friday haiku (and a happy birthday)

fourteen years ago
this sweet face changed everything
hearts split wide open

::

A couple years ago we had all of our old camcorder tapes put onto DVD so we could finally sit down and watch the hours of video we shot when Liam was little. Some of my favorite footage is of 3-year-old Liam serenading his months-old brother with a little red Gibson Flying V electric guitar plugged into an amp. Liam is strumming away with full intensity and no melody whatsoever, sing-shouting about gorillas and ham sandwiches.

We've joked about sending the footage to America's Funniest Home Videos, but undoubtedly no one else would find it as endearingly hilarious as we do. As the mom of this intensely passionate and creative boy, watching the video always puts a lump in my throat. How did I get such a crazy-cool kid?

Today this little firecracker continues to amaze me. He still puts that same intensity into his guitar practice, but the sounds coming out are whole lot more melodic. He spends a couple hours a week glued to the piano bench, draws with exquisite precision, flips seemingly effortlessly on the trampoline and blows us all away in his understanding of mathematical concepts and theories. But he's not one to tout his abilities. Although at first glance the videos of Liam at 3 years old may have told a different story, this boy has never been one for the spotlight. He's not a performer. He just does what he loves.

Because his baby brother has had developmental and medical needs that have taken a lot of time and emotional energy, Liam hasn't always gotten his fair share of attention and probably shoulders more responsibility than most kids his age. Sometimes it kind of sucks. But the quiet compassion and insight he shows seems pretty uncommon in boys his age.

I'm so grateful for this kid. His kind heart, resiliency and wisdom beyond his years. These are the qualities that truly amaze me. Happy birthday to my little rockstar. I suspect you'll put a lump in my throat forever.

the best days

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. —Ralph Waldo Emerson

These are the days when we spend evening after evening hanging out with people we love, when we read books together and take naps in the afternoon, when we tidy and purge the house and it doesn't feel like a chore, when we cut down a tree and bring it home tied to the car roof, when we let little boys decorate and resist the urge to change things. These are the days when school and work don't compute, when meals are slow cooked, dessert is a given and no one rushes. These are the days they'll remember. And all I can think is that the way we feel about these days should be the way we feel about every day. Because if you can find the magic in the mundane and the busy and the struggle, you are really living a beautiful life. So far we're finding the best days at least one month out of the year. It's a start.

five

Dear Elliott,

Yesterday you turned five. What a fun and special weekend - all the more so because you knew we were celebrating you and because after three weeks of your questioning, we could finally say, "Yes!" You get thrilled over the simplest things like blowing out a candle or a card that plays a song. I love this about you. Nothing is too small to escape your notice or your delight. If I only had one quarter of your joie de vivre. And lucky me, because I live with you, I do.

In this last year, you have become quite the adventurer, daredevil and explorer. We ran across a carnival on the night of your birthday and you wanted to go on every ride. Watching you climb up the huge slide with your brother was incredibly nerve racking for your mama. You didn't think twice about it. Earlier in the day you not only happily tried fermented beet-garlic-ginger juice at a neighbor's house (when no other kid could could even be bribed to do it), you liked it and asked for more! Nothing phases you. Except maybe a bug in the house.

Today you brought five little friends on the train for a birthday adventure. You were beaming—a model train show, ice cream cones, presents, duck duck goose in the park. Your friends, your party, your favorite things. As much as you enjoyed it, you loved seeing your friends enjoy it. More than presents or treats or even blowing out that candle, nothing made you happier than knowing your friends would be along. The same goes for your mom. Every morning you ask me so earnestly, "Mama no go to work today?" And when I answer in the affirmative, the answer you don't want to hear, you ask the question again, with even more gusto. As if your repetitive asking of the exact same question in the exact same way, your very longing for my company, might elicit a different answer. It's heartbreaking to turn you down, but you recover like a champ. Your open-hearted resilience has been schooling me. You love people better than almost anyone I know.

Here you are five years old. You are as cute as can be. And you're a pistol. You love trains, taking endless photos and movies of yourself, pinching your brother, snuggling your blankie, making the craziest faces imaginable. You just learned to wear flip flops and will happily pee anywhere you see fit, including on the sidelines of a girls' soccer game and into the bathroom sink. You confidently ride the little yellow school bus every day and call the driver by name. You're such a fan of shaking your booty that one friend gave you a disco ball for your birthday. You are a clever, funny, daring, beautiful boy. I love you like crazy, my Incredible Mr. E, and feel so lucky to have you to teach me how to look at life through a better lens—a happy, people-loving, self-abandoning, life-embracing lens. You are a gem.

xoxo
Mama

a charlie brownish kind of day

Homeschooling has its drawbacks. I haven't written much about it, but for multiple reasons, we took Liam out of school after Christmas break to spend the rest of the year learning at home. Liam was and has been 100 percent on board, but holidays just aren't the same. Yesterday we made some cute superhero suckers to give to a bunch of Liam's good friends and Elliott's classmates. Elliott excitedly came home with reciprocal valentines from all his friends. Liam delivered his suckers after school, but other than cards from parents and grandparents, he came up empty.

The day wasn't a total bust. We enjoyed fancy hot cocoa and waffles with strawberries and whipped cream for breakfast. We made special heart cookies and delivered them to friends and neighbors who have had a darker than usual February or who are just simply alone today. And Liam spend the late afternoon with a couple of his best buddies.

But tonight there were tears. It's tough to be left out, even when it's not at all intentional. He just wasn't part of a classroom valentine's day party this year. And it's tough to be the mom of the boy whose mailbox went empty. It just isn't always enough to have your mom tell you you're great.

Nothing breaks my heart like putting to bed a kid who's sad. Although I know there's bound to be the fair share of heartbreak in our future, I feel partly responsible for today's. Maybe I should have emailed some neighbors and told them Liam would be giving valentines to their kids, hoping they'd all set one aside for him. Or maybe we should have gotten involved in some homeschool group. (But since we've only planned this as a half-year venture, we haven't pursued new friends.)

Tonight, I came downstairs feeling sad myself. Andrew had just finished lessons, so I told him about the day and what a trooper Liam had been yet how he cried when I put him to bed. Andrew headed upstairs. After a few minutes he came into the kitchen.

"He's fine now."

"What did you say?" I asked.

Andrew smiled. "I gave him five dollars."

As much as it sucks to be sad, and sucks even more to see your kid be sad, throwing money at disappointment doesn't seem like the best solution. But apparently it works. Still, I'm looking forward to next year when we'll continue our traditions of having fancy hot cocoa for breakfast and making treats for lonely neighbors, but when we'll also have a classroom of valentines to sort through at the end of the day. Because after a year without, a boy understands what a gift a full mailbox is, Justin Bieber and Barbie cards included.

suspended animation

Darkness greets us morning after morning, the earth lays dormant and I wait and wait to hear about a job. My whole life feels suspended, not moving, like we're treading, going nowhere. Then, suddenly everything changes. A streak of pink in the early morning sky, buds on our lilac bush and, good news, a great job! All of these gifts were there, under the surface, waiting for their time. It's the waiting part that threatens to suck the life right out of me.


Because of my boys, I pulled out our traditional valentine decorations this weekend. For a few years now we have suspended construction paper hearts all over our living room and dining room. I wasn't in the mood to put them up, but now that they are there they make me smile. In a fallow time it works to just go through the motions. Do something that brought you joy before and see where you end up. It certainly helped when we were decorating that Elliott kept trying to reach the ceiling and would look up awestruck, saying, "Wow, that's pretty! Wow, that's cool!" (Those chubby cheeks help, too.)


I also had an urge to sew over the weekend. Nothing complicated. I just found some red and white fabric in my stash and cut out some hearts and some squares for pockets and stitched them on bias tape.


The banner of love hangs over my kitchen sink to remind me to smile and look up and be thankful for the simple things. Some days that small task is easier than others. Yesterday, very difficult. Tonight, the gratitude overwhelms me.


And then, there are valentines. Glue and stamps, stickers and tape. Little paper gifts for friends and for each other. Our table has been left as an unending art project. If I don't clean it up, they go back to it and dream up new ways to cut paper to say I love you. And on the dark days, come what may, love is the gift that keeps us going.

a merry christmas

:: a house decked with a beloved grandma's favorite Christmas things


:: the magical train beneath the magical tree (from the 4 year old's perspective, at least)


:: cousins on Christmas eve (minus one cute little napper)


:: elaborate notes to Santa (he still believes)


:: Christmas morning at 5 a.m. (from the blurry-eyed mom's point of view)


:: the one and only family photo our camera captured in 2011

Merry Christmas!

friday haiku {for an anniversary}

this girl knew nothing
of the two made one, just joy
how being loved feels

::

Today, a decade later, this girl knows a little bit more than nothing, and still joy. Grateful for a man who shares my dreams, pursues his passions, makes me feel incredibly beautiful and has to be one of the best dads alive. What I wrote at year 7 and year 9 still stands. Happy anniversary, honey!

{photo by Carols Vergara}

30 beautiful hours in wisconsin

My fabulous sister Liz turned 30 last week and her husband flew her halfway across the country so she could celebrate with her immediate family this weekend. The sixteen of us spent two unseasonably mild October days on the lake, catching frogs, wading in the water, carving pumpkins, walking in the woods, playing cards, eating great meals and simply relishing each other's company.

Had anyone told my nine-year-old self, enduring the saddest days of my life in the wake of my parent's breakup, that my family would someday be an exceptionally beautiful, loving, life-giving home, I never would have believed it. Now I know. There are gifts that far outweigh the losses. And, despite what you may think in a time of grief, anything can be redeemed.

first day

Yesterday it was back to school and, for Liam, the start of second grade. I could go on and on about how I can't believe my kid is already adding triple digit numbers in his head and deciphering all the big words Andrew and I spell to each other. How he has his own desk and can tie up his gym shoes and pack his own lunch. But then there's this other side of me that can believe it. The side that perceives that actual passing of time. I mean, it's been 2,661 days since he was born. In that length of time he has clearly honed his camera smile.


Liam has also seen the "girl next door" nearly every one of those days. Although they continue to end up in different classes and are cootie-bearers by virtue of their very gender, they remain comfortable and constant friends. I loved seeing them walk together on the first day of school. I am not sure Liam and Ava will ever be more than friends. Their siblings, however, are another story.


Elliott adores Mia, and that is really an understatement. He regularly throws open our windows to giddily shout and screech to her across the street. "Hi, Mia!" "Hi, Mia!" "Hi, Mia!" Walking their siblings to school was simply an excuse to hold hands.


Although this boy looks silly and fun, it's tough to get an answer out of him that isn't "yes" or "no" or "nothing." What did you do today? Nothing. Did you have art? No. What was your favorite part of the day? I don't know.

On the way to school this morning (day 2) I tried a different line of questioning. "What was the first thing you did when you walked into your classroom yesterday?" "Then what?" "Then what?" It worked! I heard about "backpack chores," where they put their lunch boxes, and the back-to-school game they played (in which he apparently named "recess" as his favorite subject).

Now I just have another 150 odd days or so this school year to pull out information. It'll go by so fast and drag on forever. I hope I never forget it.

two black belts in the house

This is my husband. In two months we'll celebrate our 10th anniversary. After ten years of living together day in and day out, one would think I'd know so much more about my spouse, that there would be few surprises. Wrong. This man amazes me daily. Yesterday he became a Tae Kwon Do Black Belt. Considering Andrew has never played a sport in his life, this is an unbelievable accomplishment.


This British guitar-playing, bangers-and-mash-eating man also has never owned a pair of running shoes, until this summer. Nearly every day for six weeks (for the first time in his life) he ran. Here he is finishing two miles for his black belt testing, side by side with his son.


This seven year old is my boy. Three years ago he would sit on my lap in his little Tae Kwon Do uniform and refuse to join the class. Today he is the most determined, hard-working, graceful kid on the floor. You can not imagine how inspiring a Tae Kwon Do form can be until you see Liam executing the movements to Wind or Thunder or Positive Power. This kid was born to do forms. Oh, and he can kick pretty well, too.

As of today, there are two Tae Kwon Do Black Belts in my home. I couldn't be prouder (or feel any safer!).

After the hundreds of hours these two have put into their practice and training, they fully deserve the reward. And a little rest. Because a black belt, they tell me, is just the beginning.

some thoughts on marriage

This weekend my cousin Noel got married. The ceremony and reception, held at our favorite local farm, were near perfect. In my view, few weddings come close to the awesomeness of ours. Noel and Robyn's was one of them.

Several weeks ago my family held a bridal shower for Robyn and I was asked to prepare a reflection on marriage, some words of wisdom to share with this bride-to-be as she embarks on her new journey with Noel. Although 2011 marks ten years of marriage to Andrew, I feel about as far away from expert or even experienced as someone who is just beginning. Even so, I have definitely learned a few things. (Not that I always follow my own advice, of course, but I try to/want to/hope to.) After reading the first third ("the beginning") of the wonderful Billy Collins poem Aristotle (the other two thirds—"the middle" and "the end"—seemed a bit too overwhelming for a nearly newlywed), I offered my insights. More or less, this is what I said:

:: Be appreciative. When Andrew and I took a pre-marriage class, one long-married couple urged the group, upon waking every morning, to gaze into our spouse's eyes and say, "I appreciate you." I thought they were goofballs. But it's one of the few things I remember from that class. Because as silly as it sounded, it's key. Overall, there is a 99% chance that you—as the wife—will end up doing most of the work in the home. And after a while, this can be frustrating. But when your husband helps out, thank him. It will mean a lot to him to be acknowledged. It will encourage him to do more. It will make him more appreciative of you. And, best of all, it will change you from feeling sorry for yourself to feeling grateful.

:: Be available. There are a million good things you can be doing outside of your home and your relationship. And a million things people will ask you to do. Don't be gone all the time. Don't be too busy. Don't always say yes. This is a constant struggle for me. I am a natural-born helper. But sometimes doing good comes at the expense of the people I love the most. Figure out when it's most important for you to be around and available. Evening is primarily the time when Andrew and I connect and regroup. If I'm gone too many nights in a row, it quickly becomes clear that I need to readjust my priorities.

:: Be affectionate. Early on, I didn't have any trouble with this. Holding hands, hugging, it all came so naturally. But, touch is not my love language, and as life became busier and more complicated, affection fell by the wayside. Chances are very good that your husband will respond positively to physical touch. Most men do. Grabbing a hand, rubbing a back, sneaking a hug, these gestures are instant relaxers and diffusers. Literally reaching out will bring you back to the moment and make you a nicer person when you're in a not-so-nice mood.

:: Be awed. Regularly celebrate the amazing things about your spouse—his musical or athletic talent, the way he fixes a sink or writes a limerick. Husbands love to be told how excellent and gifted they are. Cheer yours on. You are his number one fan. Never forget it.

:: Be atonement. Be sacrificial love. Be forgiving. Be Jesus to each other. Be at-one-ment, but be yourself. I love how Madeline L'Engle puts it in her book Two-Part Invention:

What I must learn is to love with all of me, giving all of me, and yet remain whole in myself. Any other kind of love is too demanding of the other; it takes, rather than gives. To love so completely that you lose yourself in another person is not good. You are giving a weight, not the sense of lightness and light that loving someone should give. To love wholly, generously, and yet retain the core that makes you you.

Remain the beautiful, unique woman you are, but be "at one" with your spouse, living in a constant state of grace and awesomeness together.

:: Be amusing and adventurous. This is easy. You are this. It is a natural part of the beginning. But in the middle and the end, not so much. Being fun and spontaneous is more difficult later. But it's when your relationship needs it most. Take risks. Do silly things. Start fun traditions. You don't believe it now, but there will be mundane and difficult times ahead. Find the joy. Let go. Play games. Explore together. Laugh. Let these things buoy your relationship and fill your memories.

Now that I'm writing this advice, it occurs to me that every point in my little reflection requires intention. In other words, none of these things just happen. Sure, at the beginning of a marriage, we may do them all with very little effort, floating on the excitement of new love. But in time, all good things demand hard work. As the pastor at this very wedding said so poignantly, we don't create oneness, but it's our job to nurture it and protect it and work so very hard to keep it.

Amid the embrace of family and friends and a loving God, a beaming Noel and Robyn transformed from single to hitched. And like every couple that's gone before, they have absolutely no idea what they will find when the doors lurch apart. What hard and beautiful things lie ahead. But like all of us, they can choose how to be. And that can make a world of difference.

{photo by Liam}

beautiful three day

We had a million things to do this weekend. But we didn't. There's five yards of mulch in the driveway, five baskets of laundry in the closet and five years of household projects we're behind on. But instead, our weekend held the season's first pie, a rainy afternoon of reading and cuddling on the porch, surprisingly wonderful dinner parties, and a whole day of hanging with the world's most awesome neighbors while Elliott bounced with his best girl Mia.


Tomorrow I will pay for the work I didn't do, but I'll smile as I haul the load of wine bottles to the curb and remember the beautiful people we entertained and enjoyed. And the happiest, bounciest boy in town.


Because there will always be a million things to do. But only one beautiful three day like this.

friday haiku {on Sunday, again}

birthday hats and cakes
parties, presents, now we're four
pop goes the weasel

::

For a peek at our other May birthday boy, check out my column, The Trouble with LEGOs, in the TribLocal last week.

what we've been making {while blogger was down}

:: classroom birthday favors for 30. Apparently the cupcakes I always brought as a kid are prohibited, as today’s moms may send an allergic child into anaphylactic shock. So favors are now in vogue. But how to buy for the whole class and not spend $30 on dollar store trinkets? We found mini gel pens 6 for a dollar and stitched up little notebooks, added a Kungfu Panda fruit rollup, and voila…less than $10 for materials, and it beats a Ho Ho and a snowflake pencil. (That was Liam’s idea – collect all the unsharpened pencils in the house and pass them out.)

:: a late start in gardening. Or, at least, this week with temps like mid-July, we feel quite certain we have missed half the growing season. Considering the forecast for next week, I think we’re okay. Apparently a week of 80 degree weather in Chicago does not guaranty the danger of frost has past.

:: the best ever chocolate cake, or so the blog told me. It was quick and easy, and very chocolately. Maybe it was the ½-pound dinner we each had just consumed at the birthday boy’s favorite restaurant (Tom & Eddie’s). Or maybe it was the fact that the birthday boy requested an ice-cream cake, which turned super moist into rock hard. But I’d have to say that my chocolate cake—albeit, vegetable-laden—is far superior. However, chocolate cake is chocolate cake. No one complained.

:: LEGOs. It’s all Liam wanted for his birthday this week. And he’s like an addict, locked in his room (so his brother doesn’t come in and pick up a handful and chuck them across the room, as he’s been known to do, shrieking like it’s the most fun he’s had in months), assembling the new kits every free moment. Personal hygiene and eating have taken a backseat to LEGOs this week. Highly overrated activities when you’re 7.

:: more dandelions. Because Lord knows, we need more weeds in our yard. But this boy is just too cute. I love to watch him blow those seeds, which is good, since there’s just no stopping him.