A few years ago, a friend shared a very helpful way to keep from being overwhelmed by all the artwork the boys create. Because, seriously, between MOPS, church, school and just playing at home, the boys create a lot of masterpieces. Sometimes I actually wish they'd station a recycle bin by the exit doors so parents can discreetly leave some of the fistfuls of papers we get every week (our minivan wishes that, too). While we are faithful to give each piece of art the ooh's and aah's it's due and while we truly are touched by and proud of the effort put into them, it would be pretty well impossible to keep each and every one.

Instead, Brenna's strategy is to keep the most special pieces and take pictures of the others before tossing them.

Anyhow, I'm sharing some personal favorites (that I'm keeping) from recent weeks.

First, here's a photo of some "flowers" Tyler picked for me. The Homeowner's Association is all for "Show Your Mom You Love Her by Picking Her a Weed." I totally love my weed.

The boys love Chuck E. Cheese's photo booths. The problem is the pictures fade within weeks because of the poor ink they use. Tyler has one pretty standard face he makes when getting his picture taken. I simply couldn't let this darling photo fade into history.

Sometimes Noah practices his spelling on construction paper...

That would be his version of "buttocks."

Noah fondly recalls the camping trip we took with some friends.

This is Kennedy, Kendyl and Noah (Tyler is nowhere to be seen because that's how fondly Noah recalls Tyler) dancing to Boom Boom Pow.

And here is a gem Tyler colored. He told me he drew a picture of me and I was so touched because he drew those red roses and hearts to show me what a very loving and loveable Mommy I am.

And then he set me straight and told me, "This is a picture of you yelling when we are being naughty."

I guess if the gigantic red fireball coming out of my head wasn't clear, the crazy eyes should've been a dead giveaway.

But then there are really tender emotions expressed in art and they make up for all the naughty behavior...

And, once in a blue moon, your child may start out writing a letter to one of his grandmothers and instead turn it into a note to you because you let him help you cook dinner.

Radical is Radical

So I'm finally reading Radical.

Wow.

Ouch.

And, wow, again.

I decided a hot bath with chapter four would be relaxing and get me closer to achieving my goal of finishing one book this season.

Why is it that being a mom suddenly means I no longer finish books?

As a side note, let me just mention I've learned that Radical isn't a book you take to the tub if you intend to relax your mind. Nor is it a book to grab if you are hoping for someone named Calgon to take you away.

Instead, you might find yourself sitting upright, vigorously scrubbing away layers of both dead and live skin cells and hair follicles as you suddenly feel the need to run 42 miles except that it is 11:30 p.m. and you are naked because you are in the tub. Also, it is 33 degrees because Texas has finally realized it is DECEMBER. So, instead, you get all that energy gained from, "This book gets it!" and you turn it into exfoliating to the fifth layer of the epidermis (yes, I wikipedia'd that).

And then you might find yourself so connected to the book you start adding your own notes to the front and back covers of the book because the words are just pouring out of your heart. You don't even have to think.

So here is what I wrote (and more...because you know I'm wordy)...

So many years of restlessness. A deep-seated desire for there to be more. I was following "the plan" for my life. And I was happy. College degreed, married, living in the suburbs, going to church, having kids, etc. But something didn't sit right. Was I going to get to heaven and go, "Well, what was all that about?" Was I going to be hanging out with James at the banquet table and say, "Man, that was a great life. I tried not to sin, I forgave others, I cried for starving babies on t.v., I taught Sunday school and, get this, Jim...I even went on some MISSION TRIPS. I lived to be pretty old but I could still take my grandkids skiing. And, then I DIED IN MY SLEEP because that is the American Dream right there. Pretty sweet, huh?"

Awkward pause because James is just so in awe of the awesomeness of my life. To help him out, I ask, "So...how did you go, Jim? What was that? You died by the sword? Like a beheading?"

My turn to deliver the awkward pause.

Then I turn to my left and there is Abednego. And I can't really make conversation with him because, HELLO, he walked into FLAMES for God.

Thankfully, Luke is across the table and I know this guy was a doctor. I just know he owned my dream house on a lake. And Andrew is next to him. I remember something about him fishing and dropping his nets or something. I'm gonna guess he got some good fishing in once he retired from following Jesus.

But, seriously, when I think about the end of my life and I ask, "What was that all about?" I don't want to have missed the point. I spent many years feeling like, somehow, something told me life as I knew it wasn't it. There had to be more. We've got one life to live. Shouldn't there be more to it than the stuff?

But it couldn't just be that I had some need to be some kind of awesome. To live on the edge just so I could stand a little taller at the judgement seat or so I could feel important and have "an identity." A "legacy."

No, it can't be about me and simply filling a need for my life to count.

Instead, it's gotta be about His glory and His purpose. If everything is made FOR Him, then I am grouped in there. He sets eternity in the hearts of men. We all have that itch to do something with our lives. We all have that deep-seated something that says, "There's something much bigger than living and then dying."

I used to have a "go with the flow" attitude toward the American Dream. To do what was expected, to get to enjoy comfort, family and security.

No more.

I want to get to heaven and be able to say, "A-HA."

"So that's what that was all about."

Promises Kept

Three times I have been to South Africa.

Three times I had to kiss my babies and my husband goodbye.

Three times my heart felt like it was ripped out as I drove away from the ones I love most.

My first trip, Noah was three and Tyler was one. I went back one year later. My last trip, in January, Noah was five and Tyler was three. Anniston was weeks old inside me and I was excited to know at least one of my children was going with me.

The first time I had to walk into my boys' dark rooms to kiss them goodbye, they stayed asleep. Watching them breath in and out, Noah in his big boy bed and Tyler in his crib, and praying fervent prayers for them before I walked away was one of the hardest things I've done as a Mom. That first trip, Brian held me in the living room as I bawled and said, "I can't do this."

But I did. And they did.

And then I went back for more one year later. That time, the boys stayed overnight at my parents' house since Brian had to work. I left a letter for them to read when they woke, but Tyler woke up before I was able to leave. I remember his small body on my Mom's back as my Dad and I pulled out of the driveway and headed to the airport.

This last trip, by far, was the hardest. Three times is a lot of times to leave your children for ten days and go halfway around the world. This year, they were old enough to know what what happening. Tyler remained asleep in the bottom bunk while Noah stirred the moment I walked in their room. Noah is the hardest sleeper so I knew his anxiety made him easily awakened. Brian held him as friends picked me up to take me to the church. I heard him yell out, "I love you, Mommy!" as I watched him cry in his daddy's arms.

This time, when I got home, I hugged Noah and vowed, "I will never go to South Africa again without you." I surprised myself with that statement because it's pretty bold to say in light of the fact that my plans don't always align with God's. I had a small moment of, "Uhhhh, now what am I going to do if God calls me back and I've also made this promise?"

Well, it turns out that is a worry I no longer have to hold. Because this time, as I go back, I will indeed be going with Noah. And Tyler and Anniston and Brian.

And I will be fulfilling a childhood dream about 30 years early.

Because it looks like we have a move in our very near future.

I'm sure it would take a book to explain how we got to this point (with all my wordiness, it probably feels like you've been reading one!). But what we're sharing today is that we have a very real calling to go to South Africa next year. Likely, late summer. Brian is going on a scouting trip in January to, hopefully, gain some clarity on where we're moving.

Someday I'll try to share the process God took us through to get here. It boils down to this...we opened our hands and released the things we held so tightly to and surrendered. I don't know that I'm bold enough to say we truly surrendered all, but we've surrendered this part of our lives. All to Him, our blessed Savior. While there are so many unknowns, months of training ahead and peace still needed for our families, we have been astounded by the peace God's given us.

Because, along with the promise He's allowing me to keep with Noah, He's made some promises, too.

Peace I leave with you, My peace I give you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5,6

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you. Psalm 32:8

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Isaiah 40:29

My grace is sufficient for thee, for My strength is made perfect in weakness. 2 Corinthians 12:9
Faithful is He who calls you, and He also will bring it to pass. 1 Thessalonians 5:24

We're so thankful for His promises and to know His plans for us are good.

Jeremiah 29:11

A is for "Apple." B is for "Buttalks."

There is that phrase, "All I need to know about life, I learned in kindergarten."

Hot dog. It's proving to be true.

And then some.

Noah has come home with all kinds of new words lately.

A couple weekends ago, we went camping with some friends. And, in the midst of all our getting back to nature activities like dancing to Boom, Boom Pow (blaring from the speakers attached to the MP3 player) and playing Go Fish, I hear Noah say something to Kendyl about, "my Mom." As in, not "Mommy." Just "Mom." As in, he's suddenly too cool to be my baby. I am secretly licking my "I Want to be Mommy for Awhile Longer" wounds when I hear him say something like, "Give it to Jen."

So now the six year old and his "Mom" are on a first name basis.

Wounded.

We are a few weeks into kinder when Noah trots through the door one day and announces, with a little too much gleam in his eyes, that he needed to "take a wizz." Kid, I realize as I type this, I don't even know if wizz is spelled wizz, whiz or wiz. But, it turns out, "Jen" is not cool with the phrase, "take a wizz."

Then there was something about, "I can fit my butt in my mouth." And though I'd like to think I have a sense of humor, I'd also like to think that "butt" of his isn't so small it can't be swatted because he knows a line has been crossed. Oh, the boy knows. I see the gleam in his eyes. I see right through you, Noah Jack.

So, yes, we have had some nice Jen and Son convos about choosing good words and not repeating everything others say, etc., etc.

I have a feeling we'll be having these conversations for the next 12 years.

Then there are some things that just go with boyhood that I'm, oddly, finding myself okay with.

Take, for instance, the armpit toot.

Noah came home one day, hand in his armpit, pumping his elbow up and down so fiercely I almost called him derrick and checked for oil. It was fruitless labor as he didn't quite have the proper technique to achieve what he was working toward. That is one of those delicate balances where much more can be achieved with much less effort. Sort of like whistling. You wouldn't get a good whistle by blowing with too much force.

Did I just devote an entire paragraph to the art of the armpit toot?

Why, yes. Yes, I did.

Did I ever in my life expect to string together the words, "the art of the armpit toot?"

Why, no. No, I didn't.

But, it turns out, I'm the "Mom" of two boys and, I'm sorry, but when your kid is sitting in the tub and he looks up at you with big, sweet brown eyes and sincerely asks, "Mommy, can you teach me how to do armpit farts?" how can you say no? I felt like I'd be letting him down if he couldn't join in the playground symphony of the armpits. There are just some things a boy ought to know, I suppose.

So, a few weeks into kinder, I find myself in an out of body experience as I take a deep breath, place my hand under my shirt, cup it over my armpit and do my best to demonstrate. And to take this to a new level of surreal, I am actually adjusting and readjusting his hand over his armpit and encouraging him to never give up because, "you just have to practice and I know you'll get it, buddy."

Out. of. body. experience.

The problem is (there are so many problems with this), I've never in my life actually been able to produce an armpit toot. I just know of the ideal hand placement and I do all I can to talk him through it. I find myself the next day actually encouraging Brian to get in there and show Noah how it's done.

And, I feel I must add, Noah conquered the art of the armpit toot within 24 hours.

Pride. It's right here. In Jen's heart.

Two nights ago, I wanted to spend some one on one time with Noah. He'd had such a great evening and I was looking forward to reading to and just hanging out with him. We were shoulder to shoulder as he listened intently to the story of the blind man healed by Jesus in John 9. I tried to make the story come alive as we pictured together how it must've been before and after the man's healing. We imagined Jesus spitting into the dirt and creating a clay to place on the man's eyes. And, man, what it must've been like to see for the first time. Ooh, such good, good stuff.

As that story finished, Noah asked me to tell him a "fiction" story. So, I weaved together a tale of a sapling who, year after year, grew more jealous of all the things around him that were taller...the grass, the weeds and the flowers. And in the end, while the sapling so longed to be like the things around him, what he didn't realize was that his roots were deeper and stronger and how it's so much more important for what's unseen to grow than it is to be tall or beautiful, etc. on the outside. I was so proud of mine and Aesop's ability to piece together a good fable as Noah and I started to list how we grow our insides to be strong...by loving others well, being kind, using nice words, etc.

And that is precisely when Noah knocked me back down to earth by saying, "Like, we shouldn't call someone a buttocks..."

Here is where I wanted to say...Hey, Kid. I told you a cool story about Jesus and His awesomeness in giving the blind man sight and then I went all Aesop on you and made up a pretty sweet story with a moral to it and now you are concluding this special Jen and Son time by pointing out that we shouldn't call someone a "buttalks".

While we're at it, let me just clear things up for you.

No, it is not okay to call someone a "buttalks."

No, it is not okay to call someone a "little big butt."

And, no, it is not okay to use the phrase, "butt crack."

In fact, let's just do away with the use of "butt" altogether.

No, you will not "take a wizz" or, let's just establish it before you ask, "take a leak" or "pinch a loaf" as long as you are under this roof.

No, I am not interested in hanging out with anyone whose "butt can fit into their mouth." For one thing, that's not even possible.

And I am glad you are so super duper excited that you have achieved the perfect armpit toot. So much so that you now greet me with the sight of you vigorously pumping them out as I make my way up the carpool lane to pick you up. I am one proud Jen. (Though I am sorry your armpit is red and raw from all the practice you put into learning how to do armpit toots. In one day. There is a such thing as being overzealous. Maybe you'll learn that in Kindergarten, too.).

And, one last thing, child of mine. You are a boy. And you are in kindergarten. And you know how to armpit toot. And, you may call me Mom in front of your friends.

BUT. The fact is, I notice you still call me "Mommy" when it's just the two of us.

Yep, I see right through you, Noah Jack.

Bingo

I finally came down with the sore throat that plagued Brian at the end of last week. I knew it was coming. Just knew I'd be tacking it on to the string of physical ailments that have been my thorn in the flesh since Anniston was born. The cold sores are going on 7 weeks, so it's only fitting that I'd catch the first bug Brian brought home from high school.

My ailments like to tag team. They are little wrestlers.

Today was also our first PTA meeting. It was so tempting to stay home and skip the meeting and the Bingo tournament following. But, the elementary schools know how to get parents in the building. THEY TELL YOUR KIDS ABOUT THE PRIZES, BINGO TOURNAMENT, PRIZES, PIZZA AND, YES, THE PRIZES, ALL DAY so that, when your child comes to you and says the word, "Bingo," like it was gold, you know you're going.

It soon followed that Noah, Anniston and I found ourselves pulling up to the school driveway, ready for some PRIZES Bingo. Brian and Tyler stayed home. Apparently, daddies were not born with the guilt gene that all mommies are saddled with. Right next to the gene that hears your kid throwing up in your doorway in the middle of the night and you hear it but, miracle of miracles, your hubby sleeps right on through it.

Not that we have ever experienced that in our household.

Anyhow, so began the Bingo tournament and the lesson I didn't see coming.

Noah and I must share a little superstitious gene because both of us stayed loyal to our cards through most of the rounds we played. We figured our respective card's one shining moment had to come at some point. With each round, our cards disproved our theory and the tension mounted.

TENSION.

Because there were PRIZES involved. Glorious water bottles, sticky hands, silly bandz...the stuff dreams are made of. Oh, the excitement. Oh, the PRIZES.

And I pray and I pray. I so deeply want this for him, my competitive child. I want victory, I want success, I want a prize, a thrill for him. I glance at his card and at mine, double, triple checking. I long to hear his voice call out, "Bingo!" For him to know the proud march to the front to prove his win and gain his prize. At some point, I realize I am not even enjoying the game, so badly do I want this for him.

And I see he wants it, too. His eyes are dancing, he's on the edge of his seat. He scans his card diligently, boldly marking his card and even counting down how close he is to winning. He has to pee so bad, he's squirming, but he's afraid to leave. Finally, rounds into it, I convince him he needs to get thee to a bathroom. We make quick plans for me to watch over his card as he races to the boys' room. In no time, he is back, ready to re-join the competition.

And I pray and I pray. My prayer is in nearly every breath. Lord, I want this for him. I want him to have this win. Please, God, let him win. Not for any glory. Not for any competitive nature in me. Not for the silly bandz. Simply because he's so excited and what parent doesn't want their child to know the thrill of the win?

And then he speaks The Words and I know instantly he will not win tonight. I keep praying, but I know. He says, "I just know I'm going to win." And, with those words, I knew. I knew. Something told me there would not be sweet victory. Instead, he would learn something tonight in heartbreaking defeat. He would learn that we can set our minds to some things, but simply deciding we will win will not, in fact, make us win. And, he'll learn something else that's hard for any of us to learn. Maturity and completion come through trials. Hmm...seems like that's Biblical. Something/Someone tells me Noah will walk out with a character lesson instead of a school water bottle and silly bandz tonight.

All of this forces me to examine myself. What is it that I truly want for him? The easy win, the luck of the draw, the victory for which he truly did not work? Or, do I want the big picture? The hard lessons that must come if he's to be any man I hope for him to be. The lesson that says you will not always get what you want no matter how hard you believe you will. Believe and work hard, yes, but know that belief does not have the final say.

"I hate myself." I don't know why or even how a six year old speaks that. But he did. As soon as we were in the car, he declared it. So deep was his disappointment. And this is where I really knew that Noah was meant to learn something tonight. There is so much pressure to say the right things, to shift his focus to the correct perspective, to balance understanding and sympathy with truth, to teach him that we can have gratitude for the time spent together and for the chance to compete despite defeat, to say that we'll fight another day at the next Bingo tournament...so much I wanted to say just right. Because I know I was given that moment.

I don't know how much he heard tonight. How do you reason with a six year old? But, if he hears us say these things enough times as he grows, maybe they will sink in someday. I don't have all the right words, I'm sure of it. I only know that I am his mom and I'm given moments like these to mold him. I do my best and I rest in the fact that Noah got a dose of character building tonight. That he did not walk away with a prize in hand, but with the testing of his character as his prize.

Sigh.

This parenting thing makes my brain and my heart work too hard sometimes.

Noah, Tyler and Annison, I want victory for you. I want you to taste the thrill of the competition and to know the proud march to claim your prize. I want to see the dance of your eyes. I love the childlike belief that you can do anything you put your mind to.

But, I want for you to be humbled, too. I want you to know defeat so you will learn how to handle victory with class. I want for you to be disappointed so you will know how to be grateful. I want you to fall on your face so you'll know the kind of digging deep it takes to stand up again. I want you to believe you can do all things IN CHRIST, but to know that, win or lose, the big picture is that it truly is all about Christ's glory. And I hope Christ got some glory tonight. Noah, I hope your little heart got something bigger and better than a bouncy ball and some candy. Something more lasting, more eternally focused. Something that makes you a better winner and a better loser. A better man. A man who knows all things are temporary and who learns to set his heart and mind on things above.

Because THAT is the ultimate prize.

Spe-cial Kid

Noah had his six year check up.

He is in the 75%ile for height and weight and everything was A-okay.

He picked out two stickers with the plan to keep one and give one of them to his daddy and me.

But what do you do when you have just one sticker to split between two people?

12:01 a.m.

One of these things is not like the others,

One of these things just doesn't belong.

Can you tell which thing is not like the others

By the time I finish my song?

Do You See What I See?

I was snacking on some kettle chips today and looked down to see this. It's a slight stretch of the imagination, but if you know me at all, you'll know what it reminded me of.
Sigh...

A piece of my soul will always be there.

Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika.

Playing Possum

The other day, a friend commented on her Facebook status that her daughter wants to be an Aggie.

I started to reply that her daughter is a genious.

A genious.

GeniOus.

Irony.

I love it.

It doesn't take a genIUS to see the irony here either.

Miss Princess and the Pea is not impressed with her bouncy seat. Or her swing. Or tummy time. Or the objects we dangle above her in an effort to find something that makes her as content as being snuggled.

I was so good about putting our boys down before they fully fell asleep so they'd learn how to sleep without being held. I don't know what it is about this child okay, let's get real, she is my last baby, y'all, but it is as if I've swallowed a huge bunch of asking for it because I'm having a hard time putting her down and letting her soothe herself. And my sleep habits are paying dearly for it. She has perfected the method of appearing to be deep in sleep, only to jolt awake mere minutes after I've laid her down.

The other night, we went through several rounds of such exercises. Just when I thought she was deep asleep and it was safe to put her down, I'd hear her crying and we'd hit repeat.

That same night, I discovered this opossum shortly after our dogs did.
No question this poor baby was dead by the time I snapped this, but, just seconds before, there wasn't any blood and I began to wonder if it was playing possum. It was lying very still and its breathing had become shallow.

Intrigued, I watched and waited for it to show some sign of life, in awe of it's ability to stay so still because it was DEAD, Jen.

I glanced over at this little girl lying on the couch.

I had just spent half the evening putting her down just to discover her wide awake and wanting to be held a few minutes later. She would lie very still and her breathing would become shallow...

I looked out at the possum. I looked at her on the couch. I looked at the possum. I looked at her.

And then it dawned on me. Our daughter has perfected playing possum.

Genius.

Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe...Breasts, Ribs

I have a long-seated hesitancy in telling our boys proper names for certain body parts. (The private ones if that wasn't obvious).

It is irrational. It is immature. It is something I need to get over, I know.

I'm trying to overcome that by easing into it. Having a new baby has allowed me some opportunities are you kidding me, I have nothing sacred left to hide to step out of my comfort zone. In those first days of healing, especially, nothing remained covered up. Airing out my incision, changing pads, my catheter bag...they witnessed it all.

"BREASTfeeding," in particular, was one of my first hurdles to clear. Believe me, I was tempted to call it "nursing" or "suckling" and be done with it. But then I felt like a Puritan or a pig farmer and everyone knows Asian girls look funny in curly wigs and those accordion neck collars aren't practical in this Texas heat anyway.

So, I stepped out with breastfeeding. The two words used together posed no threat to my conservative soul. It was the BREAST part that I didn't want to explain or hear the boys using. Noah has, for some reason, taken to calling them "paddies" over the last year. I have no idea why, only that I never bothered to correct him. I mean, come 25 years old, yeah, I'll correct him. Who wants a married man calling them paddies, after all?

Unless his wife is named Patty. Then it would be fine to call them "Patty's."

I do want to mention that the boys also call nipples "nickels." Which we've never corrected either. But mostly because we think it's cute.

Our boys are going to be confused come sex ed or anatomy class.

It turns out saying "BREASTfeeding" and calling them "BREASTS" wasn't difficult once I said those words for the first few times. And it was all working out well and good and I felt like I'd finally laid aside the accordion collar and joined the 21st century.

Until Tyler walked into the kitchen today and announced that his breasts were hurting.

Confused, we looked down to see him pointing at the base of his ribs. Nowhere near his "breasts."

Back to square one.

And the 17th century.

Warp Speed...Ain't Happenin'

Noah had his first homework assignment of his school career his first week of school. To help generate ideas for creative writing on their journaling days, each kiddo had to fill out a Me Tree. On one side, we helped Noah think of his favorite things (food, friends, interests, etc.). On the other, he was to find magazine pictures of things that interest him. Easy enough.

Or so I thought.

If you know Noah, it should come as no surprise that he cut out pictures that were related to sports and video games. He had the Aggies, sports equipment, Wii, Playstation 3 and Nintendo DS covered. All things that mean Brian can't deny his paternity very six year old stuff of interest.

Then he spotted a full-page ad and insisted he wanted it on his page.

Now, it's only kindergarten and I certainly don't want to be "that" parent that hinders their child's creativity and initiative when it comes to doing their own homework. But, for this, there needed to be an intervention.

And, naturally, the kiddo wanted to know, "WHY?" On the spot, the only thing I could think of was that I didn't think it was a good idea because it was too large to fit on his tree and, um, would cover everything else up and, um, wouldn't he rather put his twenty seventh picture of a video game on there instead?

I was able to refrain from saying...

AND ALSO BECAUSE IT IS A PICTURE OF A LIFE-SIZED MAXI PAD, NOAH.

I think the "warp speed" was the hook. You can't tease a kid with a product that promises warp speed anything. This thing even looks like it's about to take flight. Wings expanded, sparkly stars in the sky. All things that get pilots and little boys excited. Not sure why it's marketed to women this way. Of all the things I look for in a solid maxi pad, "warp speed" never occurred to me.

But, really.

Ain't happenin', Son.

(I do, however, thank you for generating an idea for this blog).

Noah's First Day of School

Well, we survived the first day of kindergarten. There were less tears than I imagined and no wailing like I'd envisioned. There was no need for a box of tissues and no need to peel us apart at the doorway.

I did much better than I thought, thank you very much.

Oh, and Noah was a champ, too.

The day started off around 6:40 when Brian went to wake the guys.

I use the term, "wake," loosely. Man, 6:40 is early!

He'd fixed a waffle breakfast and we kicked off the big day with giving Noah the backpack Brian had picked out. Not because we planned it as a first day of school surprise, but more like, of all the things we needed to buy for school, somehow we waited til the dead last minute to buy this. Brian made a run to Wal-mart around 9:00 last night.

Either way, Noah was delighted.

Tyler was even feeling the love as he told him, "I'm goina miss you."

First, we sent the big boy off to school.
And then began the anxiety wherein Noah followed me around the house all morning and made statements like, "Seven hours is a long time. I'm going to miss you. Preschool was only five hours." And, finally, he asked if I could get on Facebook to ask my friends if kindergarten is fun.

Facebook much, Jen?

I obliged and my friends came through with wonderful words of encouragement. He got on a few times before we left so he could read them. He also felt a sudden need to practice writing his name using lower case letters (he'd been writing in uppercase throughout preschool).

I've been trying all summer to get him to do this. It was 20 minutes before we needed to leave for school. I think he inherited my procrastination gene. So, I broke out the dry erase pad and wrote his name. And he practiced.
I think his nerves got the better part of him again since the last one he practiced reverted back to the capital "A."

We took this picture of Noah to mark how he looked his first day of school.
Incidentally, it dawned on me later that it's no good taking pictures year to year to mark how much your child has grown if you take them next to a tree THAT WILL ALSO GROW.

We loaded up the car and I was a happy camper. We live about three minutes from school. I was soooo proud of myself for getting the crew out of the house with 20 WHOLE minutes before school. This is a feat for the girl who has Asian blood coursing through her veins. Which basically means I'm perpetually late. Only 179 more times to go. Oh my word.

Anyway, we left with 20 minutes before the tardy bell.

Rookie mistake.

Because, on the first day of school, it turns out, it takes two WHOLE minutes just to pull out of the neighborhood.

And then whomever designed the school modeled the pick up lane after the Bermuda Triangle. Once you get in, you cannot get out. I wasn't really panicked until I turned into the parking lot and realized I was committed. There was no getting out. Even if I were not driving a honkin' huge bus Expedition, I couldn't have squeezed my way out of there. There is a small part of me that wondered if I could barrel across the grassy field as I was in a SUV. But I get the feeling that would've been frowned upon and I'm really trying hard to get accepted into the PTA. I was either going to get a parking spot or I was going to make Noah tardy on his first day of school because it was going to take forever to break out of the parking lot, find a place to park and then walk three kids into the school in nine minutes.

On the hottest day on record this year.

Enter PANIC MODE. Oh, how I sweated. Oh, how I kicked myself for making Noah late on his first day. And, oh how I prayed and begged God to open up a miracle spot. Just as things were looking dismal and I was in full panic mode, my prayers were blessedly answered in the very last parking space. I threw that monster truck in park and unloaded the crew.
We entered the kindergarten pod with minutes to spare.

And then...the big moment that I'd been dreading for six years. The big goodbye-to-your-babyhood-what-happened-to-yesterday-when-you-were-still-blowing-spit-bubbles-at-me-and-are-you-sure-we-didn't-enter-some-warped-time-zone-where-six-years-vanished-just-like-that-does-anybody-else-hear-Billy-Dean-singing-Let-Them-Be-Little-playing-in-the-background moment.

BUT MY BOY ROCKED IT. I was so proud of Noah! I planted an air kiss in his hand and squeezed it shut. I showered him with words of love and excitement. And then I did the rookie parent thing and lingered in the doorway so I could snap these pics.Oh, yes, and he did return to me for one last hug before he disappeared into the pod. You can see the anxiety on his face. But, he bravely marched on into his room and found his table.
Tyler, Anniston and I headed to the cafeteria for the Boo-hoo's and Yahoo's breakfast.

Until I realized that the only worse thing than crying while you down OJ and bagels is doing it in front of a bunch of strangers, so we left.

Brian's school lets out thirty minutes before Noah's, so he was able to jump in the car and go with us to pick him up. I think the only time I was that close to being so excited to see Noah was the day I met him. I kept tearing up and even caught myself clapping my hands, so great was my anticipation.

Brian's take on the whole Kindergarten deal was that we were,"One step closer to some one-on-one time."

Only 18 more years to go, Mr. Sentimental.

Our boy finally came out of the building. More like burst out of the building and ran to us. This is the picture Brian snapped when Noah spotted us.

Other than pointing out that I forgot to pack his snack (who forgot to tell me I was supposed to pack a snack??? Mommy Fail!), he breathlessly announced that "everything" was his favorite. His cheeks were pink, his eyes were dancing and he was completely and fully in love with that thing called Kindergarten.

When we got home, the schoolboys had a surprise waiting for them. We've decided to start a new first day of school tradition where they get a bag of treats when they get home. I orginially was going to put them in tube socks and call them, "School Socks." Until I realized...School Socks. School. Socks. Sounds too much like, "School Sucks." So, it looks like I'll need to come up with another name for it.

The first day wouldn't have been complete without his first homework assignment.

And, finally, here is the picture taken at the end of a very sweaty, satisfying day with a door that WILL NOT GROW.

Insert Sappy Celine Dion Song Here

For some unknown reason, Noah's been saying this last week that he wants to see the sunrise. He even asked me to wake him early to see it. As he was birthed into a family of night owls, I have a feeling he's in for a rude awakening in the morning. Tomorrow is the first day of school. The first day he'll likely see a sunrise. And, possibly, the last day he'll ever make that kind of crazy request again.

KINDERGARTEN.

Be still my heart.

How did we get here so fast?

How did we go from the sleep all day phase that Anniston's in at four weeks to a sixth birthday last Wednesday?

Sometimes I think the scenario in the movie Groundhog Day doesn't seem so bad. I could re-live these last six years over and over. They have had their low points, but those low points would be worth re-living the days of seeing his toothless first grin, watching his ape-like toddler walk, the way he called me, "Boppy" instead of "Mommy," the fact that he still loves to be tickled...yeah, these six years have been full of the highlights of my life.

We had a good last day of summer, all things considered. My cold sore bout has been a thorn in my flesh the last three weeks, but today was still special. Brian and Tyler spent a few hours at school while Brian got his classroom ready for tomorrow. Noah and Anniston stayed home with me. As Anniston sleeps all day, it gave Noah and me plenty of time to play. Which always magically makes him pleasant to be trapped in a house with. He is just a different kid when he's got all the attention and we're doing things he likes to do. We played dominoes, soccer, dodge ball and read three Berenstein Bear books. I don't always do a good job of treasuring how much he craves my attention, but I recognize what a gift it is that Noah is young enough that he wants to play with me. I know that won't always be the case.

Until today, Noah had displayed a surprising level of excitement over kindergarten. He loved seeing his classroom and finding his desk at Meet the Teacher. He smiled and made eye contact with his teacher as he shook her hand. And that is huge for my shy guy who still wouldn't greet his preschool teachers at the end of the school year in May. I think that one year of holding him back made a huge difference in his confidence and I'm grateful. His courage has given me courage. But, this afternoon, I think the anxiety began to set in. He began to say he was going back to preschool tomorrow. That he wanted me to come teach his fitness class as I have the last three years. He began to call tomorrow "the sad day."

I had hoped to read The Kissing Hand to him tonight. A friend was going to give me her copy and I found out a few days ago that it had been misplaced and was likely donated to the church preschool department. That's okay, some other child will be blessed by it. But, as the day was winding down, I found myself needing to mark the start of this new phase of life with some sort of special reading. As Lord of the Flies is neither topically fitting for this situation nor age appropriate, I settled for a made up story. I knew enough about the story of Chester the Raccoon and his fears about the first day of school that I decided to wing it. I had the boys' rapt attention as I went on about a raccoon and what I supposed his fears might be. In the middle, I nearly got too choked up to finish my made up story (how pathetic was that...didn't I know what was coming?) but was able to regain composure. We concluded with the promise that Daddy and I would plant kisses that stick on Noah's palms in the morning. Mine may turn out to be air kisses because kisses full of herpes viruses that stick are no bueno. He, of course, asked what happens if he opens his hands. Thank goodness Mommy and Daddy kisses are really, really sticky and they don't fall out. At least, that's what I told him. So, we'll see if holding our kisses to his cheeks helps him get through the day. I'm really looking forward to seeing the grin on his face when his whole family goes to pick him up.

Anyway, the boys are now tucked snug in their beds. Noah's favorite bedtime wish is, "Sleep tight, sweet dreams, don't let the big buggy bite you." And, if he hasn't said it to every member of the family, he tells one of us to pass it on. Tonight, it sounded especially sweet to me. Again because there will be a day that he no longer says that and this kindergarten thing is a great reminder of how fleeting time is.

So, here I am, on the eve of the first step to letting go.

My Dear Noah Jack,

I'm sitting here on the couch, wondering how we got here so soon. Tomorrow morning, I'll wake you up bright and early (maybe even dark and early) and get you ready for the first day of your school career. Preschool was practice, this is the real thing. Tomorrow begins a 17+ school career. But, really, it signals to me how one third of your time under my care has already flown by and how much faster these school years are going to go.

Tonight, you and Tyler played in the backyard while Daddy mowed. You ran in for a drink (cheeks all flushed, body all sweaty and heart all HAPPY) and I gave you a five minute warning. Just as I gave it, I realized that was the last one of the summer. Then I began to think that it was really the last one of your childhood, pre-school. From here on, you'll know what the end of summer brings. From now on, play days are no longer unlimited. You will not have seven days a week with which to play and be a kid.

Tonight, you are innocent to what it really means to be in school five days a week for seven hours each day. Tonight, you are still my baby but there is something new on the horizon. It is the last night before the lifelong process of letting go each parent faces. Tomorrow, August 23, marks the day that you step out into the world as your Daddy and I release you into God's care. Before we know it, we'll be making the drive to drop you off for our first night in your college dorm.

Shudder...

I think the weight of that is still hitting me. It's been so hectic the last few days with me fighting this cold sore outbreak from Hades and preparing for your combined birthday party with Tyler last night. This evening, I finally paused long enough to realize what it meant that I was making your lunch, setting out your clothes and writing you a love note for you to find in your lunch. I felt compelled to go into your room, where you and Tyler are soundly sleeping. While I normally pray in whatever position I'm in, tonight I felt the need to get on my knees as I faced your bed and prayed aloud. God had a Son, too, that He had to let go of so He could fulfill God's purpose for Him. Because He knows the love of a parent, I know God gets my Mommy heart. My heart tonight feels something like this...

Father, I thank you for the blessing of raising these three children. For the gift that you've given Brian and me in calling them ours. Father, I pray that our children are a blessing to You and that we are equipping them in the way that brings You glory. I pray for courage tomorrow, for Noah and us. I ask that You release him from any dread in the morning and allow him to fully enjoy his first day. Please help everything to go smoothly in the morning and let Him feel your peaceful presence throughout the day. I pray that he will be a blessing to You even as he is learning who You are. I pray that we have equipped him to be a blessing to those around him. I ask that You will help us release him and live with open fingers, knowing that these children are first Yours. You know how very much I long for these children to stay as they are; young and simple and free from the cares of the world. I want so much for them to stay this innocent and have such a funny way of looking at life. But, God, I know one of my most important roles as their Mother is letting them go, so help me do that. Let him be fully clothed in Your armor as he goes into the huge, wide world. Please help Noah to bless You in his mannerisms, his words and his thoughts. Father, I ask that you would bring people into his life that will strengthen his developing faith this next year. Please protect his heart and his mind as he goes into the world. Thank You for blessing my heart with his life.

P.S. Dear God, help me survive this letting go thing. And, also, sunrise.

In Jesus' name. Amen.

I love you with all my soul, Noah Jack. You'll always be my baby. I am so THANKFUL to be your Mommy!

These Golden Years

I've been feeling melancholy lately. I suspect it has to do with a combo of post partum hormones and a lack of continuous sleep. And, possibly feeling like I've turned into a dairy cow, always ready for the next milking. Whatever the cause, I found myself deeply missing my childhood yesterday. Maybe it was the simplicity of it. The security of it. No hospital bills to figure out how to pay. No desire to escape our town to find adventure (and cooler temps, oh my word). It was everywhere. No sense of boredom with the everyday routine of life. All we did was play in the sunshine and life was complete. So simple.

What triggered yesterday's episode was watching Charlie Brown with Noah and hearing the tinker of the piano music come on. Something about that sound brought back memories of dining at the Officers' Club all my growing up years. There was something so warm about those days at the O Club...dimmed lights, linen table cloths, quiet conversations, family time, someone tinkering on a baby grand...warm fuzzies. And something in me yearned so deeply for those days again. I love military bases. Remind me so much of my childhood, when happy days abounded because things were easy and I felt secure.

We headed out to a shaved ice vendor on the east side of town last night. The east side, full of old brick buildings that have been there since before I was a child. Something about those reminded me of my Dad's hometown and the visits to see my Granny. I suddenly felt a longing for my Granny's old stone house with the green astroturf that covered her patio. The smells of Aquanet hairspray and Caress soap and her gas stove. The sign in her bathroom that read, "We aim to please. You aim, too, please." Crowding into her kitchen or gathering on the couch in the living room after a full meal. My Granny's quick wit and easy laugh.

So, by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the shaved ice trailer, I was near tears. Noah and Brian jumped out to get their treats while Anniston and I waited in the air conditioned car. Tyler was with my parents. As I sat there, though, something changed while I watched Noah jump around in anticipation. I soaked in the vision of his daddy lifting him into his strong arms as Noah rested his arm comfortably across his shoulder blades. His arm fit so naturally across Brian's back as his long, tanned legs dangled down Brian's side. My boy who will be six in less than two weeks and who will start his school career in less than three. I witnessed this child of mine press his face up against the glass so he could watch magic being made. (I'm sorry, Mr. Man in the booth, for the smudges his squished up nose left behind.) And, as they waited for their cups to be completed, I saw my son jump around the grass and explore, dimple in his right cheek showing up in his huge satisfied grin. He delighted in finding someone's lost pair of blue flip flops and dashed back to the car to show me what he found so that "Tyler can have some blue ones, too!" Of course, I gently told him to return them in case their owner came back and he immediately did so. I watched my boy's brown eyes dance as he dashed back to the car to show me his rainbow-colored dessert, red, green, blue and yellow. His life so complete, his joy so simple.

It was after 8:00 and there is a reason photographers call that last bit of sunlight the golden hour or the magic hour. Somehow, the lighting softened everything about what I was watching. And I felt my soul quiet. And I realized that I need not long for the old days, when things were seemingly more golden and magical. I have magic right in front of me right here, right now. Someday, I'll long for these days again. Someday, these days that are so routine and yet so complicated will be the golden years for me. Someday, I'll long for the simplicity of spontaneous trips to blow hard-earned money at shaved and flavored pieces of ice. Someday, I'll miss those dancing bright eyes.

And, my soul let loose a long sigh. Not in resignation, but in contentment, as I responded, "Okay, God, okay."

I am thankful for the lesson.

A Time to Scatter Stones and a Time to Search

Tonight was one of those nights I hope to always to remember. Sometimes I actually ask God to help me have memory snapshots of moments like these where I can think back years from now and remember just how rich it was when our kids were young. But, lest I have a lapse in my memory, I suppose that's what this ol' blog is for.

Anyway, after we grilled some steaks and fixins, we decided to surprise the boys with a late evening firefly hunt. Oh, how I love the easy-going-ness of summer.

We walked down toward our neighborhood park and positioned ourselves in a grove of trees. While we spotted several fireflies, we were never able to get close enough to catch them. Hindsight is such a humorous thing. It turns out that spraying on gobs of insect repellent before going hunting for bugs is counterproductive. Ya think? We caught exactly zero fireflies. Next time we'll know we must make blood sacrifices and possibly risk the West Nile virus in order to secure such treasures as fireflies. But does anyone disagree it is worth it to have that jar full of lit up bugs at your bedside all night?

Anyway, after our lack of success with fireflies, we did the next best thing and let the boys run down to the playground and have some fun. I just love summer nights with no set schedules and places we have to be in the morning. It was pitch dark by then and Brian and I made our way over to the benches to watch the boys. And, as I ungracefully stretched out my pregnant self on the bench and laid my head in Brian's lap, we watched our offspring do what all puppies, bear cubs and children do best...PLAY.

You know those times where your blood pressure drops and your breathing slows down? I don't mean the kind where you are near death and you see angels flocking overhead, but the kind where everything negative fades away and all you see is the blessing before you. Well, that was tonight. Total contentment.

The boys found a new bug to hunt, June bugs, and gathered up at least 15 of them. We were far enough apart that I couldn't hear every word, but I delighted in their squeals with each new catch and watched their silhouettes run toward us, prizes in fist. Tyler, with his floppy hair, and Noah, with his steady-footed run. They showed us most of the bugs and we pretended to admire every one of them there in the pitch dark. After securing the bugs in the jar, they ran back to the lamp post across the playground and kept up the hunt. At some points, they dug through the pebbles and Tyler did some spontaneous somersaults. Because if there's one thing that makes this kid want to do somersaults, it's catching bugs. He also made a couple of pebble angels, which are similar to snow angels except that it's June and it's Texas and we barely remember what snow looks like by now.

I love watching the boys explore and soak in the wonder of God's creation. Except when it's 95 degrees and I'm swelling and I just want to sit in a dark room with a fan turned on high. Which is why it is a good thing for us to venture out when it's pitch dark. I asked Brian several times what he thought the boys were saying to each other or what he thought they were thinking about. Children are the coolest things. I often wish I could think like they think, just living in the moment and being fascinated by simple things. It filled my heart so much to see them being each other's best friend. Brian mentioned that he's kind of sad Anniston won't know her brothers at this age. By the time she's ready to go exploring for bugs, the boys will probably have moved on to other things, like video games. I wondered if they'd still squeal during bug hunts and RUN full speed to show us their catches at ages seven and nine when she's three. I sure hope so. I don't think I'll still want that for them at ages seventeen and nineteen because that would just be weird, but I could use a few more years of this childlike delight in my life. It's good for my soul.

I doled out a couple of half-hearted warnings that we had just five minutes left before we had to go, but I knew I really didn't mean them even when I spoke them. Someday, I will remember watching my boys catching June bugs under the light of that lamp post and not that they went to bed on time. And how they chased after that rabbit full speed (supersonic speed, as Tyler says) believing they really would catch it. I will, hopefully, remember the smallness of their busy bodies while they squatted low to the ground and dug through the pebbles. I hope I recall the way the lamp light shone down on their hair that remained shiny despite the dust. And how they romped through the unsteady pebbles to get to us. My heart will treasure the way they kept up their excited chatter even though I couldn't hear every word they said. Just watching them being brothers and deepening their best friendhood is enough for me.

And, when we finally did leave, Noah carefully protected the jar of treasures tightly in his arms while Tyler sat tall on his Daddy's shoulders and brushed his hands through every branch we went under. The boys took a shower to get all the pebble dust off and then hung out with me in the living room for awhile. Noah was so busy talking to me about his upcoming birthday (in two months), he didn't notice Brian sneak up until he had him tackled. Of course, Tyler just joined in the dogpile and there were more squeals of delight. And, again, I loved watching my three guys being buddies and deepening their best friendhood.

Although I have to say that wrestling right before bed, it turns out, is also counterproductive.

Doggone hindsight.

Granbury or Bust, Day One

We ventured a couple hours west for our family vacation/10 year anniversary celebration. Some people plan elaborate 10 year anniversary trips to white sandy beaches, where they enjoy quiet couples massages, fruity beverages and snorkeling among the dolphins and sparkly fish. Sans kids, of course. And, also, tar balls and oil slicks, BP willing. We wait til the 100 degree weather arrives, load up our Tribute with our offspring and all the noise and mess they come with and head toward water that smells of fish when the wind catches it just right. But, that is what you do when you're planning to pay for a c-section, about to become swaggerin' mini van owners and you've got an A/C unit on its last leg, which is living on the edge in Texas in the summer. So, it was gritty sand in our crevices and fishy wind at our backs for us.

We went to Granbury nearly four years ago to the day for our sixth anniversary. Tyler's due date was July 30th and Anniston's is July 29th, so I was about as far along in pregnancy with Tyler as I am with Anniston.

But, things were different back then. Back then, this was our family...

I loved my Noah so much, I was a little sentimental about no longer being a family of three and wanted to make special memories before our family forever changed.

How could I have guessed how very incredible that change would be? ;)

Back then, Noah preferred the sandy beach to the fishy lake water.

One thing's for sure, he was ornery then as he is now.And, here's another thing that hasn't changed. This family loves dinosaurs!We even stayed in a cabin that had a dinosaur theme. There was a hiking path with life-sized dino figures and a playground, too.

We loved that vacation and decided we'd make it back there again someday. Granbury really is a cute town with lots of adventures for a weekend trip and it's not too far from our home base.

So, four years later...

Granbury 2010 started out with a fun ride on the luggage cart at America's Best Value Inn.

I'm sure we made a memorable impression with the hotel staff.And they made a memorable impression with us when we got to our room and discovered leftovers in the fridge.Noah about made a memorable impression on his spinal cord when he jumped off the bed and landed on the back of his neck. This is him resting after learning life lesson #402...don't jump off the bed because you might land on the back of your neck. Life lesson #401 is don't jump on the bed even when something seizes your body and you feel you just must. Tyler has yet to learn either lesson.After we unloaded at the hotel, we headed over to the Square where, bless my soul, they were having an outdoor market in celebration of Memorial Day weekend.

And, God bless our soldiers for giving us the freedom to worship as we please, vote as we please and enjoy a refreshing sno-cone in 100 degree weather. After browsing around the tents in 1000 degree weather, we headed over to the boys' first drive-in movie experience to watch Shrek 4. Noah thought it was a #1 idea.

We picnicked in the back of the car and dined on the fine cuisine they offered. I think some of our bowels later regretted that decision, but that is part of the drive-in experience, after all.

There was a little clearing in front of our car, so the boys kicked a ball around to kill time until the movie began...or until the ball ended up going over the barbed wire fence. Then, all there was to do to kill time was eat more popcorn. Which could've explained the stomach problems later on. But, good to know someone beyond that barbed wire fence is now the proud owner of a Little Einsteins kick ball.

Have I mentioned it was 100,000 degrees? And, yet, T still loves to cuddle.

But, that's okay, we love a good cuddle.

Have I mentioned this guy is as ornery as he ever was?Shrek was a hoot and the boys did a great job making it through the whole movie. It was late when we got to the hotel, but Tyler decided he wanted to create his very own Home Alone moment and dry his hair. All that was missing was the after shave and the scream, but that was okay because, again, it was late. And, we'd already made enough memorable impressions at the hotel for one day.

Four years ago, this is the little boy that was being knit together in my tummy on our last Granbury trip. A hand towel fits around his waist, which is well and good because I like the size of squeezable him. And, delightfully, he has been more blessing than I could've ever imagined back then, when we were a family of three.So, four years later, this is us.

And, even though I'm again feeling a bit sentimental that this part of our life is coming to an end and things are about to change, this time I know how very incredible that change will be. I am loving the memories we're making these final weeks before we become a family a five, but also fully embracing and excitedly anticipating the idea of having another little one to share life with.

Life lesson #2...families are a #1 idea.

Concealed Weapons Cache

Anyone else ever open a kitchen drawer and discover you're packin' heat?


Good to know that if anyone ever tries to get a jump on me while I'm slaving over a pot of spaghetti, I'll have the last word.