enough time

Today is Lincoln's eleventh birthday.

 I should say that, "time flies," and wasn't it just yesterday that I labored this plump little eskimo baby into the world? One hour and forty-five minutes in all. From turkey dinner to baby. Jason didn't even make it to the delivery. Our midwife had 15 minutes to spare.  Or wasn't it just yesterday that I was: rocking him to sleep, going on late-night drives to get him to sleep, walking up and down and up and down the hallway in our apartment to get him to sleep, nursing him to sleep, singing him to sleep. (Please baby--sleep!) Cleaning baby throw up. Smelling like sour milk. Waking to his gummy, drooly, s0-hapy-to-be-here smile every morning. Getting him to giggle for the first time. Letting my younger brother feed him ice cream and sour cream alternately--watching him shiver and pucker with the sour cream, but innocently asking for more. Blowing raspberries on his belly. Worrying over his first fever. Fighting over who changed his next diaper. Listening to him wail during the four-hour drive back and forth between Portland and eastern Oregon. Tickling his rolly, soft neck. Listening to him say his first words: ball, Booth (our dog) and dada. Falling asleep with him in our bed, with one little leg and one little arm draped over my huge pregnant belly (hello Jack!). Sometimes feeling totally claustrophobic when his body would marsupial-cling to me, heart thumping against mine, sweaty, sleeping head on my neck--and yet feeling in my gut and bones that this was one of the most important things I would ever do. Watching him sleep.  Watching him sleep-- long eyelashes touching his round chipmunk cheeks,  floppy ears getting squished and red, chubby hands twitching and unclenched, belly full and perfect. Every day filled to the brink with our love, frustration, surprise, weariness and delight over our firstborn son. 

And...it does feel like yesterday. 

However, with every day that goes by, and every birthday that he gets to check off as a milestone in his life. I'm a mess.  I am aware. Ideally? I know he is going to grow up and leave our home.  With every milestone there is a grumbling of sadness. I know that this is part of life. I do want to raise a son who is not afraid of standing alone. 

Jason laughed at me when I cried in our bed after Lincoln's second birthday. "It's going too fast!" He didn't understand. He was so excited with every marker in time. "One step closer to manhood!"  

Then we had our first daughter.  Now, he clenches his jaw when we talk about having teenage girls. Now, he grieves when our girls grow through another shoe size. Now, he feels time passing with a tiny bit of pain.

Consequently, I've been thinking about time a lot lately. 

Instead of, 

"This is your life, it's ending one minute at a time. "

 (Chuck Palahniuk.) 

I'm trying to remember this:

"That in Christ, urgent means slow.

That in Christ, the most urgent necessitates a slow and steady reverence.

That in Christ, time is not running out. This day is not a sieve, losing time.

In Christ, we fill – gaining time.

We stand on the brink of eternity.

So there is enough time."

( Ann Voskamp.)

There is enough time for our children to grow older. There is enough time for their mistakes and mine. There is enough time to be slow. There is enough time to enjoy. There is enough time for him to turn eleven, to sigh and slurp up who he is today, and be fiercely and determinedly loyal to who he will be tomorrow.

"So I am proud only of those days that we pass in undivided

tenderness,

when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled, with

messages to the world...

or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.

Or we sit at a table, with small tea carefully poured;

so we pass our time together, calm and delighted." 

My Son Noah, Ten Years Old  by, Robert Bly.

Real Sportsmanship

Tonight I had been putting off playing catch with Lincoln. Had to make dinner. Had to chat with a friend. Had to clean up dinner...blah, blah, blah. So, I finally got that urgent feeling of inadequacy. That feeling you get when your kid is old enough to remember how you blew him or her off. When you realize they aren't two and incapable of remembering what they had for breakfast. I guess guilt and pride can be good motivators.

That, and I heard him throwing the baseball on the roof. Which was annoying.

So, I headed out to play catch. Something I think I've done maybe three or four times my whole life. He kept giving me  pointers. Which was annoying.

We had been playing for about 15 minutes. Him grinning ear to ear. Me having to run after the ball. Which was annoying. 

When...I heard a little kid saying, "Eh? Eh?"

That's Amharic for, "Hey, I know I'm too little and wimpy to play. But I really think I'd be an asset to your team."

Reagan had been standing there watching us play. Managed to put on Lincoln's batting glove...and stood patiently waiting to be included.

    



 

   

And, yes. I've pretty much given up on braids this past month. This is what her hair has looked like a lot lately. I try to fluff it up when we go out...but a majority of the time she has bed-head fro.

Don't judge me.

I'll get it right someday.

So, Lincoln and I included her in a little triangle of catch. 'Course she was no good at it. She was happily oblivious. Now, SHE was grinning ear to ear. And, if it seemed like Lincoln or I weren't throwing the ball to her often enough...she would emphatically pat her belly and say, "Eh! Eh!" Din-Din! Mah-Maaaah!"

So we played. And...it wasn't very annoying.

It was more...cute.

Precious.

Nice.

While we were outside...some other kid had a bathroom emergency and I had to go be the maid.

When I came out awhile later...they were still playing.

I know it's just catch. 

And, I know that families should love each other. So, I'm not sure I can put into words how good this makes me feel.

My son loves his sister. He loves her a lot. He includes her. She wants to be included. 

We are family. 

Sometimes that hits me randomly and hard. It's mind boggling.

 I get so caught up in the mechanics of having kids. The failures. The getting from point a., to point b. The feelings of inadequacy. Just being plain dog tired and sometimes depressed. Racking my brain on how to work better as a family. To have a home that isn't so chaotic. I start looking for validation ANYWHERE but home. When you are a stay at home mom...yeah sure, you know your job is important. But it's also just A dimension of who you are. I think being a mother will be one of the biggest investments and pouring out of self I will ever take part in. Still...still...it's not ALL of me. It's hard. And, it can seem WAY too big of a job.

 Yet, sometimes, if I would just get up...

Move. 

Play. 

Watch. 

Be humbled.

It would be so much more fun.

My tank was filled to the brim by my children tonight. It cost nothing. It was free. 

Waiting for me. 

I almost missed it...

It's hard for me to imagine...

But there are things in my life that are better than medication (I think). 

Better than organization (again--perhaps). 

Better than chocolate (just slightly).

Better than a nap (usually).

Better than calm.

Those things are...little glimpses of love in its most naked form. 

Oh sure. 

I see PLENTY of ugly, selfish, angry, tattley, lazy..."normal," behaviors, too. Sometimes by looking in the mirror. Sometimes acted out by little people.

But on days like today...they are a drop in the bucket.

Super Prayers

 A few minutes ago, I was lying down with Grant for his nap. He popped his little head up out of bed and said, "MOM! Yet's pray!"

DearYord,
Thank-you for yetting Jack and Lincoln have a dood day at school. Thank-you for Kennedy. Thank-you for my new house and new windows. Thank-you for my new beds to syeep on. Dear Yord, thank-you for all my toys. Thank-you for a new heart. Thank-you for Reagan syeeping in her bed. Thank-you for daddy in Affs-danistan. Dear Yord, I yuv you. AMEN!

"So, um Grant, what do you mean, Thank-you for a new heart?  Did you get a new heart?'

 "I don't yeally know yet. But, MOM! I 'tink that I know where He dets our new hearts. He dets them from the BYUE CORE!!!"

"The blue core? Like in the movie, Astro Boy?"

"Uh-huh. Dats what He puts in people."

I didn't even try to explain physical, spiritual or blue cored hearts to him. I just enjoyed his perspective for a few moments.

My boys always seem to blur theology and super-heroes at this age. Jack prayed, "Dear God, pyease make me a byue superhero when I drow up." Every single time we prayed. For two years straight. He would make elaborate visitation plans for us. So that while he was doing his job as a superhero; he could still see his family. Lincoln later confessed to me that whenever Jack prayed that prayer, he would pray for it not to happen. Apparently, he was worried that if Jack was a superhero--he might get killed by a super villain. And, that's never good.

Super heroes. Super villains. Blue cores. Red cores. Rocket feet. Lazar beam eyes.

Super prayers.

Super hearts.

It's all good.