfway off the bed.  I thought he must be freezing, so I covered him up.  William was awake, and he commented on Henry’s grunting.  So I told William the story of the first few days of his life, and how I slept next to him each night, and how loud and grunty he was.  So loud and grunty in fact, that I had to move him into his own room so I could sleep.  He smiled and closed his eyes.  He likes to hear stories of when he was littler.  He said “night night Mom” and as I walked out of their room, I looked back at those boys.  In the soft glow of a night light, they can look just like angels.

How we found out Poppy eats stuff.

Tags

dietary indiscretion, puppies

So it was Christmas Eve morning.  Poppy woke up, stood up and barfed.  And there were all sorts of unmentionables in that there barf.  So I figured she would be feeling much better after that barf.  It’s hard to digest trash, after all. 

After some time and some negotiation, she ate her breakfast.

Then I took her for a nice long walk, and when she did her business, I noticed that there were all sorts of things in her doody.  I could specifically make out at least three small legos.  I briefly considered recovering the legos because honestly, I can’t stand the thought of having an incomplete set, but I decided that was just plain gross. 

Then Poppy barfed up all her breakfast.  And she did not look good, at all.

Do you know what you have to do when your dog is very sick on Christmas Eve?  That’s right.  You have to go to the Emergency Vet place (the super-fancy-all-sorts-of technology vet place that is really, really expensive, but really your only choice).  I have been there only once, with my old buddy Coco.  He never came home.

They ran tests with their fancy stuff.  

She was not in good shape was the diagnosis. 

I told them all of the stuff that had come out of either end of her.  It was kind of funny going down the list, but not really, I guess. 

I went home, and waited for them to call me with some news.

As it turns out, she had a severe infection.  She was a very sick little dog.  She suffers from “dietary indiscretion.”  (As do I, only I limit my indiscretions to the edible types).

She came home late on Christmas night.  And she seemed just like her old self.  She unfortunately learned absolutely nothing from the event.  Today I found her with a dime-sized plastic googly eye, and a small clam shell, the size of a quarter. 

Right now, she’s sitting over there, on the back of the couch like a cat, staring out the window at the falling snow.  She looks for squirrels, and deer, and any kids that could be running around our back yard.  And if she finds any she barks like crazy.

It’s hard to imagine this house without her now.

You, Henry John

Tags

Henry John

Dear Henry,

Eight years ago, you came into our lives just a tiny 5 pound-something-ounces little boy, covered in scarlet fuzziness.  I remember pulling off that scratchy cap they put on in the hospital so I could look at your pretty hair.  I loved that I had a redhead.  

As you grew, then came the looks and stares…the red curls, the big blue eyes, the ivory skin, the roundess of you.  You were a beautiful baby boy.  You were cherubic.  Everyone could see that.

And then, when we found that you weren’t hearing us very well…we were unprepared for that.  Unprepared for the emotions…sadness, anger, worry, fear, pride, joy, gratitude, jealousy…so many emotions that I went through over little you.  And I felt ill-equipped to handle such a task as raising a boy with hearing loss.

But then, life went on. 

You grew.

You learned.

So did I. 

I learned that you are just a little boy, not unlike any other little boy.  And what had I been afraid of, really?  I couldn’t even remember anymore. 

I learned that your hearing loss is a part of you…just like your hair, and your freckles.  I learned that it is not really something to be sad over.  I used to think that if I could restore your hearing, I would.  Now?  Well, yes, I still would, but there is a part of me that would kind of mourn losing that part of you.  That sounds wierd.  It’s complicated.

You have always been such a confident little boy.  You just do your thing, and you don’t really care what other people think.  I’ve wondered if maybe you are missing some of the social cues that force other children into conformity.  Maybe that’s why you are so confident…you don’t hear everything…  Maybe.  But I think you are one of those rare souls that marches to the beat of his own drum.  Maybe that’s why people like you so much.

From the moment of your birth you have drawn attention, without even knowing it.  Even now, you don’t realize it.  I love that about you, Henry John.  I love it when I’m out shopping, all by myself, and I hear a little girl whisper “that’s Henry’s mom.”  You remind me of your Gramp, the way everywhere we go, someone knows you.  I love that about you, too.

I also love your freckles, of course.

And your hair. 

The way you sing.  Totally off key.  All the wrong words. 

The way you like to build things. 

Your happiness.

Your genuine nature.

Your friendliness.

Your nose.

Your beautiful eyes.  You have your mem’s eyes.

I love that you are my boy.  My Henry.

My Henry John.

A Poppy Post

Tags

puppies

Yesterday was the second straight day of rain.  I think it was starting to get to me.  Poppy needed to go out, again, in spite of the fact that I had already taken her out, like, a million times.  She just wanted to go out and sniff around, and some days that is fine, but since we don’t have a fence, and I have to walk her, and it was pouring rain and chilly, I wasn’t in the mood.  But I was less in the mood to clean up pee and/or poop, so I took her out.  Again.  I figured I would get the mail while I was out there.  So I grabbed an umbrella, and the leash, and an empty bag for her little terds, and out we went. 

As I expected, she just ran around sniffing.  I know she is looking for the deer terd pellets in the yard.  She has memorized their location and heads straight for them upon entering the yard.  But since I was savvy to that and wouldn’t let her over there, she just decided to see if she could find the bunny that surely lives in the shrubbery.  After a few minutes of this, I told her she had better get to business or we were going inside.  She continued to jerk me around.  She finally pooped, and I cleaned up her mess, and decided to head over to the mail box with my terd bag and umbrella to get the mail so we could go inside.  But she decided otherwise.  She decided to bolt in the opposite direction, which nearly tore my arm off (okay, not really, but for a 17 pound dog, she is mighty strong).  I pulled her back, and tried again to pull the mail out of the box.  She attempted to rip my arm off again.  I pulled her back again.  I got the mail, and headed to the door. 

You have to picture me, now, people.  I am walking in the rain, with my umbrella, a massive amount of mail, and a bag of terds which is swinging back and forth like a pendulum, and I’m holding the leash of a dog that has decided to go all helter skelter on me.  She was running around all over the place, and jerked me again, which made the mail fly everywhere.  So I bend down to pick it up, and the umbrella, which was wedged between my chin and shoulder, has now fallen on the ground and I’m getting poured on and the pendulum terds are swinging back and forth in front of my face as I’m bent over.  So I gather up the mail, and the umbrella, and I swear to you–I kid you not–she does it again and the mail goes everywhere again.  At this point I had had it and I gave her a little taste of her own medicine and gave her a good jerk.   

She turned around and looked at me like what the heck lady?! 

And then I felt mean.

We went inside.

She shook off all her wetness in the living room of all places. 

Boy do I love this dog.  I looked at her and her whole little sausagey body was wiggling as she regarded me.  I think she was trying to figure out if I was going to kill her or not.  But I was looking for forgiveness for losing my temper.

I sat down on the floor. 

She slinked over to me, and climbed into my lap, and licked my chin.  She has the most beautiful shade of chocolate colored eyes.  She looked at me with those eyes, and those long, floppy beagle ears and she knew she was naughty. 

That’s the thing with dogs.  They just forgive you.  And you forgive them.  You wrap your arms around them and feel their tail wagging, thumping your ribs, and their entire body wiggling, all that frustration just kind of melts away.

We spent a lot of time curled up on the couch together after that.  I watched her sleep, and stretch, and wondered how I could ever get frustrated with that little creature.

Lately, I think a lot about Coco.  Since he left us more than 6 years ago, I have felt certain that I would never have the same bond with another dog.  But as the days pass with Poppy, I can tell you this:  if there is another dog that can worm her way into my soul, it is Poppy.  She is not the same, but she is good.  She is smart, and forgiving, and happy.  She is friendly, and funny, and loyal.

She is leaving her little footprints on me.  I can feel it.

Advent Calendar

Tags

Advent, Christmas, Family

This Advent season, as for the last few years, we’ve made an Advent calendar.  I remember having a candy calendar as a child, and I just loved it — counting down the days until Christmas and, each day, unwrapping a piece of candy.  Our calendar takes a little different spin.  Each day there is something fun to do.  Most of the activities are Christmas related, but there are a couple that are not.  But all involve family time. 

For instance…we spent 6 whole hours of family fun time together this past Saturday.  In the car.  Without getting out.  We drove to Antietam to see the Memorial Illumination.  I’m not even sure what I was thinking when I planned this excursion.  I certainly was not thinking there would be a three hour line to GET IN.  Nor did I think this would take over six hours from start to finish.  Because, you know, four hours is about all the fun this family can handle before we begin to eat our own.  In all seriousness, it was impressive, and while the meaning was probably lost on 75-100% of the children experiencing it, it was still something beautiful to see…23,110 luminaries, one placed for each soldier killed — both blue and gray — on Sept 17, 1862 at the Battle of Antietam.  It is the bloodiest one day battle in American History.  The Illumination was incredible. (Totally not Christmasy, but incredible nonetheless). 

Anyway, so this year I made new cards and little vellum envelopes and snowflake confetti.  The envelopes are numbered and tied with a red ribbon, and each day one of the kids opens the envelope for that day and reads the card. 

This has become one of our favorite traditions.  Just like when I was a girl, the kids love the anticipation of each new day, each new envelope.  Wait until they open tomorrow’s envelope…

Merry Christmas!!!

Sunday evening…

Tags

Home

I’m sitting here, sipping a glass of wine and listening to the sound of potatoes boiling behind me.  The Man has taken William to his basketball practice.  It is a long practice…two hours.  But he is learning so much.  This team is a very competitive team, and the boys are very talented.  I’m not sure how much playing time William is going to get this season, but the skills he is developing are well worth sitting on the bench, if that’s what it comes to.  I just hope he knows that.  I hope he enjoys this season, even if he doesn’t play much.  I think he is just happy to have made the team. 

The rest of the kids are sitting in the family room.  I watch them from my kitchen stool, giggling hysterically at somethingorother.  They have been sick this weekend.  First Henry, then Ella, then Kate.  So we have had a slow day, just hanging around.  There are not enough of these slow days, in my opinion.

William told me yesterday that he loves the house in the evening.  He said it is cozy.  He said it makes him happy.  And I thought…it is home, honey.  This is how your home should feel.  It did feel like home.  It was dark out, and we had a football game on.  We were snacking on chips, and Poppy was snoring on the couch, and there was a fire burning.  And all of us were together, and no one was barfing.  (I had to add that last part because boy did things change around midnight.)

My hands were so dry from all of the washing and washing and washing.  I am terrified of catching whatever the dread thing is that they got (William had something two weeks ago, too).  I was rubbing in some lotion last night when William came in.  I put some lotion on his chin…it was all chapped.  With a wink, I told him he probably drools at night.  He said it’s because of the headgear.  He hates that headgear.  He asked me when his smile is going to be better.  What do you mean, honey?  He wants to know why he has “so much gums showing.”  Oh honey, that’s the way God made you.  And I love how beautiful and happy you look when you smile.  I wish that orthodontist hadn’t gone on and on about his smile being “gummy.”  Even after I gave him the stinkeye.  I am going to go ahead and assume that he was totally exhausted because his wife just had a baby and had some serious complications and that is why he didn’t realize how ridiculously insensitive his comments were. 

William grabbed the book I got for him at the library, and we climbed under the covers and read together.  I love to read with him.  I love it when he’s reading and he laughs at something in the book.  I don’t know why–maybe because he just seems so innocent in those moments.  And when he was tired of reading, he closed his book.  Can we just snuggle for 2 minutes before you tuck me in?  I wanted to say Oh William, I will never say no to you when you are so sweet like this. 

The other day, I got the most wonderful pictures of William.  We were at the farm, on a beautiful, warm autumn afternoon.  The light was beautiful.  And his eyes were soft, his mood gentle.  I snapped away, because he was cooperating for once.  He told me later that he did it for the chocolate.  (I offered him chocolate if he would let me take his picture.  Bribery is the only vehicle I have anymore). 

It is near suppertime now.  I have always loved how darkness falls early in November.  Poppy is jingling all around the kitchen, whining because she smells the chicken.  She is crazy.  And she is perfect.  And she only adds to the wonderful feeling around here. 

It has been cloudy today, so when I look out the window, I can’t see the stars, just a thick, gray flannel sky.  Somehow that only adds to the contented, warm feeling I have.  The street lights are glowing, and down the street I can see the warm glow of lamps in our neighbors’ windows.  Now the boys are home from basketball.  We are all together. 

Sometimes it is so easy to see that I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams.

I’m getting it.

Tags

barf, humility, selfishness

The Man was in the ‘burg for the big game last night.  So I was on my own, which was not bad…I mean it was a little hectic this morning, but not really any different than any other morning.  I just decided that I would forgo a couple of things to make it more smooth, like I would skip eating and showering and toileting and all that non-essential stuff.  I think it is somewhat interesting that I can control my body in a physical way.  I can forget about how hungry I am when I have other people to feed, dress and get off to school.  I can go hours and hours and hours without a trip to the potty, all the while making sure that others DO make the trip (even the dog for crying out loud) so that I don’t regret it later.  Etc.

William and Kate were out the door, Ella was dressed for school and ready, but Henry was moving at a snail’s pace.  He was like a sloth.  Sloth-like Henry.  He missed the bus.  Then I was mad.  His tummy hurt.  His tummy hurts many many mornings, and he’s just fine.  You would think that I would just understand that this is the way he is, that his tummy always seems to hurt, and that it will be fine when he gets to school and the earth will continue to rotate, just like normal.  But in the back of MY head is a nagging little voice that says “what if he THROWS UP at school?!  Then he will be that kid that THREW UP at school.”  And I get all nervous and freaked out and then I get mad because darnit Henry this is MY TWO LITTLE HOURS THIS WEEK!  THIS IS MY TIME HENRY!  THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I’M GOING TO GET FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS TO JUST HAVE TO MYSELF!  And I tell him that he’s going to school, and that he will be fine.  And that he can go to the nurse if he feels sick, but DO NOT GO to the nurse if he’s faking it.  I drop him off, and he sees one of his buddies, hops out of the car and smiles at me, waving and signing love. 

Then I drop Ella off, and head out to run some errands, even though I am dirty.  It’s been the kind of morning that makes me not even care what I look like. 

And then the phone rings.  Because Henry barfed at school.  He is the kid that barfed at school. 

And I realize that most of this happened because I was selfish.  I can’t tell you how many times I remind myself that my life isn’t about me anymore.  Most of the time I get it.  Most of the time I know that this is the job that was meant for me.  But sometimes I wonder if these moments are not accidental.  Does God give us these moments when we are the most selfish?  Is He trying to humble me?  Is He trying to teach me?  Some days He must think I’m quite a dim bulb.     

So here we are, on a cold November day (in which I made the children wear their heavy coats even though they will look fat in them — William’s comment.  William couldn’t look fat if he tried his hardest).  There’s a fire burning, and a soft, warm blanket covering us.  Henry is back in his jammies, sipping coke, and I think I’ll just sit next to him and read, and enjoy the morning that has been given to me. 

I’m getting it, God.  Slow but sure, I’m getting it.

Treasure

Tags

mothers and daughters

When I look at you, so many emotions are knit together…longing, regret, joy, delight.  And just simple love.  I just, simply, love you.

Memories of you are sweet, Kathryn Ann.  You have always been that way…sweet.  You have always been thoughtful.  Always understanding.  Always accepting. 

You have never wanted a lot.  Never needed a lot.  Never demanded our attention.  You have always been patient.  You always seemed to know when someone else had needs greater than yours.  I wonder what you felt.  I wonder if you noticed when all of my attention was focused on helping William learn to walk again, or helping him strengthen his left side.  I wonder if it bothered you that so much of my time was spent helping Henry learn how to hear.  Helping Henry learn words, or learn sounds.  I wonder if all of the therapy that was the center of our lives for years and years…I wonder if that had any impact on you.  And then when the baby came…when Ella came…and she needed so much of my time.  You just seemed to understand.   

Perhaps that is the sadness I feel.  You were never the one that needed us more.     

I miss you, Kate.  I miss the times we used to be together.  I miss how little you were.  I miss brushing your hair.  I miss your little voice.  I miss your footed pajamas.  I miss putting you in pretty little dresses.  I miss ribbons in your hair.  I miss those days when it was just you and me…when I would build a fire, and we would wrap up in a blanket and stay that way the entire day.  When you needed me; when my love for you was so overwhelming I couldn’t look away from your beautiful face, and my tears would fall on your cheeks.   

The other day, you turned eleven.  There is so much about you that you should be proud of.  And even though I miss all of those times when you were littler, I could not be more happy about the young lady you are becoming.  You are smart, and pretty, and determined.  You are creative.  You love simple things.  You are a hair splitter.  You are grumpy in the morning, which amuses me just a little, and you are (very) chatty in the evenings.  Your stories take too long to tell (there is a lot of detail you feel you simply must portray)…and you have a hard time sticking to one topic; your mind is going in 1,000 different directions at once…too fast to keep up.  Sometimes you try to say something and it comes out like complete gibberish and Daddy and I just burst out laughing because we have no idea what on earth you are talking about.  And you laugh, too. 

You love horses.  You love dogs.  You love reading.  You have a wierd fascination with smiley faces.  Turquoise is your favorite color.  Your fashion sense…hmmm…we’re working on it.  I think if you could, you would wear jeans and a t-shirt every day of your life.  I wonder why it is that you can’t expand a little and then I realize that I wear jeans and a t-shirt every day.  I’m sorry I did that to you. 

Your room is a mess.  You cannot throw even a scrap of paper away.  I fear you are becoming a hoarder.  I have resorted to threatening you with the disappearance of stuff.  That freaks you out, and yet you still do not clean your room.  A part of me is afraid to throw anything away…those old things are a link to the past, and to the little you that I miss so much.  Besides, I know there are worse things in life than your pig sty.

I hope that you will always want to talk to me.  I hope you will always want to share your excrutiatingly detailed stories with me, but I fear that a time will come where I will not be the person you come to.  I will be the person against whom you will rebel.  Maybe not.  But my heart breaks just a little when I think about that.  Daddy and I have given you roots.  I suppose the time will come soon enough that we will have to give you wings, as well.  You will fly so far and so high. 

And then one day you will come back, stronger, and more beautiful than I can even imagine.  (You will come back, right?)

You are my treasure, Kate.  From the very moment you entered my life, you have been my treasure. 

You always will be, Kathryn Sunshine.

All of This

Tags

anniversary, fifteen

We had agreed a while back that we would not buy gifts this anniversary.  It just seemed like something we didn’t need.  That after fifteen years, a gift is less important than just being together. 

Then, we were standing in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes, and I asked him if we were still on the same page with that decision.  And he looked at me like he might not be quite in agreement 100% anymore.  He thinks we might need something to remember the last 15 years by. 

I looked up at the kids, all flopped lazily in the family room watching Zeke and Luther (by the way, what the heck is a bus-waxer?), unfolded laundry piled in the chair, dishes in the sink and stacks of drawings and scissors and glue and paper all over the kitchen.  And my refridgerator…I swore my refridgerator would not be cluttered up.  And there it is, nestled into the wall, covered with artwork, crayon drawings, and photos from the last 15 years.  And Poppy (for once, she was chewing on something she’s actually allowed to chew on), boy do we love Poppy.  

“But we have all of this…” I said to him with a sarcastic wave of my arm.     

And then I smiled because it was true.  We have all of this to show.   

Yes, David, yes. 

I would do it all over again. 

I love you.  Happy Anniversary, Baby.

Autumn

Tags

Autumn

Autumn…

…my favorite season…

…a time to settle in, and make ready for the long, cold winter that is sure to come. 

It is a time to remember what is important, and what is not at all important.  It is a time to appreciate all that we have, and not long for that which we don’t have (like that cast iron pheasant that I really really want.  And that’s all I’m going to say about that). 

We do have a lot…   

Warm, wool stadium blankets.

Soft glowing fires.

Pinecones.

Crisp, cool sunshiney afternoons.

The smell of woodsmoke in the air. 

Football games.  Leather footballs.  The sound of the band practicing in the distance.  Whistles blowing.  Popcorn. 

Apples.  Apple butter.  Apple pie.  Apple bread.  Anything, frankly, to do with apples. 

Mums.

Pumpkins.  Pumpkin bread.  Pumpkin pie spice.

Herringbone, houndstooth and corduroy.

Warm apple cider in cold hands.  Cinnamon stick stirrers.

Pink cheeks and noses and seeing our breath in the air.

Pink and red and orange and yellow and brown trees. 

Leaves that twist and flutter and sparkle against gray flannel skies.

Hot oatmeal with raisins and apples. 

Cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.

Warm suppers from hot ovens.

Evenings that darken early.

Reading together, under a blanket, by the soft, yellow light of a lamp.

Acorns.

The sound of leaves scuttling across the street.

The wind outside the windows.

Warm baths and fleece jammies.  Fuzzy socks.  Slippers.

All of us.  Together.  

We do have a lot.