Now Is Now

Bunk beds are in my sons' future. Someday. When Matthew is no longer in a crib.

It's been awhile since we moved The Rock Star's bed into the playroom. The Little Buddy started his midnight parties filled with giggling and squealing and Garrett simply couldn't sleep through it.

But then, two weeks ago, they shared a tent with my dad and Matthew did so well that four nights ago we let Garrett sleep on the floor of the bedroom, just to see how they'd do together. The oldest, remarkably, didn't try to sneak into our room to sleep on the carpet next to Troy's side of the bed. The youngest, even more remarkably, didn't throw a party in the wee hours of the morning. Well, actually, he might have. According to Garrett, Matthew woke up and started to play. He claims that he said, "Matthew, go back to sleep." Whether that happened or not will remain a mystery. There's a video monitor but after four years of learning to tune out the small noises of sleeping children, a symphony could probably drift through it's speaker without waking me.

The next night we did it again.

And the next.

"Garrett," I offered tonight, "would you like to move your bed back into the bedroom?"

Oh. Boy. Did. He. Ever.

So after dinner we spent an hour rearranging both rooms. Every five seconds The Rock Star would ask me if he could please go to bed right then. Every five seconds The Little Buddy would grin and babble something that I think had something to do with his big brother's bed being in his room.

I lowered the railing on the crib thinking that maybe we'd just see what happened. Go big or go--uh--to bed, right? After I'd read the boys their Bible story and we'd prayed I laid Matthew down in the crib and I crawled into the bed with Garrett. I've been reading half a chapter a night out of Little House in the Big Woods and I knew we were going to finish it tonight.

The moment I started reading, Matthew sat up, looked at us, and was over the side of that crib in record speed. So much for that. Garrett giggled, "Uh oh." His baby brother toddled over to us, climbed up onto the bed, and laid directly on top of him. Garrett smiled and scooted over, allowing enough room for the three of us to fit--incredibly snugly--in the bed. I read. They listened.

I was thinking of what a sweet moment it was, of how peaceful our nights have been since they've been sharing a room again, of the way my heart skips a beat when I'm blindsided by a snapshot of perfection with these brothers.

I was already having a moment, is what I'm saying.

Pa's strong, sweet voice was softly singing:

"Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,
And the days of auld lang syne?
And the days of auld lang syne, my friend,
And the days of auld lang syne,
Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,
And the days of auld lang syne?"

When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called
out softly, "What are days of auld lang syne, Pa?"

"They are the days of a long time ago, Laura,' Pa
said. 'Go to sleep now."

But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's
fiddle softly playing and to the lonely sound of the wind
in the Big Woods. She looked at Pa sitting on the bench
by the hearth, the firelight gleaming on his brown hair
and beard and glistening on the honey-brown fiddle.
She looked at Ma, gently rocking and knitting.

She thought to herself, "This is now."

She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma
and the firelight and the music, were now. They could
not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It
can never be a long time ago.

-Laura Ingalls Wilder

I will not forget the fourteen months leading up to Matthew becoming a permanent part of this family. Like stones from the Jordan river, I will remember what the Lord has done for me. But I am thankful--ever so thankful--that now is now.

A statement

Scene: Somewhere on the 15 in Provo. A car drives North. Two children are in the backseat in strapped to their car seats. A mother is in the driver's seat.

Matthew: MOM?
Me: What?
Matthew: MOM?
Me: What?
Matthew: MOM! Agabababanonoflundenflock!
Garrett: Matthew, that is not a question. That is a statement.

Did You Know?

There are times when I want to run down the street screaming the name of my Savior for all the world to hear. My Lord willingly left the glory of heaven for the horrors of earth. He pulled me out of the wreckage, set my feet on the ground, and said, "If you confess with your mouth that I am Lord and you believe in your heart that God raised me from the dead, you will be saved." From eternal suffering. From yourself. From total destruction.

As a child, there was something so spectacular about the baby Jesus. There was something so sweetly innocent about the newborn in the manger. But that baby became my crucified Lord. It was difficult to think of my bleeding, battered, Savior as someone's child. He crashed through death and into life with fierce strength and everlasting implication and the Jesus that I know isn't a helpless babe in a stable. He is the sovereign protector of my heart, the lover of my soul, the Almighty.

Once a year I remind myself that the Beginning and the End came in the smallest of packages. Once a year I think of a scared teenager holding the Redeemer. Once a year, I try to imagine my King as an infant, holding the hope of the world in His tiny clenched fist. In my mind, I struggle and fight against the wrong assumption that the baby was just a child. I sometimes forget that, even then, He was Emmanuel. God with us.

And I've always wondered when He knew.

Perhaps that is why when I stumbled upon this song, the lyrics picked me up, slammed me down, and brought a sudden rush of tears to my eyes.

Did You Know?
Were Mary's the first eyes You saw
Or did You remember choosing that shade of brown?
Were You surprised at the shepherd's crazy story
Or did You know You wrote the song the angel's sang?
What was this life like for You?

Did You know?
Did the cross cast its shadow o'er Your cradle?
Did You know?
Did You shudder each time Your hammer struck a nail?

Did You know?
How much heaven and how much earth
Were in this baby at His birth?
Did You know or did You wonder?

Did You remember the brightness of Your glory
Or did You just notice it was cold and dark here?
Did You know Your name or did You have to be told?
Were You just a baby or were You as old as time?
What was Your life like?

Did You know?
Did the cross cast its shadow o'er Your cradle?
Did You know?
Did You shudder each time Your hammer struck a nail?

Did You know?
How much heaven and how much earth
Were in this baby at His birth?
Did You know or did You wonder?
Did You wonder?
-Todd Agnew

Mama Overlooks

Mama didn't look when the toddler followed his brother outside and came back in eating a handful of week old snow.

Mama turned a blind eye when the toddler let the dog get three good licks in before he resumed his own consumption of the icy blob.

Mama didn't say anything when the oldest ate an entire caramel apple, core and all.

She didn't complain when he sneezed into the sauce as he helped her cook.

Mama smiled when the toddler held two dinosaur toys, growled, and then made the tyrannosaurus lunge at the triceratops' neck. Even though she definitely didn't teach him about survival of the fittest.

She only momentarily closed her eyes when the noise reached an inhuman decibel level.

Mama doesn't mind the dirt, the bugs, the rough or the tumble.

God gave Mama boys.

And Mama is thankful for them.

Last night, Mama held the toddler and together they practiced words. He looked confused when she started to cry. She was simply overjoyed that she has him this Christmas. She was praising Jesus that she gets the opportunity to teach him words.

Last night, Mama laid with the oldest as he drifted off to sleep. "Mommy," he said, "Can I see Miss H soon?"

"Maybe."

"Will she make me cookies?" He asked.

"I don't think so, honey." Mama replied. "She's still so sad about her daughter. I don't think she'll feel much like making cookies."

"Well," he paused. "Then I think we should make her cookies."

Mama smiled. Mama will put up with ear shattering noise. She will deal with muddy footprints across her carpet. She will eat sneeze sauce. Mama will endeavor to forget about the really small stuff--especially if tenderhearted, godly, men emerge from this household.

What are you exponentially thankful for this Christmas season?

The Bug

We used to call Garrett The Bug. Still do sometimes. But that isn't what this post is about.

See, I don't know why I ever thought I'd have a daughter.

Today, as I entered the house from the garage I noticed a bug on the handle of our snow shovel. I sent The Rock Star to grab his "bug catching" net. Together we captured the creature and deposited it into the dead snake's old cage. I thought it would be fun educational to observe a praying mantis for awhile.

I asked The Rock Star what we should call it and he gave me his standard answer, "Cheesy." It's true. Without any parental prompting, he'd name everything Cheesy. I don't know where he gets this love for cheese. Certainly his father and I would never desire to sit down and eat an entire block of cheese. We definitely don't like cheese in just about any form. We don't view cheese as one of the most perfect creations...

In any event, I encouraged him to choose something else. Something, maybe, from the Bible, since this is a pious insect. "How about Jesus?" he asked. But it seemed wrong to refer to a bug as Jesus so I asked him to head back to the drawing board. "Moses!" He smiled.

"Moses is a good name for a praying mantis." I told him. Unfortunately, after further research, I'm about 99% sure that our particular mantis is a female. I think we're just going to have a girl named Moses. And why is it that the first thing we ever have around here that's a chick also happens to be a winged insect?

So we spent some time gathering sticks and such from our backyard to make Moses a little more comfortable. We also searched high and low for bugs but only succeeded in finding a roly-poly and two earwigs. Our resident mantis seemed completely uninterested. The Husband had a meeting this morning so I asked him to bring home some crickets.

Let me tell you. Those crickets were, apparently, like fine dining for Moses because she really went to town on them. Is still going to town on them. Is ripping off their heads with gusto and slurping out their insides. And The Rock Star and I are watching. Observing. Learning about nature. Moses is watching us with those eyes and I'd be lying if I didn't feel like, maybe, tonight I should sleep with one of mine open.

And I'm wondering why I ever thought I might have a daughter. Because, yeah, I can get dressed up and have a tea party and play Barbies with the best of them but I can also catch snakes and watch praying mantises rip the heads off of crickets. There's one thing I know for sure. God gave me boys for a reason. So we'll watch this mantis for awhile. Then we'll either keep her until she dies early into the fall season or we'll let her go. Either way their will probably be tears. So I'll use my estrogen and hold my little man tight. You see, aside from setting up bug habitats, I'm also good at hugs.

World Cup

I've said before that my husband totally lucked out when it came to marrying a woman who is into sports. For real. I am at least as big of an NFL fan as he is--maybe even bigger. I love myself some National Football League. I like baseball, basketball, and a large number of Olympic sports. I even found myself at a hockey game last year and, while I really had no clue what was going on, it sure was fun watching all the fights break out.

But, unfortunately for my poor husband, during the World Cup I turn into a total cliche wife. I don't ask him to turn it off because he doesn't make me turn off football when the third three hour game of a Sunday begins. But I just don't understand why anyone would waste an afternoon watching a ball sail back and forth 8,000,000 times. But right now I'm watching the United States play England. (I'm fairly certain those are the teams and it pains me that I am so clueless because I don't like being a regular wife. I thrive on my sports knowledge which, where soccer is concerned, is tremendously lacking.) Troy had to run to the hardware store so I'm keeping tabs on the game. A commercial just came on and the narrator said, "All over the world, soccer is almost a religion." And I made a face that somewhat resembled the faces I make when I'm throwing up.

Soccer is boring. It's back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and once, maybe twice, in a game someone scores. My dad used to say the same thing about swimming. "How can you go back and forth so many times and not go crazy?" He'd ask me. I guess the love of the sport is in the eye of the beholder. Don't get me wrong, I admire what those athletes can do. I think they are amazing. I'd die if I had to run two lengths of that field and they do it, well, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. OH MAN! THE TV JUST SAID FIFA WORLD CUP! And they said it, "Fee-fa" and here I've been pronouncing it in my head like, "F-eye-fa." This is so embarrassing.

Anyway. I'm trying to understand the rules. I'm trying not to loathe and despise it. My husband loves soccer. His whole family practically lives and breathes it. My kids will probably love it, play it, excel at it. And I will sit on the sideline screaming for someone to bloody score because the boredom will be killing me slowly.

So, go United States! If that is in fact you wearing the blue...

Joy

Yesterday, as I drove around, my boys cracked each other up. They were laughing so hard that both of them were struggling to breath as they exhaled their mirth and inhaled the other's.

G: Matthew, what if you had a crystal on your head?
M: (As soon as G stopped talking) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
G: (Unable to speak because M's laugh was cracking him up) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
M: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
G: What if you had a watch on your head?
M: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
G: HAHAHAHAHA! What if you had an alligator on your head?
M: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Their belly laughs were so deep, so blessedly beautiful. And, as they rung through my ears and filled my car I could not help but laugh, hysterically with them. Tears sprung to my eyes as I listened to their voices rising and falling with glee. It's truly a wonder I was able to stay in my own lane.

California Moments

I have California moments. These are times when, completely out of the blue, something hits me and I almost leave my husband a note:

Dear Troy,
Moved back to San Diego. Took the boy. Don't worry, we still love you.
-Wife

Today I took the little dictator to the mall because I was in need of a new pair of jeans. We had a good time. There were no tantrums. Jeans were purchased. Lunch was had. At the end of lunch he saw the carousel and very near had a coronary trying to pitch himself over the side of his stroller while screeching and pointing frantically. I didn't really want to take him on the carousel because there was no one else with me to watch the stroller, diaper bag, and purchases. And I really didn't want to lug the bags up onto the thing with me. So I took him to the play area instead. He slid on the dino slides, he hid in the play logs, and he spun the giant globe they have in the center. Each continent on this particular globe is painted a different color but there are no cities or state lines or mountains or bodies of water other than the major oceans. When North America went whirling by I smiled to myself. I've always loved how easy it is to find where I live. Just trace your finger up to the very top of Baja and move it another couple millimeters to the north. I was just about to show Garrett how to find where we live when it hit me. Out of the middle of nowhere I almost starting crying right in the middle of Dino Towne Play Area. On this particular globe there wasn't even a blue dot representing The Great Salt Lake. I could have ventured a guess as to where on the globe we were at that very moment but for all I know I might have pointed to somewhere in eastern Nevada or southern Idaho. It was suddenly very disconcerting to only have a vague idea where I was.

And I am not saying that I'm not supposed to be here--because I am. I am not saying that the Lord did not lead us here--because he did. I am not saying that I want to move back or that I don't have friends here or that there aren't four thousand and one reasons to be happy in my new home. I'm just saying that the homesickness sneaks up on me, unwarranted and unexpected. It's in the fact that my mom couldn't meet me at the mall today. It's in the sweater that I am wearing at the end of April. It's in the discovery that there are only two Jack in the Boxes in this whole state and they are in southern Utah. You'd think since it took me five months to realize this it wouldn't be a big deal but the fact of the matter is that I kind of wanted Jack in the Box when it was determined that I could not have it. It's in the epiphany that I'm not just above Baja anymore. There are a great many miles between me and that endless ocean now.

I find a great deal of comfort in the fact that when Abraham was 75 God called him to leave all he knew. He took his wife and his nephew and set out from Haran. Sarah probably wasn't terribly thrilled. And on top of it all Abraham was paranoid about getting killed by the Egyptians. At least when I moved my husband didn't make me tell everyone I was his sister. Thank goodness for that. But it turned out pretty well for ole Abraham. You know, "I will make you a great nation," and all of that. The thing is, you can know you're where you're supposed to be and still have California moments.

********************************************************

He might only have 20 or so words in his vocabulary, but today he strung three of them together and said, "No more, mama." He was only repeating what I told him to say but if you lived in the house of the incessant babbling you, too, would be beside yourself with joy.

The Wind Is Howling In My Soul

My husband took my son to Target. The house is dead quiet and I should be cleaning because I only got about half of it finished yesterday. I tried, really I did. But there was a walk to the park. There were cars that needed to be driven around the house and up the walls. There was lunch to be eaten and, when the nap was finally taken, there was a Christmas scrapbook that needed this year's page finished so that it could be put away. So I should be cleaning. Instead, (shock!) I'm blogging.


I think I'm finally starting to realize that I don't get to go home. Oh sure, I get to visit but IT IS NOT THE SAME! I don't think you can find yourself, permanently, in a completely different world and not feel changed, not feel shaken to your core, not feel, a little like hitting something. I'm not homesick the way I was at sixth grade camp where there were about 45 students for every one adult and I got the brilliant idea that since I only got one three-minute shower during the entire week I would put the shampoo in my hair before getting in, to save time, and consequently had greasy and disgusting hair for the rest of the week and the cold wind howled all night and I just wanted to go home. It's not like that. I cried at sixth grade camp, silently, in my bunk--and I'd been to camp before, I wasn't a weenie. I don't cry here. Here, I just feel, kind of, hollow. I know that cars are whizzing down Main Street and I can see them so clearly it's almost as if I'm there, running some errand. I know that women are walking up and down the aisles of my grocery store, stopping to chat when they see a friend. I know that world is spinning with a life that I am no longer a part of. This is the world I live in now. It's a world where I literally live for Sunday to come so that I can see a familiar face, so that I can soak up knowledge of my relationship with the Lord. I'm sure that is a very good thing. I am positive that there will be spiritual growth born of this journey.


Last night the wind whistled mournfully across the valley. It was cold and biting and, as I looked out the window, my street was asleep with the solitude that I feel, momentarily, when I throw a party laden with pity and invite...myself. I was suddenly sinfully jealous of people who, through circumstance, have security in the roots that have grown under them when I, myself, have been severed from mine. But how often do I mistake my own happiness for God's blessing? And how many times has God's reward shaken me to my very core? And how often is He right? Always. So if I could just push through this feeling that my feet are walking on uncomfortably foreign ground, maybe I would find that this is one of those times that He is carrying me. Maybe, upon further examination, I will discover only one set of footprints in the sand.

Suffocation

Today is my last Tuesday in California. At this time next week I expect to be somewhere near Vegas on my way to a new life. If I wasn't so busy self medicating with boxes and phone calls, I would be able to feel my heart breaking.

I want to breathe everything in. To remember it all exactly as it is. To savor being Californian. I'm desperately trying to scorch images of sea and sun and remembrance and life onto that place just behind the eyes, the hamlet where nostalgia dwells and my soul only aches a little. I am telling myself that this too shall pass. But in that comfortable adage I discover a new fear. Perhaps, one day, I will have forgotten that this is home. It isn't the house, though I am having a terrible time tearing myself away from my son's first room. It isn't even the things I know and the routine of it all. It is the way that I am inexplicably alive in this space.

Utah is fine. It's a beautiful place to visit. I might have even been able to pull up a chair and stay for awhile, by a fire, with the snow-covered Wasatch Mountains peering through the window. Perhaps I will find solace in the slower pace, peace in the biting cold, and warmth in the welcome. But I will not ever find California. For what has always been under the sole of my shoe now eludes me. My definition of home will evaporate with the breath that I am holding. And I can only wait so long to exhale.

California

I'm obsessed with California.

Oh sure, there are things I'm not altogether fond of. Things like Death Valley and El Centro and politics. But to have been born and raised here is to be called a Californian--and that's not something I'm ashamed of. Because to declare her heritage and her blood means that I get to claim the warm sand of San Diego beaches, the majesty of Yosemite, the snow capped Sierra-Nevadas,the driftwood of the gray northern seashores and Redwood trees. Lake Tahoe, my favorite place on earth, covers the crooked border that is shared with Nevada. And weather worn lighthouses litter the coastline in ghostly beauty.

I've been to 18 states (and it's a personal goal of mine to see them all before I die) and I find several of them to be quite wonderful. But the thought of leaving this place for any of them actually makes my throat constrict if I dwell on it for too long. Because she is beauty. She is familiarity and magnificence and wonder. She is home.

I adore the nearly year round warmth of my life in Southern California. The way my skin feels when the sun drenches it in kisses. The not-too-hot-and-not-too-cold way it feels when a breeze picks up on a lazy afternoon in late September. How the sky looks when dusk falls over Point Loma. I love it here in my little corner of the country, where dreams are not landlocked but have an oceanic eternity to come true. Where there is San Francisco and Crescent City and Hollywood and Tahoe City and as different as they all are, they're all in the same state.

And if e'er I am to leave, I will miss the smell of waves breaking just off the shore of my youth. I will cry for all I took for granted for so long. I will remember, in my new world, what it looked like to sit behind a computer screen, on my own slice of land, in a place my grandparents came to and my parents didn't leave, and watch the trees gently blowing as the October of my life waited to take hold. But even if I find myself in New Jersey, New Mexico, New York or New Delhi, I will call myself Californian. Because I can't imagine ever ending this love affair.