Oh, Owen! Owen-O.... You are so precious to me. And so cute... as if precious weren't enough; you're just stinkin' cute to boot! At this stage of life, a few days before your 3rd birthday, you are adorableness embodied.
Mamas do say this kinda stuff, I know, so you might not be inclined to trust my assessment, say if you're reading this later, as a teen or as an adult. But allow me to document...
Most people you encounter comment upon your cuteness, so I've come to believe it's not just me. You've taken to calling yourself "tiny boy" of late (as in "I AN NOT a baby! NOT a baby! I an a TINY BOY"), and that description perfectly fits. You've lost the smooth-headed, round-formed perfection of a baby, that big-eyed etherealness that might lead someone to stop and say, "oh, how beautiful he is." You've gone "cute," instead. But what a lot of cute. In place of baby zen, you've gained a whiff of Future Owen, a tiny boy in a still-toddler body.
With your crazy orange curls (or, "krills," as you say), your Bambi blue eyes, your busy, chubby, expressive hands that are never far from the heart shape of your Irish-skinned face, you charm life -- at a glance. On instinct. The way we lesser mortals breathe. There's humor in your expression almost all the time. And that grin! You have this wide, impish grin that bares both rows of teeth (imperfectly perfect as they are, the front top two with a gap between them and a chipped ridge across them). The smile comes with a cock of the head, a shake of a curl and a twinkle in the eyes. It speaks without words. The message? Something very much like, "Hey, I'm not sayin' I'm perfect... but I sure know how to have fun! Wanna come play with me? You know you wanna!" And yes, my son, you sure do. And we mostly do, too. And we all have a fine time together.
Here are some other things I'm loving about who you are, Owen, right in this very now:
The way you mangle the phrase "Hickory Dickory Dock" as we sing that nursery rhyme on the way to Growing Stick...
The way you clap for all things "GWEAT!" -- and how many everything things you label this way? "Time for baf? GWEAT!" ... "Rolls for dinner? GWEAT!" ... "Oohhhh... BOOK-TIME! GWEAT!"...
Your system of snuggling under the covers and arranging your many, many nightime props before reading with me...
How you say "yar" instead of pacifier or paci? And, how dedicated is your love for your yars, still today. You don't need them, anymore, but you sure like them, comfortable old friends that you collect in pockets and hoard in nap cubbies...
How you love scary animals, like dinosaurs, and love to play MON-STARR (imagine a deep "grrr" with nose wrinkled and finger "claws" drawn up to chin), but are afraid of the smallest bug in the bathroom OR piece of lint that could be a bug in the bathwater...
How phrases come out backwards but still understandable, like "Wuz and Buddy" for "Buzz and Woody" of Toy Story. When this happens, you brother likes to say, "he sure has a way with his words, doesn't he?"...
Last night I was too busy to watch some acrobatic feat of yours on the bed, so you called a stuffed T-rex into service. "Watch me, Dino! Watch OWEN! OK... you watching?" And you propped him up where he couldn't help but see your "jhrumps" into the pile of pillows. Then you watched him (such a nice display of manners!) as he took his turn and jhrumped.
Jhrumping is very big with you right now, as we're having a bounce house for your birthday soon.
:) I smile and shake my head when I recount all these things, O. I tell ya, son. I love these sweet and funny antics very, very much. ...But they still don't hold a candle to the way I love you.
Please feel free to change as you need. To one day put away these tiny boy things. I'll grow with you and I'll let them go, too. Some day, I won't even remember the theme song to "Shaun the Sheep" or the words to "Hop on Pop." But I'll remember this moment in life with a smile. And I'll smile again, every time I see the boy you are just on the cusp of becoming, in the man you will one day be.
I will not hold you so tight as to ask you to stay one way or be one person throughout the arc of your life. I love Future Owen, already, no matter who he turns out to be. I delight in your progress and I can't wait to see what God will do in you, and for you. You will do great things, my son, because you will do all things with verve and joy and love. That's the secret, really -- that anything we do can be a great thing, if done in great love. Luckily, you already show a propensity toward abundance. That's the core of you, right now, Owen: Energy and life, in abundance.
I don't expect the red krills to stay. I'm prepared to lose the heart-grabbing look that precedes a discovery or a declaration, as awe and light cross a still-pudgy, almost-baby face. I'll let these things go, I promise. ...But I would be delighted, my son, if your grin doesn't ever change.
Happy birthday, my happy Owen. With all my heart -- Mom
Just a girl, asking for grace, to survive her happily-ever-after.
9.30.2010
9.28.2010
Making Sense
I was just driving, distracted, having a little stream-of-consciousness chat with myself and I started to wonder if any other person on earth could follow the conversation.
Has this idea ever occurred to you, too?
...That perhaps you are your own best listener, because maybe, just maybe, you don't make much sense outside your own head?! :)
Seriously, there's something to the idea that each human being is his or her own best processor of thought. Often, we can move fastest when we think alone. I've witnessed some pretty fast zigs and zags of the mind when I'm not (or another person isn't) trying to fit into the confines of inter-personal communication -- when one is not consciously trying to "make sense."
Sure, we can sound like crazy people when stuck in our own heads, but we often know exactly what *we're* talking about. The trouble comes when we have to talk to another person.
Sometimes people can't move forward, together, at all -- because we can't shape our thoughts into a format that can be processed by anyone else.
And yet... and yet! Though it slows us down and makes us work harder, we are also built to desire a connection to another consciousness -- some "meeting of the minds" -- so very much that we're willing to edit ourselves all the time to achieve it.
Take the stream-of-consciousness thing happening in my car. No one could really follow that, but no one needed to. No one else was there. Had I been carrying a passenger, I would have automatically flipped on some internal regulator and started reformatting what was going on in my head -- or at least how it came out. I would probably not have said aloud (as I actually did in my car) "Oh, crap! Those things! I gotta do the ... eh... myeah... TODA-- do we need flu shots?!" Instead, I would assess and redact and repackage ideas into more tidy points before they slipped out.
(Well, mostly. I find the closer the company one is keeping, the greater the portion of the "internal monologue" that tends to slip out. My poor Jeremy gets no segues out of me.)
...But isn't it fascinating how every human society rears its own to make verbal adjustments like that?
And when members of a society make little or no distinction between their "interior" and "out loud" voices, they often aren't part of a very big society -- because most other people avoid their company.
It's like we've all been trained to be a little less us so we can engage more of them.
Have you ever thought how much easier it'd be to communicate if we could just merge heads and cut out the No Man's Land in-between? Like the Vulcan mind meld, without the near-insanity.
Have you ever dwelled on the idea that it's actually kind-of hard work to make sense to another person -- ANY other person?
It's not like talking to oneself.
Not to promote that I have a split personality (uhn -- pretty sure I don't...), but I've noticed I tend to separate into 2 roles when I talk to myself. Part of me generates the list of things that are important, and another part of me files those things away. The generator part of me is pretty scattered, I'll say -- her more orderly thoughts are interrupted and interspersed and overlaid with things that pop like corn up there. The other me holds a clipboard and rolls her eyes a lot. She's always sorting the kernels into action items.
If I'm gonna marshal my forces and speak out loud, I need both parts of me to work together, so Popcorn Brain doesn't take over, but so Quality Control has something to say. This is work!
And yet, happily I do it. Because I want so desperately to get OUT of my own head sometimes! The society of oneself can be great comfort, yes. Everyone needs to cultivate it. But along with that, everyone needs to seek the society of others. And until Star Trek: a.) perfects that mind meld thing, and b.) um, becomes reality, I guess we'll just have to do the work to get there.
And that's OK. It's nice work if you can get it. And you can get it, if you try...
Has this idea ever occurred to you, too?
...That perhaps you are your own best listener, because maybe, just maybe, you don't make much sense outside your own head?! :)
Seriously, there's something to the idea that each human being is his or her own best processor of thought. Often, we can move fastest when we think alone. I've witnessed some pretty fast zigs and zags of the mind when I'm not (or another person isn't) trying to fit into the confines of inter-personal communication -- when one is not consciously trying to "make sense."
Sure, we can sound like crazy people when stuck in our own heads, but we often know exactly what *we're* talking about. The trouble comes when we have to talk to another person.
Sometimes people can't move forward, together, at all -- because we can't shape our thoughts into a format that can be processed by anyone else.
And yet... and yet! Though it slows us down and makes us work harder, we are also built to desire a connection to another consciousness -- some "meeting of the minds" -- so very much that we're willing to edit ourselves all the time to achieve it.
Take the stream-of-consciousness thing happening in my car. No one could really follow that, but no one needed to. No one else was there. Had I been carrying a passenger, I would have automatically flipped on some internal regulator and started reformatting what was going on in my head -- or at least how it came out. I would probably not have said aloud (as I actually did in my car) "Oh, crap! Those things! I gotta do the ... eh... myeah... TODA-- do we need flu shots?!" Instead, I would assess and redact and repackage ideas into more tidy points before they slipped out.
(Well, mostly. I find the closer the company one is keeping, the greater the portion of the "internal monologue" that tends to slip out. My poor Jeremy gets no segues out of me.)
...But isn't it fascinating how every human society rears its own to make verbal adjustments like that?
And when members of a society make little or no distinction between their "interior" and "out loud" voices, they often aren't part of a very big society -- because most other people avoid their company.
It's like we've all been trained to be a little less us so we can engage more of them.
Have you ever thought how much easier it'd be to communicate if we could just merge heads and cut out the No Man's Land in-between? Like the Vulcan mind meld, without the near-insanity.
Have you ever dwelled on the idea that it's actually kind-of hard work to make sense to another person -- ANY other person?
It's not like talking to oneself.
Not to promote that I have a split personality (uhn -- pretty sure I don't...), but I've noticed I tend to separate into 2 roles when I talk to myself. Part of me generates the list of things that are important, and another part of me files those things away. The generator part of me is pretty scattered, I'll say -- her more orderly thoughts are interrupted and interspersed and overlaid with things that pop like corn up there. The other me holds a clipboard and rolls her eyes a lot. She's always sorting the kernels into action items.
If I'm gonna marshal my forces and speak out loud, I need both parts of me to work together, so Popcorn Brain doesn't take over, but so Quality Control has something to say. This is work!
And yet, happily I do it. Because I want so desperately to get OUT of my own head sometimes! The society of oneself can be great comfort, yes. Everyone needs to cultivate it. But along with that, everyone needs to seek the society of others. And until Star Trek: a.) perfects that mind meld thing, and b.) um, becomes reality, I guess we'll just have to do the work to get there.
And that's OK. It's nice work if you can get it. And you can get it, if you try...
9.21.2010
Unsolicited Advice for the Young & Broken-Hearted
An accident in my hometown has my heart weeping this week. A 16-year-old boy fell from the bed of a pick-up truck -- no crazy driving, no drinking, no shenanigans -- and suffered such head trauma as to never wake up again. His family had to disconnect him from life support two days later.
In the truck bed with him was the son of my dear, darlin' friend from childhood. (We girls probably rode in the back of more than one truck together, as kids, and in plenty of backseats later.) In the cab were three more teenagers, all good kids from solid families... the kind who teach their babies responsibility and good manners and how to stand faithful in a broken world.
But Friday night the world won out. It stole a great kid -- a talented classical pianist, an ace baseball player, a truly kind boy with a bright future -- right from the arms of the many who love him. And it forever damaged the driver and the witnesses -- also shining stars in our town, the kind of kids everyone celebrates as they succeed -- who had to bear witness to a trauma, one of them working feverishly to keep his buddy alive.
I'm not close to any of these teens. I just "know" them in the way everyone in a small town is known. I know their family names. I know about where they live, or where their parents work. I love one of their mamas. And so my heart gets to break, too, just a little bit.
This is the beauty and agony of being known -- what hurts one of us has to hurt us all.
I sincerely grieve for the lost life. I don't think I have the words for that mother. She has my prayers, because I fear no greater human pain exists.
I do know her boy is not hurting today. In the same measure his family is bereft, he is free from all worldly weight. He has broken the chains and is -- I am confident -- in the company of Jesus.
His friends, though, are still here below. And what they must feel holds my heart in a grip like a long-held breath. I almost can't exhale when I think about those suffering kids.
Because I'm not part of their inner circle, I will probably never get to speak to these teenagers about this horrible, horrible accident. Other people closer will tell them, time and again, that it was an accident -- that no one is to blame. As we should all say! I believe their guilt is thick, and we should do everything we can to help cut through it.
If I did have the chance to tell them something, I would add this:
Don't be any stronger than you need to be.
If you look ahead and can't see how you'll ever make it out of these feelings, stop trying for a minute. Just stop -- really, literally, if you need to -- and tell God the truth: That you're giving up for the moment. That it hurts too much to keep moving ahead. No more steps. You stop. And right then God will become your pillar of smoke by day and your pillar of fire by night.
"Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people." Exodus 13:22.
Imagine that pillar moving in the hallways at HHS and through the parking lot and down West Main... because it's really there.
Just like God guided the steps of his people when they wandered in the desert, so EVERY STEP you have to take in these painful days will be following a single step of God's, one pace ahead of you.
Just like God provided food for the wanderers, so you'll be fed along your way. But remember the story of the manna? When the people tried to hoard extra, it went bad. These kind of "survival rations" cannot be saved from day to day.
In the same way, go ahead and use up every bit of coping skills you have for today. Use it all until you are so weary you have to lay down and go to sleep. When you wake up, God will have sprinkled your soul with enough grace for tomorrow. Just enough. For one day at a time.
Please believe us grown-ups when we say the manna will come to you. Even when you don't feel it, or the roof of your mouth sticks with the dry taste of it. God DOES gives us what we need -- but we often can't see the relief coming.
Not many of us have lived through anything this bad, honestly. But most of us have felt our own deep hurts. Damage is damage, in some ways, and from someone who has survived soul-numbing sadness, here is one of pain's deepest truths: You only need to get through this day. Don't be stronger than this day. There is grace enough for this day AND NOT MORE.
Keep moving until you can't. Rest often. Look up for the pillar of smoke and the pillar of fire. And one day you will have crossed a great desert, my sweet young friends, and you will wander no more.
In the truck bed with him was the son of my dear, darlin' friend from childhood. (We girls probably rode in the back of more than one truck together, as kids, and in plenty of backseats later.) In the cab were three more teenagers, all good kids from solid families... the kind who teach their babies responsibility and good manners and how to stand faithful in a broken world.
But Friday night the world won out. It stole a great kid -- a talented classical pianist, an ace baseball player, a truly kind boy with a bright future -- right from the arms of the many who love him. And it forever damaged the driver and the witnesses -- also shining stars in our town, the kind of kids everyone celebrates as they succeed -- who had to bear witness to a trauma, one of them working feverishly to keep his buddy alive.
I'm not close to any of these teens. I just "know" them in the way everyone in a small town is known. I know their family names. I know about where they live, or where their parents work. I love one of their mamas. And so my heart gets to break, too, just a little bit.
This is the beauty and agony of being known -- what hurts one of us has to hurt us all.
I sincerely grieve for the lost life. I don't think I have the words for that mother. She has my prayers, because I fear no greater human pain exists.
I do know her boy is not hurting today. In the same measure his family is bereft, he is free from all worldly weight. He has broken the chains and is -- I am confident -- in the company of Jesus.
His friends, though, are still here below. And what they must feel holds my heart in a grip like a long-held breath. I almost can't exhale when I think about those suffering kids.
Because I'm not part of their inner circle, I will probably never get to speak to these teenagers about this horrible, horrible accident. Other people closer will tell them, time and again, that it was an accident -- that no one is to blame. As we should all say! I believe their guilt is thick, and we should do everything we can to help cut through it.
If I did have the chance to tell them something, I would add this:
Don't be any stronger than you need to be.
If you look ahead and can't see how you'll ever make it out of these feelings, stop trying for a minute. Just stop -- really, literally, if you need to -- and tell God the truth: That you're giving up for the moment. That it hurts too much to keep moving ahead. No more steps. You stop. And right then God will become your pillar of smoke by day and your pillar of fire by night.
"Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people." Exodus 13:22.
Imagine that pillar moving in the hallways at HHS and through the parking lot and down West Main... because it's really there.
Just like God guided the steps of his people when they wandered in the desert, so EVERY STEP you have to take in these painful days will be following a single step of God's, one pace ahead of you.
Just like God provided food for the wanderers, so you'll be fed along your way. But remember the story of the manna? When the people tried to hoard extra, it went bad. These kind of "survival rations" cannot be saved from day to day.
In the same way, go ahead and use up every bit of coping skills you have for today. Use it all until you are so weary you have to lay down and go to sleep. When you wake up, God will have sprinkled your soul with enough grace for tomorrow. Just enough. For one day at a time.
Please believe us grown-ups when we say the manna will come to you. Even when you don't feel it, or the roof of your mouth sticks with the dry taste of it. God DOES gives us what we need -- but we often can't see the relief coming.
Not many of us have lived through anything this bad, honestly. But most of us have felt our own deep hurts. Damage is damage, in some ways, and from someone who has survived soul-numbing sadness, here is one of pain's deepest truths: You only need to get through this day. Don't be stronger than this day. There is grace enough for this day AND NOT MORE.
Keep moving until you can't. Rest often. Look up for the pillar of smoke and the pillar of fire. And one day you will have crossed a great desert, my sweet young friends, and you will wander no more.
9.19.2010
Warning Labels
I think churches should come with warning labels. "Caution! Bitter, grouchy, small, selfish people within!" "Hypocrisy 100 feet ahead."
...But, then, I guess we'd have to label grocery stores, too. Elementary schools and strip malls, bars & grills and gas stations. Because churches are really nothing more than people. And everywhere people are, in any numbers high enough, people are mostly the same. And some of them will be grouchy. Some of them will be bitter.
The trick is probably being around all the small and selfish while not BECOMING small and selfish. (Hmmm.... what's that good advice Paul gives? Do not conform to this world but be transformed....) It's maybe more surprising when this is the kind of work you have to do at church. But it's always our work to do, as Jesus people. No need for warnings. We come prepared. And, at our best, we resist the labels.
...But, then, I guess we'd have to label grocery stores, too. Elementary schools and strip malls, bars & grills and gas stations. Because churches are really nothing more than people. And everywhere people are, in any numbers high enough, people are mostly the same. And some of them will be grouchy. Some of them will be bitter.
The trick is probably being around all the small and selfish while not BECOMING small and selfish. (Hmmm.... what's that good advice Paul gives? Do not conform to this world but be transformed....) It's maybe more surprising when this is the kind of work you have to do at church. But it's always our work to do, as Jesus people. No need for warnings. We come prepared. And, at our best, we resist the labels.
9.08.2010
Fast Funnies
It's a busy week and I fear my time to think and write is about up for a while. To keep the posts going when my mind can't really keep pace, I'm going to cheat and simply transcribe two amusing moments from the last week.
Scene: Dinner table. 3rd grader Miles has shared that his class got a new student today. A girl.
Daddy J, immediately: "Is she cute?"
M: "NO! ...Well, not really. Maybe." (Small wrinkle in brow shows consternation, or at least concentrated thought.) "...Cute or not, what does it matter?!"
Ah, young son! Give it two years, and you may find it matters. Maybe a lot. ;)
Scene: Shoe store. Miles and Daddy are shopping while I distract Owen. It's going very well or terribly, depending upon one's point of view. Owen is definitely engaged and staying put. He found an arcade horse and is riding him without the benefit of quarters to make the horse move.
O: "YEE-HA!! Wide 'em, COWBOYS!" (Followed by more whooping and yee-ing.)
Dad appears in our corner of the store.
D: "Buddy? Listen. You have to be a little quieter in here!"
O: "Why, Daddy?" (Shifts to his staged whisper.) "ARE BABIES SLEEPING IN HERE?"
...Speaking of this post, I noticed last night that I don't really document like the other moms. I followed a friend's Facebook link to a family blog. And I clicked through the blogroll to many other family blogs. Funny, a whole lot of them post those "vital stats" for their child's first year. A lot of them take a monthly photo, in the same spot or with the baby dressed in one consistent thing, with little signs or pins to give the age. A lot of them list the foods their growing baby eats and or the words he/she says.
I relate crack-ups that cause us to lose our Parent Facade. ;)
In general, I tend to beat myself up when I compare me to the Mommy Blogs. I feel I'm not doing it all right, somehow? But today I feel just fine about my fits-and-starts, highly selective method of documenting our lives. It's FINE, my system. Because it's mine. And so are they. And God knows what He's doing. So I got the boys I needed, and they got the Mom they needed. While I am FAR from a really excellent or a perfect mother, I'm pretty perfect for them. Amen.
(And now I have to go see why Owen just yelled "YEAH, BABY! Way to go, O!" from his perch on the toilet. Where he is in training. And evidently very proud. Next we're going to senselessly patronize Starbucks on the way to his preschool. "I not feelin' good, Mama," he says this morning. "Because I need a lil' coffee shop. I needa go to that coffee shop, ann ann I will feel better." And I bought it -- hook, line & sinker! ;))
Scene: Dinner table. 3rd grader Miles has shared that his class got a new student today. A girl.
Daddy J, immediately: "Is she cute?"
M: "NO! ...Well, not really. Maybe." (Small wrinkle in brow shows consternation, or at least concentrated thought.) "...Cute or not, what does it matter?!"
Ah, young son! Give it two years, and you may find it matters. Maybe a lot. ;)
Scene: Shoe store. Miles and Daddy are shopping while I distract Owen. It's going very well or terribly, depending upon one's point of view. Owen is definitely engaged and staying put. He found an arcade horse and is riding him without the benefit of quarters to make the horse move.
O: "YEE-HA!! Wide 'em, COWBOYS!" (Followed by more whooping and yee-ing.)
Dad appears in our corner of the store.
D: "Buddy? Listen. You have to be a little quieter in here!"
O: "Why, Daddy?" (Shifts to his staged whisper.) "ARE BABIES SLEEPING IN HERE?"
...Speaking of this post, I noticed last night that I don't really document like the other moms. I followed a friend's Facebook link to a family blog. And I clicked through the blogroll to many other family blogs. Funny, a whole lot of them post those "vital stats" for their child's first year. A lot of them take a monthly photo, in the same spot or with the baby dressed in one consistent thing, with little signs or pins to give the age. A lot of them list the foods their growing baby eats and or the words he/she says.
I relate crack-ups that cause us to lose our Parent Facade. ;)
In general, I tend to beat myself up when I compare me to the Mommy Blogs. I feel I'm not doing it all right, somehow? But today I feel just fine about my fits-and-starts, highly selective method of documenting our lives. It's FINE, my system. Because it's mine. And so are they. And God knows what He's doing. So I got the boys I needed, and they got the Mom they needed. While I am FAR from a really excellent or a perfect mother, I'm pretty perfect for them. Amen.
(And now I have to go see why Owen just yelled "YEAH, BABY! Way to go, O!" from his perch on the toilet. Where he is in training. And evidently very proud. Next we're going to senselessly patronize Starbucks on the way to his preschool. "I not feelin' good, Mama," he says this morning. "Because I need a lil' coffee shop. I needa go to that coffee shop, ann ann I will feel better." And I bought it -- hook, line & sinker! ;))
9.07.2010
Snoozus Interruptus
So all I really wanted for Labor Day was to sleep in. And both my kids managed to wake me up early over the long weekend.
;)
No big deal, really. One of them wakes me up EVERY weekend, what with his early-bird toddler ways.
The other has long since outgrown coming to ask Mommy for cereal and a drink, for a Pull-Up change, for the Saturday morning cartoons to be turned on, etc.
And, knowing how fast they go from bright-eyed announcements of "Look at me! I waked up!" to silent, stealthy creeping straight to the TV room... I don't deep-down mind the morning interruption.
The notable thing about both of them needing me this weekend, one morning after the other, was the vastly different styles the two brothers employ.
Miles, as just referenced, can be soft-footed and sneaky. Owen shows no restraint.
Saturday a.m., Owen up: First I hear a dream-like voice (maybe I was dreaming?) as he calls from his own room down the hall.... "Oh! I'm A-WAAAAKE!" Ugh. I roll over and squeeze my eyelids together. I hear our door handle give and then rustling feet... the drag of Monkey and Yummy Puppy across the carpet. Still squeezing, just in case he switches things up and goes for Daddy. No such luck. Seeing me "asleep," Owen goes for the stage whisper. "MOMMY. MOMMY. IS YOU SLEEPING? ....DON'T BE SLEEPING. TIME TO WAKE UP!" I mumble out something like, "Five more minutes!" to which he says: "Don't be looking at the minutes in your lil' machine [alarm clock]. Just waked up! Hurry and waked up, Mommy! To get me juice. I need juice. This minute. Right this one!"
Sunday a.m., Miles up: Something indefinite disturbs my sleep. Can't put a finger on it but something... is... different. I wake up with eyes still closed. Can I hear anything suspicious? No. Do I sense anything wrong? No. Do I really need to open my eyes? Yes.... because there is breathing to the right of me when I should only hear Jeremy to the left of me. A slow opening, one lid at a time... then BAM. There's a dark, skinny form hovering right above my face. "mom. um... mom?" he whispers. "do you know where my DSi is? I can't find it." Seriously, child? Still hoping I haven't said that out loud, the left-side breathing becomes a groggy voice: "I know where it is, son, and you're just gonna have to live without it until 8 a.m."
Oh, the Brandt brothers! No one will ever drive us parents as crazy, make us as humble or as holy, as these smart, serious, sassy, preciously goofball little boys.
;)
No big deal, really. One of them wakes me up EVERY weekend, what with his early-bird toddler ways.
The other has long since outgrown coming to ask Mommy for cereal and a drink, for a Pull-Up change, for the Saturday morning cartoons to be turned on, etc.
And, knowing how fast they go from bright-eyed announcements of "Look at me! I waked up!" to silent, stealthy creeping straight to the TV room... I don't deep-down mind the morning interruption.
The notable thing about both of them needing me this weekend, one morning after the other, was the vastly different styles the two brothers employ.
Miles, as just referenced, can be soft-footed and sneaky. Owen shows no restraint.
Saturday a.m., Owen up: First I hear a dream-like voice (maybe I was dreaming?) as he calls from his own room down the hall.... "Oh! I'm A-WAAAAKE!" Ugh. I roll over and squeeze my eyelids together. I hear our door handle give and then rustling feet... the drag of Monkey and Yummy Puppy across the carpet. Still squeezing, just in case he switches things up and goes for Daddy. No such luck. Seeing me "asleep," Owen goes for the stage whisper. "MOMMY. MOMMY. IS YOU SLEEPING? ....DON'T BE SLEEPING. TIME TO WAKE UP!" I mumble out something like, "Five more minutes!" to which he says: "Don't be looking at the minutes in your lil' machine [alarm clock]. Just waked up! Hurry and waked up, Mommy! To get me juice. I need juice. This minute. Right this one!"
Sunday a.m., Miles up: Something indefinite disturbs my sleep. Can't put a finger on it but something... is... different. I wake up with eyes still closed. Can I hear anything suspicious? No. Do I sense anything wrong? No. Do I really need to open my eyes? Yes.... because there is breathing to the right of me when I should only hear Jeremy to the left of me. A slow opening, one lid at a time... then BAM. There's a dark, skinny form hovering right above my face. "mom. um... mom?" he whispers. "do you know where my DSi is? I can't find it." Seriously, child? Still hoping I haven't said that out loud, the left-side breathing becomes a groggy voice: "I know where it is, son, and you're just gonna have to live without it until 8 a.m."
Oh, the Brandt brothers! No one will ever drive us parents as crazy, make us as humble or as holy, as these smart, serious, sassy, preciously goofball little boys.
9.06.2010
Stop Light Theology
I was just thinking about traffic lights. I was thinking how much I dislike them. And the silly things I do to avoid them.
(That one at Paluxy and the Loop, especially. NIGHTMARE! But I digress...)
Sometimes, I turn to the right just to avoid waiting at a red light. It'll mean more driving -- oh I know! -- but I'd somehow rather stay in motion than stay on the correct path.
My spiritual life is just about like that. Lot of right turns, even when I'm pretty sure straight would serve me better.
I just don't find it easy, any more, to pause my mind... to full-stop and wait. My soul's tendency is to stay in motion. Yet, I know that I also tend to take lots of wrong turns without pause for reflection.
My head can make a tidy little connection here -- I need short pauses to reflect, while red lights provide just such short pauses. But my gut says, "let's be honest... prolly not gonna happen." (And, yes, my gut speaks colloquially.)
I have to confess, I'm just not the kind of girl who is zen enough to use each traffic stop as "found time" to reflect and pray. I'm not so big on "found time," at any time, at this stage in life.
I go, go, go (sometimes in circles) and then I mentally stall. That's how I roll in 2010.
I am the girl who turns right once, then left twice to get past a roughly 4-block area of backed up cars... in my medium-sized town of "Oh, You Ain't Seen Traffic Yet!"
...Where is the holy in that personality trait, I wonder?
Because, see, I'm assuming that to wait in perfect patience would be the much holier choice. And I'm kind of mentally berating myself right now. Patience is a virtue, right? 1 Corin. 13: "Love is patient, love is kind..."
So where does that put me, one who abhors waits and wants fervently to keep the wheels rolling?
I try. Look, I do!
I slow down, you know. And I stop for the signs. I just don't like the unknown waiting time of a re.... Ohhhhhh! So that's what this is about?!
We're back to me and my control thing. More plainly, my need to control things. Just my humanity, comin' out. How simple was that? Strange I never put it together until I wrote it all down.
And so here's the holy I'm craving more of, I now figure: If I can see where I fall short of the glory, then I can ask for a little more of it. Alone, I probably can't change how I am -- even down to a small, daily habit of greater patience. As devout as I get, I'll still be me. But maybe I don't need to change that much. Maybe it ISN'T the more excellent way for me to find a mantra or breathe deeply when I'm the 8th car back. I think, maybe, change doesn't have to be that hard.
Maybe I can just remember how much I need Jesus' presence -- before I get cranky and lose my cool. Maybe I can be just a little less me and a little more Him. Maybe Jesus understands why long red lights crawl under my skin. And maybe he can make me laugh while we wait.
(That one at Paluxy and the Loop, especially. NIGHTMARE! But I digress...)
Sometimes, I turn to the right just to avoid waiting at a red light. It'll mean more driving -- oh I know! -- but I'd somehow rather stay in motion than stay on the correct path.
My spiritual life is just about like that. Lot of right turns, even when I'm pretty sure straight would serve me better.
I just don't find it easy, any more, to pause my mind... to full-stop and wait. My soul's tendency is to stay in motion. Yet, I know that I also tend to take lots of wrong turns without pause for reflection.
My head can make a tidy little connection here -- I need short pauses to reflect, while red lights provide just such short pauses. But my gut says, "let's be honest... prolly not gonna happen." (And, yes, my gut speaks colloquially.)
I have to confess, I'm just not the kind of girl who is zen enough to use each traffic stop as "found time" to reflect and pray. I'm not so big on "found time," at any time, at this stage in life.
I go, go, go (sometimes in circles) and then I mentally stall. That's how I roll in 2010.
I am the girl who turns right once, then left twice to get past a roughly 4-block area of backed up cars... in my medium-sized town of "Oh, You Ain't Seen Traffic Yet!"
...Where is the holy in that personality trait, I wonder?
Because, see, I'm assuming that to wait in perfect patience would be the much holier choice. And I'm kind of mentally berating myself right now. Patience is a virtue, right? 1 Corin. 13: "Love is patient, love is kind..."
So where does that put me, one who abhors waits and wants fervently to keep the wheels rolling?
I try. Look, I do!
I slow down, you know. And I stop for the signs. I just don't like the unknown waiting time of a re.... Ohhhhhh! So that's what this is about?!
We're back to me and my control thing. More plainly, my need to control things. Just my humanity, comin' out. How simple was that? Strange I never put it together until I wrote it all down.
And so here's the holy I'm craving more of, I now figure: If I can see where I fall short of the glory, then I can ask for a little more of it. Alone, I probably can't change how I am -- even down to a small, daily habit of greater patience. As devout as I get, I'll still be me. But maybe I don't need to change that much. Maybe it ISN'T the more excellent way for me to find a mantra or breathe deeply when I'm the 8th car back. I think, maybe, change doesn't have to be that hard.
Maybe I can just remember how much I need Jesus' presence -- before I get cranky and lose my cool. Maybe I can be just a little less me and a little more Him. Maybe Jesus understands why long red lights crawl under my skin. And maybe he can make me laugh while we wait.
Dumpster Diving
So, Owen has lately developed an interesting habit. He digs things out of the trash can.
...It isn't (always) as disgusting as it sounds. And it makes a certain kind of sense if you think like an almost-3-year-old. Or a rat terrier.
It started when I would throw his gum away. (Anyone wondering why a 2-year-old gets to chew gum? Two words: OLDER BROTHER.) Owen is OBSESSED with gum. And, for his age, he does OK keeping it inside his mouth for a good stretch of time. But, as soon as Owen begins to play with it, I take it away and put it in the trash.
So it occurred to Sneaky Pete that he could simply wait until I leave the room, lift the lid and retrieve his treasure. It's right there on top! ;)
Soon enough he discovered other "treasures" can be found with just a little initiative, hiding under the top layer in said receptacle. Kids meal toys. Broken cars. Used-up markers. Bio-hazard level stinky summer sandals. As if the kitchen trash were simply another storage bin located anywhere in the house, O began to reach in and repossess things he was CLEARLY not done with.
Interestingly, he never flaunted these repos. He instinctively shoved them behind his back when I came into the room. Curious...
So, we had a long talk to reinforce concepts like "germs" and "dirty" -- plus the need for NEW GUM EACH CHEW -- and I haven't noticed any out-of-the-trash episodes since. (He did grab some Ramen noodles off the floor yesterday, but I think that's a whole 'nother thing. ...Just keepin' it real for posterity.)
As the dumpster diving seems to be winding down, I've been wondering was I more disturbed or impressed at the natural inclinations of childhood? (Hmmm! So often the question when raising boys... I should coin a term for the equal mix of "disturbed" and "impressed.")
Should I understand as much as I reprimand? After all, Owen is hardly the only kid who's valued something adults don't, or who doesn't blanch at getting a little dirty to get what he wants.
It does make me happy, on some fronts, that he wanted to hold on to imperfect things. There's wisdom in that. But there's also wisdom in letting things go, because they're only just things.
It's such a lot to learn, isn't it -- how to evaluate all the objects that flow through modern life. Trash or treasure? Toss or keep? Recycle or donate? A decision before us all the time. And just what makes that T-shirt with the scratchy collar more valuable than the 101 Dalmations figurine? He must have cocked his adorably curly head and wrinkled his eyebrows over that one. ;)
The thing I take from this episode of toddlerhood is to respect the way they come to us. Sometimes we have to train our children out of an inclination -- it's both right and duty of parenting -- but we should also try to value their instincts. Owen's have certainly made me stop and think each time I lift the kitchen can lid. "Would I want to see my child playing with this again later?" I ask myself. "Could I do anything different with it?" And, maybe most important of all, "if no, should I hid it in a taller trash can right now?"
...It isn't (always) as disgusting as it sounds. And it makes a certain kind of sense if you think like an almost-3-year-old. Or a rat terrier.
It started when I would throw his gum away. (Anyone wondering why a 2-year-old gets to chew gum? Two words: OLDER BROTHER.) Owen is OBSESSED with gum. And, for his age, he does OK keeping it inside his mouth for a good stretch of time. But, as soon as Owen begins to play with it, I take it away and put it in the trash.
So it occurred to Sneaky Pete that he could simply wait until I leave the room, lift the lid and retrieve his treasure. It's right there on top! ;)
Soon enough he discovered other "treasures" can be found with just a little initiative, hiding under the top layer in said receptacle. Kids meal toys. Broken cars. Used-up markers. Bio-hazard level stinky summer sandals. As if the kitchen trash were simply another storage bin located anywhere in the house, O began to reach in and repossess things he was CLEARLY not done with.
Interestingly, he never flaunted these repos. He instinctively shoved them behind his back when I came into the room. Curious...
So, we had a long talk to reinforce concepts like "germs" and "dirty" -- plus the need for NEW GUM EACH CHEW -- and I haven't noticed any out-of-the-trash episodes since. (He did grab some Ramen noodles off the floor yesterday, but I think that's a whole 'nother thing. ...Just keepin' it real for posterity.)
As the dumpster diving seems to be winding down, I've been wondering was I more disturbed or impressed at the natural inclinations of childhood? (Hmmm! So often the question when raising boys... I should coin a term for the equal mix of "disturbed" and "impressed.")
Should I understand as much as I reprimand? After all, Owen is hardly the only kid who's valued something adults don't, or who doesn't blanch at getting a little dirty to get what he wants.
It does make me happy, on some fronts, that he wanted to hold on to imperfect things. There's wisdom in that. But there's also wisdom in letting things go, because they're only just things.
It's such a lot to learn, isn't it -- how to evaluate all the objects that flow through modern life. Trash or treasure? Toss or keep? Recycle or donate? A decision before us all the time. And just what makes that T-shirt with the scratchy collar more valuable than the 101 Dalmations figurine? He must have cocked his adorably curly head and wrinkled his eyebrows over that one. ;)
The thing I take from this episode of toddlerhood is to respect the way they come to us. Sometimes we have to train our children out of an inclination -- it's both right and duty of parenting -- but we should also try to value their instincts. Owen's have certainly made me stop and think each time I lift the kitchen can lid. "Would I want to see my child playing with this again later?" I ask myself. "Could I do anything different with it?" And, maybe most important of all, "if no, should I hid it in a taller trash can right now?"
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