staring down May

Uh yeah, this pretty much sums up how I feel when I look at my calendar and see my crazy month of May.

I feel like I am at the bottom of the slide and someone is barreling down behind me about ready to collide with my topside. Like a frantic dream, I am glued to the bottom and cannot get off quickly enough. 

Let's see if I can come up with some other similes that convey how I feel...

It's like I just stuffed myself with appetizers and dinner and a massive portion of a fudge brownie ice cream sundae (that was my April) and then someone held a gun to my head demanding that I eat another fudge brownie sundae. Can't. Take. One. More. Bite.

No no no, not good enough. Let's see...

It's like I am tied to the tracks and I can see the train coming a mile off, the faint toot of its horn warning me of my impending disaster. (Where is my rescue?!)

No, that's a little melodramatic.

It's like I'm Dorothy, running through the pasture with the tornado on her back, looking for some way to find shelter.

Dumb? It's super windy here so naturally that is where my brain went.

Okay, I suck at similes.

Anyway, anybody feel that way about May? Wanna add your own simile?

Why is spring so crazy?? I wrote a list of all my May activities, tasks, responsibilities and just wanted to go run and hide, throw my hands to my face, stick my head in the sand. So much to do, so many places to be! It truly challenges my introverted nature. It kills me that my favorite Real Simple magazine is sitting on my night stand and I cannot get to it. It is a practice in perspective for this die hard introvert to look at each day and take it one at a time and realize that each event, job, is really not that bad. In fact, they are all going to be enjoyable. (Well except for maybe one task, but I will choose not to see it as the black dot on the large piece of white paper.) I need to just close my eyes and take a deep breath and step into this month with the assurance that I will get through it. All will be well.

It...might...actually...be fun? (baby step at positive thinking)

And if your month of May is as crazy as mine then maybe we can hold hands and walk through it together. Sometimes you just need to know that you are not alone.

Hey, have a happy Friday!  

xoxo  

(Smooch, hug, smooch, hug...that's what me and the Bean say.)

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

p.s. Such a random tangent. I had to laugh at this girl when taking her picture. Just a week ago I was chuckling at her shirt. Remember this? This girl really knows how to wear it like you mean it. 

His day

He puts the kids to bed most nights, says prayers, gives back rubs, and then smooches.

He makes breakfast every morning for them while I sleep. Puts a pillow over my head when he comes into take a shower.

He takes the kids to school, working with Bean to get her through her morning without a meltdown.

He is the designated school field trip chaperone and rarely misses one.

He fixes the neighborhood kids' bikes and scooters, plays street hockey with them.

He is known to wash many a dirty dish, run the dishwasher.

He loves his birthday. Loves the tradition of a junk cereal on your birthday. Reese's Puffs. Yum!

He coaches flag football and looks every kid in the eye and tells them what a great job they've done.

He is the newly knighted Boy Scout chaplain for troop 730.

His guy friends know that he will give them a bear hug.

He is incredibly wise. Deeply intuitive. 

He stands in the tide with his kids, jumps the waves, digs swimming pool sized holes in the sand.

He was the one to suggest we get a kitten for the Bean.

He drives a total beater of a car and never complains.

He tends to the "Honey Do" list and rarely grumbles. 

He loves to think in the realm of possibilities and create something new.

He builds pinewood derby cars, train stations, roller coasters, anything with the Kid.

He puts the clean sheets on the bed.

He loves his family.

He has read through almost every Calvin and Hobbes with the kids. Laughs the hardest.

He is the master at giving nicknames. (Just warning you.)

He is an amazing teacher, communicator. People listen to him. He's funny too, so that helps.

He rises every Saturday to make "pampakes". Cleans every dish afterward. 

He has many friends, and many love him. 

He conditions and combs Bean's hair so the post shower comb through is tear-free.

He is a fierce napper. 

He "takes care of" the unwelcome spiders that find their way inside.

He makes sure each of our kids get special one-on-one time.

He mediates arguments over who gets to spend time with him after dinner.

He plays "horsey" with Bean even though I know it kills his knees.

He will break out the special bottle of wine that he has been saving if you happen to come over for dinner.

He will never turn down a dinner invite and a bottle of your wine if you so happen to call.

He will wear the left over goofy orange ski goggles...and wear them proudly.

He is the father to the neighborhood's fatherless, makes them Saturday grilled cheeses, teaches them how to get along.

He is the French Roast coffee bean's most loyal follower.

He is friends with every coffee shop barista within a 20 mile radius.

He never breaks a confidence.

He loves God, is a praying man.

He is the only adult in our family who will willingly buy tv dinners when he is on dinner duty.

He will watch Bolt for the 10 millionth time with Bean because it's one of her favorite things to do with him.

He will take your money in Monopoly and never apologize, not even if you are seven years old.

He loves a good beer, with a good friend, in front of a good hockey game.

He will charm you with his wit.

He was known as Bean's personal "Daddy Tram" for three days in Disneyland. God bless him.

He talks to his kids. He looks them in the eyes. Teaches them to do the same.

He listens to me. He never invalidates, puts me down, condescends, shames, or bickers.

He worries about not being the father that he wants to be and I stare at him in disbelief. I shake my head and interrupt and refuse to let him go on any further. I refuse to let him lie on his death bed and say, "I wish I were a better father, better husband." I will not listen.

For I am truly humbled by his example.

I know he is not perfect. I have lived with him for fourteen years and I know. We have our conflicts, our never ending issues. He has his impatient moments with the kids and is known to have to apologize to them.  But, he says, "I was wrong, will you forgive me?"

I cannot say it enough, shout it enough, that he is an amazing father and husband. Today is his birthday and I the least I can do is grab this chance to shout it to the world.  I would choose no other because no other would do. No other would compare. Flaws and all, I have the best husband. I really do. I am a blessed woman.

I love you Pal.

Happy Birthday from me.

xoxo

p.s. This is the 2nd annual bday close-up. Another thing to boast about....this man patiently sits for his birthday photo...the only one in the family to do so for me. (Thank you for humoring me Pal.)

drifters and visitors

These were the drifters yesterday evening. 

Remnants from the rain, silently sailing across the expanse of sky, 

passing over me as I stood weighted to the ground. 

I am always caught breathless under them. I cannot quite articulate it. 

It has something to do with being a tiny earthbound witness to 

their grace-like presence creeping across the sky. 

They are visitors. 

And I feel compelled to capture the brief moment they are here.

Drifters and Visitors.

Passing through, never the same.

And always artfully displayed upon a backdrop of sun and sky. 

grieve not your youth

Remember your youth? Like on the edge of puberty youth? When your body was on the brink of something crazy, emotional, surreal, awkward, confusing, and yet thrilling?

When you spent your waking hours absorbing and gossiping about what others were doing, wearing, saying, singing?

When you tried on attitudes, slang, styles, emotions, because you could not (yet) find your own?

Remember when you began to notice that your body was different from others? And you had no idea that your obsession was nothing compared to what you would worry about later?

Close your eyes and think for a moment about those chapters of your youth.

Remember when you could eat junk food and gross amounts of candy without care? When you had no regard for a calorie or a carbohydrate? (sigh)

Remember when a wrinkle was something your mom ironed out of your shirt?

When you could wear any style of shoe and never pay for it later?

When you always wanted to be older then you were? When you thought sixteen and getting your license was the ultimate arriving point?

When rumors were truth and drama was normal? When standing in a circle with your friends gave you comfort and belonging? (Because, whether you admitted it or not, you believed that to be included was everything.)

Remember your youth?

Remember when the awareness of your beauty was forming? When your elders would swoon over your smooth skin, and cellulite-free legs and you just didn't get it because you wanted breasts or muscles, height and maturity?

Remember when your beautiful child-like heart was still beating faintly enough to pull heart strings?

When the landscape of your heart was not yet marked with the wounds and scars of hard fought love battles?

Or your idealism not yet tainted with the ugliness of realism?

Remember when your ignorance was actually something that was valuable? Something your parents fiercely protected because they saw the tidal wave of worldly influence crashing on your shores?

Remember?

Ah, you do? And you'd take no amount of money to go back there, well, except to maybe have that body? Yet, what is that cliche... "Youth is wasted on the young" ??  Out of one side of our mouth we are wincing at the embarrassing naivety of our youth and out of another we are lamenting our once luminous skin, our slender body, our "little" problems. We want the body of our youth with the wisdom of our age.  We want to go back and whisper to our adolescent self, to save us from needless worry and tears. Am I right?

But it's such a confusing push and pull. On a physical level we spend our youth wishing we were older  but then somewhere along the way we find ourselves trying to turn back the years, spending millions to get there. We always want what we do not have, what we think we have lost. It's a funny little thread of grief that weaves its way into our heart and settles there somewhere in our adult years. (It hit me in my mid thirties.) And then on an emotional level, once we have children of our own, we say that we do not want them to grow up.  Yet we really do rush them. We want our ten, twelve (fill in the age) year old to behave like adults. We expect her to navigate the terrain of her emotions with maturity and self control. We get frustrated over his idealism so we temper it with our cynicism, pragmatism, realism, whatever you wanna call it. We get frustrated with her wide spectrum of emotions and invalidate them with the logic that what she is feeling is not worth the energy expended.  (Come on! You're crying over not getting the first pancake?!?!) We want him to just GET IT (darn it!) that if he does not make right decisions now then his life is on a one track course to destruction. So we limit their power of choice and speak for them. We take responsibility for their actions and shame them for embarrassing us. And we expect them to handle their sibling relationships with the emotional maturity of Dr. Phil. It sounds so extreme but I am guilty of doing all of this at one time or another. (I know I just totally popped your image of me as a perfect mother!)

But ultimately, I think we all on some level, project our sense of loss over our own youthful failures and hurt onto our children in an attempt to course correct their lives so they can avoid the pain we know they will encounter. I mean, who willingly wants to watch her child bear a painful cross?  So some of us are forever grieving in some form over the previous chapters of our lives and trying to make up for it in the parenting of our children. Our motives are sincere and good, but our methods are flawed.

Or maybe this is just me?

Let's say it's just me. In my slow growing humility and wisdom I have begun to reconcile with my grief and recognize that crazy push and pull. Yesterday, when I looked into the depths of these youthful eyes (that reminded me of my daughter's) I saw the uncharted path of her soul and at once wished it all the joy and pain, triumphs and mistakes, that it would take to craft her into the woman she was intended to be. I wanted her to know happiness. I wanted her to fail a few times. I wanted her to experience the pain of finding herself among the sea of imitations and then know the confidence that comes from the discovering. I wanted her to know sorrow and elation. I wanted her to have fun. I wanted her to learn what her voice sounds like. I wanted her to experience youth with all the bows and whistles because she will never have it again. I am not talking about wanting to encourage her to run wildly without borders, or letting her dabble in harmful, unhealthy experiences. I am talking about not pushing her through her age, to be something that she presently is not. I am talking about wanting her to own the chapter that she dwells in.  I am talking about validating the experience with the knowledge of one who has been there. Empathy is a precious gift my friend.

Really I could give to her what I am just learning to give to myself: the grace to stand in my present chapter.

Because then I just simply have the privilege of being a wiser escort along her path. With patience, grace and most of all love, I could encourage her when the going gets tough, yet I could remind her that this is only one of many chapters in her life.  And moreover, that the future version of herself is waiting in a future chapter, but it has yet to be written and she need not rush to get there. All in due time.

Honestly, if I had the chance, this is the only thing I would tell my youthful self.

The rest I would leave for her to discover on her own.

p.s. These preteen girls were so fun. Beautiful! The middle girl's mom asked if I could just take some quick head shots for a drama audition and her friends wanted some lens time too. I loved loved loved being with them. I have such a passion to show them how beautiful they are inside and out, braces and all. :) They were easy to photograph and I had fun drawing them out. I'm seriously thinking this is my favorite niche. I mean, babies are cute, but they don't really care. There is just so much more you can communicate to the girl on the other side of the lens. She needs to know that she is beautiful AS IS. I love showing that to them. 

weekend finds

Ready to hear about my weekend "finds"?

I went away to the mountains this past weekend--a retreat with some women, friends, sisters.

We were retreating from motherhood for a weekend to get some space, refresh, have uninterrupted conversation. The men held down the forts back at home, fed our kids pancakes and grilled cheeses for dinner, stayed up late and played Monopoly. Oh, and all slept in the same bed. While putting my daughter to bed last night she said, "Mama, I'm so glad your home. When you're home everything is normal." 

So I'll begin my weekend finds with one that is actually my daughter's: It is good to have Daddy time and do things the Daddy Way (sometimes), but deep down she must admit that routine, sugar-free meals, and restful sleep are actually good for her body and soul. (Do I dare say my job is done?)

Find number two: When you leave your camera in the car (up in the mountains) without the lens cap on the lens will gather condensation, and then continue to fog up in the warming morning air, after every wipe. Good for my patience level? No. But good for softening little bokeh that are dancing on the edges of the picture? Yes. 

Finds numbered three through fourteen are listed below.

I found that...

3. I love little turquoise stars. Simple as that. 4. Rusted old scales hanging in an antique shop look cool.  5. The knees of my jeans will get soaked on a dewy damp lawn when attempting to stoop to tiny daisy flower level.   6. My friend loves colored depression glass. (I love learning something new about a friend!)   7. I wanted to take this little clay pot with me but thought it was cuter in his cubby home so I left it undisturbed.   8. You can find your reflection in an antique Juice-o-matic.   9. I'd rather pick up my camera than pick up a book. Which is saying a lot because I am an avid reader.  10. Spotting a swing with out one of my children in it, just makes me miss my children.  11. I love numbers and letters. But I already knew this so it's not really a new find. This 8 was cool though. 12. Broken windows are only cool on other people's buildings.  13. I need to plant some flowers so I can have this little flower pot.  14. Little blue glass ink pots tucked away in a little home make me smile.

Find number fifteen: standing in the center of a grove of California Redwoods is a spiritual experience. Maybe it's something about the majesty of their height or the fact that they grow in families. Their roots grow shallow but spread out for hundreds of feet, entangling their roots with each other to form a massive support system. A new find? No, but one that I am reminded of when I stand at the feet of a Royal Redwood. Strength is not found in singularity but in community. A lesson I seem to forget.

And lastly, find number sixteen? Discovered after I came home when I finally got around to checking my email inbox. My collage entry for iheartfaces from last week won 6th place out of over 500 entries. What a sweet surprise. :) And my mother knew before me, who told my hubby. So I guess find number seventeen would be discovering that my mom is my number one fan, seeing as how she made it a point to check the iheartfaces website this weekend, while I had completely forgot about the contest and would not have thought to look until probably tomorrow. Hmmm, maybe find number eighteen would be: I need to go away more often because clearly my brain can't hold it all. 

Did you find anything exciting this past weekend? Do tell.

 Happy Monday! 

nothing less than a miracle

Welcome to Friday friend. I am heading out of town for the weekend with some girlfriends and won't be back to Blogland until Monday. So I'm leaving you all with some pictures of my morning that I spent with a family yesterday. Days ago they welcomed a little baby brother into their midst via a very crazy birth story. As I sat down with this beautiful mom and heard the birth story I was in awe, yet again, of how life is precious...a miracle. I will save the details of the story, simply because it would take a few blog pages to write it, but also because it would make you wanna go punch a few nurses at a certain hospital. And I love nurses (really) because I know a few, and their jobs are hard. So instead, as you scroll through the pictures, simply be reminded of how miraculous it is that babies are even born in the first place. That, for most of us, our womanly bodies know what to do when it is time to give birth. And even if our bodies do have trouble, our brains (whether it be ours or the doctor's) are super smart enough to come up with, and fight for, a solution...all to participate in the miracle of birthing life. 

I titled this one below: 40 Toes

Funny thought I had while editing this picture below: 

We enter this world with saggy, flakey skin, a double chin, poor eye sight, and uncontrollable bowels. We leave this world with saggy, flakey skin, multiple double chins, poor eye sight, and uncontrollable bowels. And somehow it is much more cuter when we are at the start line, rather than at the finish line. (Sigh) Oh to be a baby. 

I hope you know that your life is nothing less than a miracle.

Have a great weekend.

xoxo

p.s. It was a joy meeting you M family. :)

wear it like you mean it

If your face can't communicate it clearly...

Perhaps your shirt can?

I said to her...

Girl. You can hang out with my daughter anytime!

Just don't ever toss that shirt.



(Do they make them in teen sizes?)

Umbrella Outtakes...Oh JOY!

The following are left overs from our umbrella time. This one below...I know she is my daughter, but I think she is the most beautiful Bean on this planet, inside and out.  I do love her so.

And these pictures below...a testimony to her Bean-ness. As I was looking at these, my memory flashed before me scenes of her as a baby: smiley and joyful, easy (except for the sleep thing), and relational. She would smile at anyone, anything, a doorknob. She would beam a smile at you from across the room when you walked by. In her toddler years that smiley disposition developed into a sense of humor that caught us off guard. Knee slapping laughter. Nights of trying to make her big brother laugh after we put them to bed in a shared room. Where did this come from? Maybe she inherited some of her dad's wit, or Papa's corniness? When we review old videos we are reminded of how early she caught onto the understanding that laughter engages people. And she is, to this day, fond of being with people. (Dinner time is social hour, she is the last to clean off her plate.)  As she has grown older she has become quite articulate, and hilariously frank.  She is a sensitive, soft, tender, and emotive soul, blended together with a kick of comedic relief that still catches us off guard. As I write this I wonder if all parents think their child is the funniest creature on the earth? Perhaps so. But now that I pause and reflect,  I realize that Bean is just a joyful joyful creature. And that joy bleeds out the seams and cracks of her skin. 

She is still that baby that smiles at life, because she believes that life is worthy of her joy.

I am so blessed to be her mama.

iheartfaces challenge: collages (I heart collages!)

Last night, Bean and I went outside after dinner to play with our new umbrella. I was strolling through a store a few days ago and this umbrella was waiting for a nice person like me to purchase it for only $6.99. Bean is a lover of umbrellas. (She was devastated when her Hello Kitty one broke recently.) With more spring rain coming our way this week, I thought Bean might like to sport a spiffy new umbrella. 

Bean + cute umbrella = fun pictures.

I put my two favorite pictures together for the iheartfaces weekly photo challenge.

It's collage week over there. My favorite! I heart collages.
I especially heart Bean collages.
Go check out all the other fun pictures over at iheartfaces.

What to do with an unwilling subject...

Fire off a gazillion frames in hopes of catching a good one?

And then put the unwilling subject in a time out.

What a stinker.

Happy Monday blogging world!

xoxo


p.s. If you didn't check in yesterday, read about the unwilling subject's special family story.
It is way more touching than today's post. :)

Meant to be

Let me tell you a story about little big brother...

And big big brother...

And how their new little baby sister and baby brother...

were meant to be.

Their mama and dada were happy with their two older boys but something stirred in them to have another. For various reasons, they wanted to explore adopting and decided to jump through every hoop, sign every dotted line, and wait for a match made in heaven. If it was meant to be, it was meant to be.

But as I often find the story goes...while they were waiting, mama discovered she was pregnant! Thrilled with their surprise, they called the adoption people and removed their name from the potential parent list. 

They prepared for number three.  Big brothers and family were excited, all was well.

Until one day...

They received a phone call from the adoption people and it went something like this:

Adoption people: We have a baby for you.

Parents:  What do you mean?! There must be some confusion, we took our names off the list.

Adoption people: Not sure what you mean, but there is a birth family that would like you to have their baby.

Parents: But...we...are pregnant, and...took our names off of the list?

Adoption people: This family has chosen you.

Parents: But we...are.......When is the mother due?

Adoption people: Any day.

It took a prayerful moment and a quick intake of all that this would mean (bringing home a new born while pregnant with another, four kids instead of three) and yet deep in their hearts they knew that if it was meant to be, it was meant to be. How can you argue with being chosen? 

Days later they brought home baby sister (whom, I think, personally felt it was time to give mom a break from all the testosterone in the house. I mean look at those girly lips and sweet cheeks!).

And a couple of months later they brought home baby brother...

As I stood over these two, clicking away, I felt this voice in my heart say: nothing is bigger than Me Tracey. Not your plans, not your logic, not your defenses, or excuses, or your limitations. If something is meant to be, it is meant to BE. 

When we participate in the divine, the journey is amazing. 

Because I am discovering that God dreams bigger for our lives than we do for ourselves. 

I do not think this mama knew that her heart had room for two more, but God did. And when you are chosen, how great the honor and privilege to step up to the call. No matter how difficult or what you think your limitations may be, when you participate (fear and all) the return on your investment will be what you could not have possibly imagined. It is too big for your finite mind to even comprehend.

When something is meant to be...difficult or miraculous...it is a gift wrapped in an unusual package. Opening it up we find may find that it was more than we thought we could handle or imagine, but we find that it was created specifically for us to grow us, teach us, move us to a place that was better than where we once stood.

How great a gift.