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cover blown.
Bergen is a night owl. I guess he inherited it straight from both of his parents. And occasionally a part of his solitary evening involves him lying in bed and working out plans to quietly enter our bedroom after we have fallen asleep and cuddling up under the covers with us for the remainder of the night. Now – I’ve always known this was true. I mean, a boy in your bed the next morning is a pretty easy give away. Recently, however, Bergen’s slip of the tongue gave him away twice. First time: “I don’t care for that one squeaky area at the bottom of the steps,” Bergen confided.…
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little man words.
One thing I love about kids in the mid-elementary school years …. their evolving, thinking brains. They’re just so clever and interesting. And they find the world around them new and intriguing. It’s all so glorious somehow. My nature-loving, full force, energetic eight-year-old boy came to me with a tiny piece of paper last week. He placed it in my hand. It was another poem. (This kid’s getting prolific.) And I think it’s really observant and lovely and inspiring and true. It reads … “Though the trees only wither in winter, joy comes again in the shape of the first bud.” If I was going to title this poem, I…
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Hawkeye.
This boy. Oh. He just has my heart. He starts third grade next week and that just is too old to be true. Too fast. He still wants me to cuddle in bed at night. He creates games with his little brother and isn’t embarrassed to hold Otto’s hand and tell me how cute Otto looks. Inspired by his big sister, he made his first attempt at a Lord of the Rings inspired dish. Lembas bread. It was really good. And this week he asked me if it would be okay if he painted something. I said yes. He asked me to not watch what he was painting. He said…
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I can’t believe we said yes: what love will make you do.
Last week we celebrated Bergen Hawkeye’s birthday. Up until now, the guest list for most Keigley kid birthday events has been almost exclusively grown ups. Usually summer staffers. But this year we invited a few of Bergen’s buddies, drew out a couple treasure maps and created challenges for each of the kids. Turned out to be a perfectly sweet evening with fun and games and kind friends and chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. (Bergen didn’t want any food dye in his icing.) A few days before the party, my friend sent me this text. “Can we get Bergen two parakeets for his birthday?” I responded, “Um, are you kidding?”…
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my boy turns eight.
Today we are celebrating Bergen Hawkeye Norton. A boy whose life has changed ours. A boy who has introduced our entire family to bird watching and helped encourage us to continue our good food journey. A passionate little man whose feelings are more sensitive than his knees. A fellow with a tendency to follow. A cuddler and a grinner. I love him. Every baby changes the face of a family. But when I met Bergen Hawkeye, a baby whose name was chosen before we had even officially decided we wanted to have children, I knew immediately my heart was tied to his in a way I couldn’t explain. I felt…
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long enough .
And I would sit here by this gravel path all morning with my Hawkeye. I would watch the sun grow high and the sun fall low with my boy, And it would still not be long enough.
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No kidding!
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Or school being in session here at Wildwood. Or just everything. But I think my boy Hawkeye said it perfectly. I was waking him up one morning recently. He was stretching, fighting the idea of the day’s beginning. He yawned. Rolled over. Pulled the blanket over his head. Pulled it back off. Looked at me through half-opened, sleepier than you can imagine eyes and asked, “What in the world happened to yesterday?”
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I’m over here …
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don’t stop singing
The kids and I were all doing some grocery shopping recently. Everyone was walking beside the cart, chatting amicably and helping me gather our necessary purchases. Hawkeye, however, seemed to have a higher level of energy than the rest of us. Somehow he kept appearing on either side of the cart and he seemed to be continually emitting a higher volume of steady sound than anyone or anything around us. They weren’t unhappy noises, but the volume level was increasing and my tolerance level was decreasing. “Hawkeye,” I touched his shoulder. “Can you please, um, stop making all those sounds?” He froze, turned his whole body toward me. “What? You…
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the simple beautiful. some more. eureka.
A few facts you may already know: Hawkeye loves birds. Our family is in a season of life where money is . . . uh . . . not free-flowing. God provides in wonderful ways. We have been blessed by having truly generous friends. We have lived in many homes in our sixteen-almost-seventeen years of marriage. (Seven homes. Three states.) And our friend base is rather far-flung. I believe in the simple beautiful. And here’s where I fill in the blanks: Last week a package was delivered to our door step. (Really. Right to our door step. The mailman in his black Jeep feels just fine about pulling up in…
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Tricks of the Trade. 2.
Clearly, after my questions post yesterday, it is evident that I am still treading water most days in the parenting realm. But, like any profession, there are a few bits and pieces I’ve picked up here and there that seem to be working – at the moment. And those are the types of morsels I’m sharing in this Tricks of the Trade posts. Here it is . . . . Consider carefully what posters/art/decorations you hang around the bed of your sweet child. It’s subtle – but those wall hangings will probably be etched on their brains and as familiar to them as the sound of their own nickname when…
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Yesterday.
I couldn’t just talk about Hawkeye on one day only. The kid’s so cute, he deserves a day or two, right? We had a plan for his birthday – we really did. Bergen asked to go on a hike and we were only too happy to oblige such a simple and sweet request. However, the rain had other plans for us. And so did the strep throats that three of our chaps were sporting. Instead, we postponed the hike for Saturday and spent the day being a lot more flexible. At the breakfast table Bergen was served his breakfast of choice – waffles with homemade cream, topped off with one…
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april 18
Happy Birthday Bergen Hawkeye. Every morning when you wake up with your moppy blonde hair sitting directly over your keen blue eyes, I think to myself – I could not love you any more than I do right now. My heart is virtually bursting with affection for you. And then the day passes. And every night I tuck you into your bed, quilt underneath, quilt on top, shaggy hair still a rowdy mess, eyes still piercing blue, I think to myself – I love you even more tonight than I did this morning. You are amazing. Happy Birthday Seven!
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yuck
Last week I was cleaning the back porch/laundry room. A large stack of dirty clothes was unearthed. Clothes that belonged to one six-year-old little boy that I know well. I summoned that young man in and required him to tidy up his apparently favorite changing space. He chuckled with gusto. (Because that’s what he does.) He cleaned up his mess. And then he left the scene of the crime. I kept cleaning. In my own personal cleaning frenzy I knocked over a bucket of mason jar lids. They bounced and slipped between the wall and the chest freezer. Reaching into that hidden space my hand touched an article of clothing. I dragged…
