Everyday Life: Sometimes birthdays don't need cake

I thought about baking a cake this afternoon and singing happy birthday to him at dinner just to help keep a part of him alive

He, my dad, would have been 58 today.

But, I thought, that just might confuse the boys more than anything.

The cake, really, would have been only a sugary symbol of a man's life we celebrate almost daily here in our house when we talk about being brave {"like Papa Brian when he was a firefighter, mom"} or being responsible {like Papa Brian, right, mom?} or being a silly goose {like Papa Brian when he was little, E} or making the fotch {I make Papa Brian's face, don't I mom?!}.

Because really, truly

all it takes is one good look at G's smile

or watching G eat a popsicle when it's 45 degrees outside

or a glance in the mirror at my copper-penny hair

or watching E's absolute determination while playing

to realize my dad's spirit, in this house, at least,

remains alive and well.

But, still, we sure do miss you, dad.

{Comments are closed on this post. But, still, thanks for being here.}

Everyday Life: Big Baby

We still lovingly call him Big Baby {because Big Baby of Toy Story 3 is very much his twinsie}.

But truth be told, there really hasn't been anything baby about him for months.

His gait is much more of a steady-on-my-own-feet toddle, completely void of wobbly, unsure steps.

His banter is complex, though he still speaks a language we have yet to understand.

His play mirrors his four-year-old brothers, as he zooms cars along the amber wooden hallways and builds skyscraper towers out of bright Duplos atop of living room carpet.

Today brings E's second birthday, and with it the realization that all the lingering pieces of his sweet babyness have completely faded into the curiosity, silliness and intensity of toddlerhood laced with affectionate kisses and strong-arm hugs.



I won't lie -- I squeeze tightly the memory of his wide blue eyes and his easy, open-mouth, gummy smiles of days passed, long passed. I am his mother after all, and mothers do well at remembering small babes pressed gently against the skin stretched across our hearts.

But, also, I celebrate the emergence of who he is



the bigness of his heart worn on his two-year-old sleeve when he hugs my neck so so tight or runs to his daddy full force only to land on his face lips first, intent on smothering him with kisses.

the infectious belly laugh that comes so easily as he runs wildly around the house with his older brother

the intensity of his determination while scaling furniture as though it were mountainous cliffs waiting to be conquered and spiked with a flag of triumph

the wildness of his little boy heart exploding with zeal and curiosity for all things new.

And I remember -- I wrap my tender mommy heart in the blanket-bandages of comfort as I embrace the marking of another year passed since he came rushing into our arms*, holding ever true to his style of his entrance by saying aloud that he was created to morph from a small wild heart embed with passion and fearlessness and love to a large one intended to forge into a world who needs exactly who he's growing to be.



Happy second birthday, my blue-eyed boy. May the One who knit you together in my womb continue to weave together the boy you're becoming.

{E was born at home after one wildly fast and unexpected evening of labor. Here's his homebirth story.}

Bigger Picture Moment: Pretty Sure

I'm pretty sure that by this time next year

there still will be dishes in the sink waiting to be washed

there still will be an ever-growing pile of laundry lurking behind the closed door of our pantry

books still will be waiting on my nightstand, unread, beckoning me to devour words like ice cream {or carrots, these days}

weeds will be poking their heads up through wet soil, begging to be pulled

the internet still will be bursting with conversation and articles I want to read

hours in the day will still add up to 24

and I'll go to sleep at night wishing for maybe just one or two more

But this little guy? He won't be four any more. He'll be ever-evolving, just like always.

All the days of his fourness will have been lived and imprinted in my mind as a memory, if I've so chosen to live my days well

soaking in who he was and who he is

and remembering that the one thing he'll always be beside himself is changing -- he's ever-morphing into newness within the stretched skin of

my first born baby who grew into a toddler



a toddler who morphed into a preschooler



a preschooler who is rapidly transitioning into a boy



who will one day become a man

who will have been built by many one-day-at-a-times of skipping out on dishes to cuddle on the couch while reading about dinosaurs, ignoring laundry piles to romp around the house as pirates in full costume and delaying bedtime to go see how God's painted the sky each new summer night.

And so the dishes, the laundry and the bedtimes will always be.

But he won't always be who he is in this skin, in this now, in this way, so I will make the effort to remember each step of his ever-changing journey from boyness into manhood.



Happy fourth birthday, G!