Middle Child

They all play piano minus my middle child.  He chose violin.

We celebrated his eleventh birthday this week.  He wanted to play football with friends and have ice cream mixers.

I think about his life.  Today my hip hurts and I'm pretty sure I can trace it back to him as a baby.  He never wanted me to carry him, was always leaning out and grabbing.  That's all fine except that he was one heck of a chunk.

And the pain didn't stop there.  He naturally knew what a tantrum was and how to throw one well.  He has a mind of his own and wasn't afraid of disagreeing.  He has a knack for finding what makes you tick and pushing that button.  He's why Brian coined the phrase, "if it's not fun for everyone, it's not good fun."

But the flip side is he has an amazing heart for justice.  He's practically memorized The Action Bible.  He thrives on knights and fighting for the right and his heart is soft if you explain gently.

His humor is getting funny and growing in appropriate-ness.  He works hard; once he understands a job, he does it well and thoroughly without a complaint.  He looks out for the underdog.  He loves little kids and prides himself on his math.  He has a fascination with planes and all things military.  He loves dress up and playing pretend even now.

I've learned a lot from him and believe God has much more to teach me through his life.  I'm praying earnestly his heart is always soft to God and he seeks first His Kingdom and His Righteousness.

My dad writes poems for the kids on their birthdays.  Here's the one for Dawson.

The 'Middles'

There is beginnings and there's ends,

There's firsts and there are lasts.

Sometimes these bookends catch the eye

and what's between gets passed.

There's those who catch the football

and there's those who make the toss,

but the middle of the line

is what keeps all from being lost.

There's those who search the wilderness,

There's those who write the tombs.

There's those who lead out far ahead

and those who stay at home.

There's all of that romantic stuff 

of sailing seven seas.

There's all of those who ponder

in the universities.

Then there's those who build the bridges

and there's those who fight the wars.

There's those who raise up children

and there's those who mind the stores.

There's those who care for animals,

There's those who entertain.

There's those who load the trucks and ships,

There's those who grow the grain.

The 'middles' are important,

They're essential; just the same

They often go unnoticed

while expected to remain.

It seems they're like the planets

sparkling bright in pre-dawn sky,

but then the hand of brighter sun

obscures them from our eye.

But though they are obscured

by all the glorious yellow light,

They run their course with diligence

unnoticed 'til next night.

We cannot measure truly

what the 'middles' worth might be;

so we must pause, appreciate,

and sing out thankfully.

Snails, Cockroaches, and Fashion

I apologize this blog is not about Christmas.  Except that part of Christmas is reveling in the now.  This is my now.

Timothy is a snail-lover.   There is a rookery (I'm not sure what snail hatching areas are called) on the north side of our house.  The kids get snails for Timothy and keep them in a container in his room.  The other day they decided to play hide-and-seek with them.  Of course they got bored or distracted or something and this is where I found one while doing the laundry.

We celebrated Raleigh's tenth birthday last week.  We encourage the kids to get gifts for the birthday person.  Unfortunately Conner came up with an idea that still leaves me scratching my head.

Conner had seen Raleigh find great joy in catching a large cockroach when they were visiting family in Mississippi.  So he wanted to get him some for his tenth birthday.  My husband couched it in terms such as: "I want to encourage his heart of giving."

Now just last month my dear friend blogged on the adorable puppy they got their seven year-old for his birthday.  Not I.

I, on the other hand, possess cockroaches.  Two giant, will-get-four-times-the-size-cat-food-and-scrap-eating hissing cockroaches.

The only consolation is that the woman at the exotic pet store wouldn't sell the females because she's getting low.  I really hope she knows how to tell the difference.

A man at church asked how their mom felt about possessing cockroaches as pets.
Conner told him that I did admit their backs were a pretty combination of colors.

Our cats are gray and brown, the snails are gray and brown, and the cockroaches as well, though they mostly have black and brown.

I'm glad fashion has recently decided that gray and brown are good together.  Now a lot of my old clothes are getting a new lift as I pair different things together.  I felt like a wild rebel wearing my brown slacks with a gray and navy cardigan to church on Sunday.

Watch out, Mom, next it's going to be black and navy, though I hope I don't have any pets to match.

The Eight-Year-Old

I read something written in passing.   The author was making a completely different point, but something on the way struck me.  She said she loved ten year-olds; the way they act, think, look at life.

Ever since then I've been thinking of my children with that vocabulary: the three year-old, the eleven year-old, etc...

I remember to enjoy their stages that way.  I stop to appreciate what's going on inside them.  I consider that a stage means it will be over, often sooner than later, so I better enjoy.  Now.

I thought I'd record a little of their current stages, starting with my just-turned-eight year old.

 

Dawson is in second grade, is learning to play the violin and piano, mostly wears his Seahawks football uniform, loves building things, making things out of recyclables, finding out what makes people tick, and ticking them.

He's a great table setter and compost dumper.  He loves all things new.  If it's new, he's there to figure it out and use it until something newer comes along.  You can often find he and Raleigh together, though he loves all his siblings.

He thinks for himself and has a soft heart toward God.  I am deeply humbled and regularly flummoxed through the gift of being his mom.

Turn your head sideways and you can see a wolf howling at the moon, maybe???

I include a poem from his Pugga (Grandpa):

These days the trees release their leaves,
Then, standing bare and stark,
They prophecy of winter sky
And ice upon their bark.

But while the air is warm and fair
Let's laugh at winter's fear.
Let's jump and dash and twist and smash
In Seahawks football gear.

A Letter To "Tween" Boys

I'm riding my bike around the track with my daughter in the evening light when I see you come.  The way you've always come, but this time, my heart bleeds.

Because though you come outside, you come different.  Harder.  Blacker.  With shaggy hair hiding your ears and a cap over your eyes and a skateboard attached to your feet.  You hide your humanity and I believe, for a moment, you aren't human anymore.

You're not as interested in my yard...it's got no draw.  You find others of your kind and I close my heart.  I try to place judgement on you and determine I will not allow you to hurt me for your rejection of innocence.  For I've seen you innocent.  Stooping over beetles, swinging in the hammock, singing songs about  Jesus in the backyard.

You've disappeared and I don't know what to do but close you out.  I try to blame you so I won't feel guilty.  For really, I'm afraid I didn't do enough.  Show enough interest in you.  Love you.  Share the word Jesus with you.  Laugh with you.  When I could.

And now what will become of you, you child of this sinful world, just like me?

Though my heart wants to give up on you, the Spirit in me just won't.  As I ride my bike I pray.  Pray that somehow our home, our yard will be a safe light you'll always look to.  Even while you test out the darkness.  That my love will continue for you and you'll know that.

As I ride toward the house in the fading light you come asking for a cup of water.  You sit on my steps and drink and I hit your hat down further over your eyes.  I smile and remember who you were, and who you are still inside.

My heart bleeds, and I know it is a sign.  I'm loving you, not as good as Jesus does, but for Jesus.  I won't, I can't, give up on you.


Photos taken of cousins at the farm.
Letter written to all the little boys I've watched growing up, some in very difficult circumstances, embarking on the changes of adolescence very soon.  It is a challenging time for many. 

Rocks and Socks

 The three older boys were invited to visit their grandparents for a few days.

I took the time to investigate....what was in that backpack I confiscated awhile ago because
a couple first graders were playing with matches?

And I've passed by a vest many times, lifting it briefly from its hook with a passing thought, why does this weigh at least twenty pounds?

Also a pink striped bag looked unassuming but had been lying around since Easter...what was in it?

I got my answer...Rocks.  And Socks.

All this from a seven year-old boy who lost his tooth eating cotton candy this weekend.
Cotton candy?


photo by Michelle of morningbellsphotography.com

A Thanksgiving Gift

Titus 3: 4-7

"But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared he saved us,

not because of righteous things we had done,

but because of his mercy.

He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal

by the Holy Spirit,

whom he poured out on us generously through 

Jesus Christ our Savior,

so that,

having been justified by his grace,

we might become heirs

having the hope of eternal life.

A Poem at Seven

Halloween did come and go, I hardly even knew.
Our porch received no visitors with candy sacks in tow.

But I recall the week just passed that many times those steps
Provided passage in and out for children who did show

That kittens could be gentled down enough to let us know
Contentment from their gentle purrs when they were petted slow.

Now Dawson is the master at calming kittens' fears
He holds them to his bosom as he strokes their velvet ears.

From Pugga (Grandpa) to Dawson on his seventh birthday.

Boys...

As a little girl I thought boys were very mysterious.  I wondered what it was they did with their time.  What did they do for fun when they played together?

Understandably so.  I am the oldest of three.  A younger sister and then a brother eight years younger than me.  We have three girl cousins who lived right down the road.  Another two girl cousins as well.   The three boy cousins lived far away until I was older and busy with my own life.

So when we played, we played house, doctor, school, travel agency, dolls, had our own store, P.A.S. (If I told you what the initials stood for you'd know my maiden name and then you could steal all my stuff).  And the brother, well, we dressed him up as a girl and named him Jennie.  He kind of had to follow along. 

Poor boy.  When I brought my future husband home for the first time I was telling him about my brother, how even though he was raised with so many girls, he was totally a boy.  We entered my parents' home and he came to meet Brian donning a tutu.

My friend Amanda was born on March 19th.  Every year she'd have a slumber party at her house.  Garrett, also in our class, was born on March 17th.  He'd have a slumber party a few houses down on the same night with all the boys.  Sometimes we'd meet up for a bit, but mostly I just wondered what they did while we watched Girls Just Want to Have Fun and painted our nails.

Now I know.  Six boys in my living room this morning (which is not terribly uncommon) and the mystery is solved.  It's not nearly as romantic as I thought it might be.

And my little daughter?  Well, she'll never look with rose-colored glasses on the life of a boy.   More likely, she'll wonder what all the little girls do with their time.