Not from my hands

Lately, I've been getting up early and opening the windows downstairs if they aren't already, because Steve and I fight about temperature, and listening to the morning. Since we are currently under polar vortex in July er whatever, the breeze is cool and I need a blanket. It makes my coffee taste supremely good. Lately, I'm living a Folger's commercial. The early morning....it's magical.

God gives us some amazing gifts in life. I'm not saying he's a magical wish granter or anything, although I do believe he answers prayer. I'm just reporting to you that sometimes I look around my life and I remember what a mess I've made of things. I remember the choices that were not the best, and also the ones that were downright wrong. I see the things in me that aren't good. I know they are there. Something about acknowledging that opens my eyes to the things and people around me that are most definitely not from my unsure, shaky hand, or a product of all my hard work, or a result of my super great planning or anything that I could manipulate to achieve a result. Some things are just gifts. Some things are so beautiful, how could you say that you created them? That you made it happen?

When I plant a seed, I can give it all I think it needs. I do this and I love to do this. But can I make the seed pop out of the ground? Can I reach down into the dirt and make it reach it's body toward the sun or force it to open it's flower? Can I insist it produces fruit for me to eat?

Gifts. Some things make you deny yourself, deny the power of your hand, remind you how small you are, yet loved so much and in infinite ways, and be thankful.

How beautiful.

 In the beginning...

And then......

In retrospect, I planted a lot of watermelon.

"Whatever is good and perfect comes down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens." James 1:17

The things I would never trade

There are some things I would never trade.

Watching my kids jump on the trampoline (no broken arms yet).

My son's giggle as he swings on the swing set. "Stay back there!" I say as he swings back towards me. "I can't, Mom!!!"

His laugh I'd like to capture in a jar.

A hand-picked bouquet of dandilions and violets.

Their laughter as they race through the sprinkler.

The excitement in their voices as we pick our first radish from the garden they helped plant. It is bigger than we had dreamed.

When she asks me, "What should I do, Mom?"

And, "Does this look ok?"

The way they run outside as fast as they can after scarfing down their dinner and I call them back to clear their plates first. Furiously finishing to get just a few more minutes of daylight. To squeeze every last drop.

The smell of sunscreened baby skin, toddler skin, after a long hot day.

The neon blonde mess of their hair.

The long brunette beauty in glasses.

"I'll race you!"

The clean boy, wrapped up in a towel, straight from the tub full of bubbles.

Can I run a 5K with you, Mom?

"I built you a house!" he beams. The Lincoln Log house is fantastic.

"Will you tuck me in?"

"Can you pick out my clothes?"

"Will you make me a lunch?"

"You cleaned my room, Mom! Thank you!"

"Can you fix my hair?"

"I will love you forever. Do you know that?"

This world.

GOD.....has been so. good. to. me.

"You will show me the way of life, granting me the joy of your presence and the pleasures of living with you forever." Psalm 16:11

You can't date until you finish grad school

Over at Des Moines Moms Blog, I have been over blogging my worries about what it means to be a mom, how much we give, and what the word boundaries actually means...as in...do I want to end up a stump? Check it out if you haven't yet. And share your wisdom with me. (Please, tell me your secret knowledge).
Have you heard how hard it is to raise teenagers? I bet that's news to you. Shocking, really. I know it's cliche and what not, but honestly, my teenager isn't even a teenager yet. But it sure feels like it. There's a plethora of eye rolling, door slamming, ughhhhhmooooo (I call them cow baby sounds) that come out of my precious child's mouth, stomping, and yelling.

Who wants to come over?

She has a lot going on. This age. Oh, this age. Too big to be little. Too little to be big. An enormous amount of pressure to be cool. Fractions. Ehgh. I just got the heebie jeebies thinking about it. Aren't you glad you aren't that age anymore? I remember it though. I really do. Like, when I told her she would NOT be going to the 5th, 6th, and 7th grade dance. It could be controversial, but honestly, I explained it to her like this.

1. You can't date until you finish grad school.

2. Since you can't date until grad school graduation, what's the point in going to a dance to dance with 5th-7th grade boys?

"I don't like boys yet anyway, Mom, GOSHHHHH!!!!"

3. Right. Doesn't matter.

4. You look like a 16 year old girl. I'm not putting you in a dress and sending you to the wolves.  Why do you need to mingle with older boys?

"I wouldn't be with boys, MOOOM."

5. Ok, but I'm telling you, it'll be like this: Squealing friend: "Go dance with him, OMG!!!!"

"No you!"

"No you!!!!"

"Go tell him I like him and come back and tell me what he says!!!! Hehehehehe!!!!"

"His friend Bernard says he likes you too!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Then someone will shove you over to him who has a friend who is also shoving him to you and you'll dance in a weird way to a weird song that they play at the dentist office and everyone will whisper about you.

"MOM!!!! Ugh! How do you know everything?!" She grinned. "I don't want to go anyway. It'll be boring."

Right.

Boring.

Did she just say I know everything? I'm marking this down in my long mental record of something that will never happen again....

Despite the nearly constant attitude, the huge mood swings, the cow baby sounds that resonate throughout our halls, I do have this to cling to:

Will you help me pick out my clothes? Will you fix my hair? What should I do, Mom? Does this look ok? What can I say to her? Can you check my work? Where's my skinny jeans? MOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!! Wait. I fell off there.

She needs me still. She does. She needs me now more than ever, actually. When everything around her, surrounding her, seems so extreme. Such a big deal. The world will end if _______ happens. I remember that. I remember she needs me now more than ever.

And I love her. Oh boy, do I love her.

I will be her sounding board, her skinny jeans finder, her hair do-er, her shoe finder, her bring me a flip-flop I flipped mine over a construction site fence person....(that actually happened yesterday). And I will pray that as she grows into the woman she believes she already is, that she never stops needing me. Although being needed less and less as she grows is a good thing, I pray she will call on occasion to say, "Mom, what should I do?"

Like I do when I call my mom.

Most every morning on my way to work.

Like I'll always do. Because she remembers.